There was a note through Tom's door when he got home from work. 'If you are the Tom Westwood who used to live near Kearsall Forest, I need to see you. Urgent. It's about someone we both used to know. Be in the Swan tonight and don't worry, I'll recognise you. If you can't make it I'll call at your place. M. Carr.'

Ignore it, that's what he thought. That's not the way to do these things. But he was going out for a couple of pints anyway, so there was no point in avoiding the Swan. And besides, he was curious about it. Of course he was.

Nobody approached him in the Swan and he left about ten minutes after closing time and took a short cut home. Instead of going along the road, he went across the Leisure Centre car park and along the unlit footpath behind the library. That was where he stumbled upon the girl lying beside the path. Dead? Injured? No, just hopelessly drunk. She had probably been there for some time because she was soaked through even though it wasn't raining. He would have called for help but the phone outside the post office had been vandalised. Nothing for it but take her home and call for help from there. He knew he shouldn't, but what else could he do?

She could barely stand and he had to half carry, half drag her the quarter mile home. He fumbled with the front gate whilst still trying to support her. Mrs Denny, his neighbour, brought her wheelie bin out. 'Evening,' she said and managed to fill the one word with enough disapproval for a whole orgy of unrighteousness. As Tom unlocked his front door and dragged the girl inside he could imagine Mrs Denny chunnering away to her husband. 'Look at him,' she'd be saying. 'His dear old Dad, fine chapel man that he was, scarcely cold in his grave and there's himself staggering home drunk with a little floosie young enough to be his daughter. Absolute disgrace, that's what it is. Absolute disgrace. Thank goodness he'll be moving soon.'

'Yes, indeed,' Tom muttered to himself. 'Thank goodness for that.' He carefully lowered the girl into an armchair and went to the phone. But now that he'd got her home, phoning emergency services didn't seem the right thing to do. Not at all. He could imagine the questions they'd ask – and he'd give the impression he knew more than he was saying. He knew he would. Better just cover her up for warmth and let her sleep it off. Except that she was shivering violently. She really did need to get out of those wet clothes. But she was far too drunk to help herself...

He woke early the following morning and went downstairs straight away. There was a lot of tidying up to do before the estate agent arrived to do the valuation. The girl's clothes were dry so he took them into the front room where she was still sleeping on the sofa. That wasn't a good idea, was it? Getting her out of those things. It might have been a better idea to have phoned Estelle. Yes, of course, that's what he ought to have done - phoned Estelle. He shook the girl gently. 'Time to get up,' he said. No reply. He tried again, a little louder. He shook her slightly.

'Piss off,' she grunted and rolled over.

The blanket fell to the floor. He picked it up and covered her. 'Come on, you need to get up. I'll make some coffee while you get dressed. And then I'll drop you off somewhere. But you need to hurry.'

'Piss off.'

She came into the kitchen while he was making coffee and toast. 'Where am I?' she asked nervously.

'Well, you're here at my place. Not far from where I found you last night. You were, er, well, out of it.'

'Where's Anna?'

'No idea. You were on your own. Where had you been?'

'In the Swan. Anna was meeting this guy with a really stupid name. And I was meeting someone else only he didn't show up. Glad I wasn't going with thingy. Kindleysides. He was creepy. Really creepy. Hope Anna's all right.'

'Well, I expect you'll see her soon enough. No why don't you have some breakfast? Then I'll drive you home if you like. I'm sure everything will look a lot clearer after a quiet morning to shake off, well... I mean, you must've had a skinful last night.'

'No way. Had one. Had to make it last all evening, as always. Then Colin showed up with his friend and he got us another. And before I knew what was happening he was away with Anna. I've no idea what happened after that. Oh bloody hell, you don't think he drugged us, do you?'

'Why would he do that and then just walk out on you?'

'Cause that was the deal. There was this job going at a hotel in Blackpool, but I've still got things to do around here, so Anna took it. Colin said he could get me fixed up later.'

Before Tom could hear any more of this garbled tale, the doorbell rang. It was the estate agent.

'Morning, Mr Westwood. Marian Johnson, to do a valuation.'

'Bloody hell,' said the girl in the living room.

Once Mrs Johnson had finished Tom needed to pack himself some things, lock up and drive to Foxton Bank. He was going to spend a couple of weeks on Estelle's boat and he wanted to be there in time to get a replacement gas bottle for the heater. Already it was midday and the girl was curled up on the sofa looking as if she intended to stay as long as possible.

'So, er, sorry but I don't know your name. Can I give you a lift somewhere?'

'You're Tom Westwood, aren't you? You were there after all and I didn't recognise you. Thought I would.'

'You thought you'd recognise me?'

