"No friend of mine. He'd better not come hanging round here if he sees you're away."

"You'd hope putting on one of these badges would make him into a pillar," Wilf said as he let himself out of the house.

Claire followed to close the filigreed gate at the end of their cobbled path after him, and watched him trot along the street of large twinned houses and garages nestling against them. Perhaps she was being unfair, but Duncan Gummer was the kind of person - no, the only person - who made her wish that those who offered to patrol had to be vetted rather than merely to live in the small suburb. Abruptly she wanted him to show himself and loiter outside her house as he often found an excuse to do while he was on patrol: she could tell him she'd sent Wilf away and see how he reacted. She had a vision of his moist lower lip exposing itself, his clasped hands dangling over his stomach, their inverted prayer indicating his crotch. She wriggled her shoulders to shrug off the image and sent herself into the house to finish icing Laura's cake.

She was halfway through piping the pink letters onto the snow-white disc when she faltered, unable to think how to cross the t of "Happy Birthday" without breaking her script. How had she done it twelve months ago and all the times before? She particularly wanted this cake to be special, because she knew she wouldn't be decorating many more. Perhaps it was the shrilling of an alarm somewhere beyond the long back garden with its borders illuminated by flowers that was putting her off, a rapid bleeping like an Engaged tone speeded up. She imagined trying to place a call only to meet such a response - a sound that panic seemed to be rendering frantic. Nervousness was gaining control of her hands now that Wilf had aggravated the anxiety she experienced just about whenever Laura left the house.

She'd spent some time in flexing her fingers and laying down the plastic tool again for fear of spoiling the inscription - long enough for the back garden to fill up with the shadow of the house - before she decided to go out and look for him. Laura would be fine at the school disco, and on the bus home with her friends, so long as she'd caught the bus there. Having set the alarm - she needn't programme the lights to switch themselves on, she would only be out for a few minutes - Claire draped a linen jacket over her shoulders and walked to the end of the road.

The Chung boys were sluicing the family Lancia with buckets of soapy water and a great deal of Cantonese chatter. Several mowers were rehearsing a drowsy chorus against the improvised percussion of at least two pairs of shears. The most intrusive sound, though not the loudest, was the unanswered plea of the alarm. When Claire reached the junction she saw that the convulsive light that accompanied the noise was several hundred yards away along the cross street, close to the pole of the deserted bus stop at the far end, against the baize humps of the golf course. As she saw all this, the alarm gave up. She turned from it and caught sight of Wilf.

He mustn't have seen her, she thought, because he was striding away. Shrunken by distance, and obviously unaware that his trousers were a little lower than they might be - more like a building worker's than any outfit of the architect he was - he looked unexpectedly vulnerable. She couldn't imagine his tackling anyone with more than words, but then members of the patrol weren't supposed to use force, only to alert the police. She felt a surge of the old affection, however determined he seemed these days to give it no purchase on his stiff exterior, as she cupped her hands about her mouth. "Wilf."

At first she thought he hadn't heard her. Two mowers had travelled the length of their lawns before he swung round and marched towards her, his face drawn into a mask of concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I hope. I just wanted to know if you saw her onto the bus."

"She wasn't there."

"Are you sure?" Claire couldn't help asking. "She'd have been in time for it, wouldn't she?"

"If it came."

"Don't say that. How else could she have gone?"

"Maybe she got herself picked up."

"She'd never have gone in anybody's car she didn't know, not Laura."

"You'd hope not. That's what I meant, a lift from a friend who was going, their parents, rather."

The trouble was that none of Laura's friends would have needed to be driven past the bus stop. Perhaps this had occurred to Wilf, who was staring down the street past Claire. A glance showed her that the streetlamp by the bus stop had acknowledged the growing darkness. The isolated metal flag gleamed like a knife against the secretive mounds of the golf course. "She should be there by now," Claire said.

"You'd imagine so."

It was only a turn of phrase, but it made her suspect herself of being less anxious than he felt there was reason to be. "She won't like it, but she'll have to put up with it," she declared.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'm going to phone to make sure she's arrived."

"That's - yes, I should."

"Are you coming to hear? You aren't due on the street for a few minutes yet."

"I thought I'd send your favourite man Mr Gummer home early. You're right, though, I ought to be with you for the peace of mind."

If he had just the average share, she reflected, she might have more herself. It took her several minutes to reach the phone, as a preamble to doing which she had to walk home not unduly fast and unb.u.t.ton the alarm, by which time there was surely no point in calling except to a.s.sure herself there wasn't. The phone at the disco went unanswered long enough for Wilf to turn away and rub his face twice; then a girl's voice younger than Claire was expecting, and backed by music loud enough to distort it, said "Sin Tans."

"h.e.l.lo, St Anne's. This is Laura Maynard's mother. Could I have a quick word with her?"

"Who? Oh, Lor." As Claire deduced this wasn't a mild oath but a version of Laura's name, the girl said "I'll just see."

She was gone at once, presumably laying the receiver down with the mouth toward the music, so that it amplified itself like a dramatic soundtrack in a film. Claire had thought of a question to justify the call and no doubt to annoy Laura - they'd established when she must be home, but not with whom or how - when the girl returned. "Mrs Maynard," she shouted over an upsurge of the music, "she's not here yet, her friend Hannah says."

"You obviously wouldn't know if her bus happened to run."

"Yes, Hannah was on it, but it was early at Lor's stop."

"I understand," said Claire, compelled to sound more like a grown-up than she felt. "Could you ask her to ring home the moment she gets there? The moment you see her, I mean."

"I will, Mrs Maynard."

"Thanks. You're very -" The line went dead, and Claire hung up the receiver beside the stairs, next to the oval mirror in which Wilf was raising his hunched head. Two steps like the heaviness of his expression rendered palpable brought him round to face her. "She's not there, then," he said.