'Saw you the other day. You were just getting home when I came looking for you. Only I bottled out.'

'Maybe you'd better tell me what you wanted.'

'It was this weird old guy in the forest. Called himself Tosser. Anyway, he told me about you.'

It made a little bit of sense. 'Sure he said Tosser? Not Thos? Thos Povey?'

'Oh yes, that'd be him. Oh bloody hell, right. They used to warn me about him. My Grandma always said don't go into the forest on my own cause Thos Povey would get me.'

'Your Grandma? So who are you?'

'Right, well, it's like this. You used to live in Kearsall once, right? Anyway Tosser, Thos, or whoever he is, said you knew the Ridley family. That's who I'm looking for. Alan Ridley, actually. He used to be my Dad.'

'Used to be? What does that mean?'

'What that means, Mister Smartarse, is he used to be my Dad till my Mum and me walked out and she divorced him. Which is why my name's not Ridley. Left that behind with all the other crap. I'm Melanie Carr now. Anyway, you've got to tell me what you know about them. Like where are they now? Do you know?'

'Haven't a clue. Sorry. It's about thirty years since I knew them. Susan, that's Alan's and John's young sister, was my first girlfriend.'

'Sister? There was no sister. I remember John. There was him and my Mum and Dad and my older brother and my Grandma. John lived in Northwich and the rest of us lived in the forest house at Ashton Moss. But there was no sister. I would have remembered.'

'Susan was real right enough. About ten years younger than Alan. Same age as me.'

'Bloody hell. She must have got out of it years before I was born. What was she like? Was she a complete prat like the rest of them? Too bloody holy to be decent.'

'I'd agree with that. But Susan was different. So why do you want to find Alan now?'

'Cause he owes me, that's why.'

'I take it you've tried calling at the house?'

'Sure. Nobody around. That's when I met this Thos Povey geezer and he said ask you.'

'Sorry I can't help you.'

'Oh well, never mind. I'll catch up with the bastard eventually.'

Melanie agreed – reluctantly, Tom thought – to let him drive her back home. And home turned out to be a squat in the old Horeb Chapel which someone had started to convert to flats and then abandoned. Melanie reckoned it was pretty good really – no gas or electricity but a lot better than the railway arches. And better than putting up her tent in the park and being moved on every night which was a pain in the arse.

Tom felt a twinge of guilt when he drove away. He wished he could have helped her a bit more. And leaving her at the old chapel didn't feel right. If he hadn't been going to Foxton Bank to stay on Estelle's narrowboat he might have been tempted to offer her a room for a couple of nights. But no, the chapel was fine. It was what she wanted. Much later than he had intended he set off, but at least he would be there in plenty of time for a meal and a couple of pints in the Cotton Tree.

*

He was going to drive into Frodsham the next morning because that was where he had decided he wanted to look for a house to buy. But meeting Melanie had set him thinking about Susan and wondering what had become of her. He used to think about her every day at first. And mope. And people would tell him to forget about her. She'd dropped him – it happens to us all, they said. You'll get over it, they said. Fat lot they knew about it. But he did get over it. She'd been leaned upon by her family to break it off, he was sure of that, but she wasn't going to change her mind and come looking. Caroline was the only one who understood. Caroline – another completely impossible love of his youth. He could admit it now, and allow himself a self-deprecatory chuckle.

But he was thinking about Susan all over again so he went in the opposite direction to what he had intended and parked near the new café at Kearsall Station. From there he took the path which skirted the forest and brought him out at Ashton Moss. In front of him was the house, much as he remembered it. And it was for sale. The idea was mad. Quite mad. He would buy that and no other. He knew it already. That isolated place between the slopes of Alvanley Hill and the forest, with just the occasional train along the track to remind him of the bustle of elsewhere. He made a note of the estate agent's number and set out along the path through the forest to the village.

He rang Estelle from the pub when he went for a meal.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?'

'Don't see why not. After all, that other stuff, well, it's a long time ago.'

'I'm sure it is, dear. Now, Tom, there's something you should know. There's someone been hanging around your house. A thin, rather shabby girl. Says her name's Melanie. I found her in your greenhouse this morning and I think she might have been sleeping there. She seems to know you. Knows your name, at any rate.'

'Oh God, no. It's,er... Well, it's Melanie.' He told Estelle briefly how he had found her.

'Lying in a puddle, unconscious? So you took her home. Just like that. Like some stray cat?'

'There's more to it. She'd come looking for me. See, she's Alan Ridley's daughter and she's, well, trying to trace her roots, I suppose.'

'Tom, what are you getting yourself into?'

'Nothing at all. So, Estelle, can you just leave her? Tell her I'll see her when I'm back. And if you can, could you, well, make sure she's got whatever she needs? And, look, if I decide to go ahead with the house at Ashton Moss, I'll be back straight away to put Dad's place on the market.'

He had hoped to persuade Estelle to be available to show prospective buyers around the house, but with Melanie and God knows who else having taken up residence in the greenhouse, he couldn't risk it. He could imagine how Estelle would explain it. 'The squatters? No they're not included in the sale. My nephew will take them with him when he moves out. He is planning to leave the fuchsias though.'

He arrived home about midday on Wednesday and before he was out of his car, Mrs Denny was there. 'Now listen to me, Tom,' she said. 'I'm saying this for your own good so don't take me wrong. It's that young floosie. Goodness knows what you think you're doing, but I'll tell you this – your old Dad would never have stood for it. Not for one minute. You've got to get her out of there or there'll be goodness knows how many more of them before you know it. And this is a respectable neighbourhood. Out, that's what I say. No messing, just get her out. Anyway, did you have a nice little break?'

'Yes, thank you, Mary.'

'And you had such lovely weather for it. Boating again, was it?'

'That's right, Mary.'

'You're a lucky man, Tom. Me and Harold, we were going to go on a cruise once. You know, Mediterranean and all those places. But we thought it might not be advisable with his leg. That's when we went to Scarborough. So you won't forget, will you? Get that little floosie out before this neighbourhood goes right down the drain. It's not much to ask now, is it?'

Not too much at all, really. It was exactly what he intended to do. And it would be perfectly easy. Just tell her to go. Offer to take her somewhere far more comfortable than the greenhouse. The women's hostel in Lostock, maybe. Estelle knew about that place and would gladly help.

But Melanie had a clear idea of the sort of help she needed and each of the very few alternatives involved Tom. 'You're the only bugger I know I can trust,' First, she wanted to be taken back to the squat. She'd been locked out and all her stuff dumped outside. Tom assumed that she needed to collect it all but in fact it was all already in his greenhouse. She just needed to check that it really was impossible any longer to force an entry. And having done so, she pronounced a curse upon the place and they left.

'Left something behind?' Tom asked. 'Anything important?'

'Nothing.'

'So, er...?'

'You wouldn't understand.'

He didn't. 'Well OK then. Now do you want me to get my Aunt to take you round to the women's shelter?'

'Like fuck. There's no way I'm going in with those sad cows. I need you to take me to the police station.'

He didn't understand this either but he took her there and parked in the visitors' car park. He was going to wait for her.

'Come on,' she said. 'I can't do this on my own.'

'What exactly is it you need to do here?'

Breathe deeply, clench her fists and steel herself to walk through the main entrance, that's what. Tom followed. She walked straight to the enquiry desk and said loudly before anyone had actually noticed her, 'I need to report a missing person.'

Oh, hell, what's going on now? Tom wondered.

She jabbed impatiently at the bell.

'OK, love. Be with you right away,' said the officer. Then he came across. 'Go on, then,' he said. 'Missing person. Tell me about it.' He took a notepad and a pen from below the desk.

'It's my friend Anna. She's been abducted.'

'OK, then. Let's have some details. Name?'

'Melanie Carr.'

'Thought you said Anna just now.'

'Anna's the one who was taken. Not me.'

'OK, so – Anna's full name?'

'Well, she's Anna.'

'Surname?'

'Don't know.'

'You don't know. Right. But she was abducted? How do you know?'

'Cause I was there. He drugged her. Well, he might not have done. Cause I drank most of her drink. And I don't know anything else till the next day.'

'And where did this all happen?'

'In the Swan. Last Thursday.'

'OK, so this stranger comes in, spikes your drinks and when you wake up you're back home and you don't know where your friend is. Right?'

'Right. No. It wasn't a stranger. Except I didn't know him. But Colin set it all up. Colin Tudge.'

Suddenly the officer was much more interested. 'Mr Colin Tudge, eh? Well, well, well. And do you know the name of his friend?'

'Michael Kindleysides.'

'Tudge and Kindleysides. Well, now, young lady, thank you for your information. What I need from you now is a full description of your friend. And then I will get someone to go and have a word with Messrs Tudge and Kindleysides.'

He was careful to take down all the details of Anna's description. 'And now, young lady, let's have a note of who you are. Melanie Carr, you said? Address?'

'Well, I'm living with my Uncle. It's on Chorlton Fields Road.'

'Sixty-seven,' Tom volunteered, and added, 'But not for much longer.'

'No, we're moving out,' Melanie explained and looked pleadingly at Tom. It looked as though it was going to be some time before this little stray found a new home.