When I get into the living room, Olivia is sitting on one sofa with a pair of police officers on the other. She’s made them a cup of a tea each and, at least on first impressions, it looks like it’s all very friendly. Everyone is leaning back in their respective seats.

These are different officers than the ones who visited about the smashed window. There’s a man and a woman, each in uniform, both with their hats on their laps. The man introduces himself as PC O’Neill. He’s greying but has the type of reassuring look that works for a police officer. I suppose Dan has it, too. A mix of authority and kindness blended together. He’ll probably raise his voice at some point but at least there’ll be a reason for it. The female is PC Marks. She’s younger and has a friendly smile with big, round eyes. The type of look that’s perfect for giving bad news.

Which is why it’s such a relief when her first words are: ‘Sorry, Mrs Denton. I hope we didn’t worry you. There’s nothing to be concerned about.’

I don’t know if I look flustered – but I feel it. I keep thinking of the taser in Dan’s locker.

‘It’s about Tyler Lambert,’ she adds. ‘We were hoping to have a few words with yourself, your husband and your daughter.’

‘Oh…’

It was always going to happen, of course. Tyler’s been gone for five days and, though it’s not the first time, there had to be a point where someone decided to involve the police. Given I’ve heard that Frank finds a lot of things that have fallen from lorries – not to mention his smoking preferences – I wouldn’t be convinced he’d made the call. I wonder if it was Olivia.

‘My husband’s at work,’ I say. ‘His name’s Dan. He’s a deputy head and he has a parents’ evening tonight. I don’t know what time he’ll be back.’

It’s PC O’Neill who cuts in before his colleague can reply: ‘We can make a start with you,’ he says.

‘Do I need to come to the station?’ I ask.

‘Not necessarily. If you’re comfortable, we can talk here. We’re a lot more informal than people tend to think.’

He has a kind smile, which reminds me of Dan’s. Not too broad, not overdone. There’s almost a shyness about it, but, without words, it says, ‘I understand’. The problem is that I’ve seen that a lot in my marriage. I’m not sure if Dan does understand or, more importantly, if he cares.

And it’s that which makes me edgy about PC O’Neill. Now more than ever, I associate this smile with mistrust.

I’m slow to respond, not completely sure what to say. I eventually settle for a weak, ‘Okay.’

The two officers have stood to greet me but PC Marks makes a movement towards the stairs. ‘Did you say you had some photographs we could look at, Olivia…?’

My daughter watches me for a moment and then gets the none-too-subtle hint. She pushes up from the sofa and leads the constable to the stairs.

We listen to their creaky ascent and, after the bedroom door closes, PC O’Neill speaks up: ‘Your daughter makes a superb cup of tea,’ he says.

It’s so out of the blue that I can’t do anything other than laugh. ‘That’s if you can get her to make one. I don’t suppose you can convince her to clean her room, can you…?’

He laughs this time. ‘I’m not sure our resources quite stretch to that.’

‘I thought that’s what ASBOs were for…?’

The constable settles onto the sofa and I sit on the other. He takes out a small notepad, resting it on his knee. His hat is now abandoned on the coffee table, next to his colleague’s.

‘We’ve spoken to Mr Lambert,’ he says, ‘and he insists the reason his son is missing is because of some sort of argument between the two of you.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I snap back. ‘Tyler’s gone missing before.’

A nod: ‘Your daughter has filled us in on that – but I believe he’s never been gone for five days…?’

‘I don’t know.’

He gives me that knowing smile again. Parents united and all that.

‘Tell me about the argument.’

His pencil is poised over the pad. It’s a small gesture but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s a long time since I’ve given any sort of statement to the police – even if he is calling it informal. It’s not the same as telling them about a broken window; it feels as if I’m under investigation myself. What if it was the argument that made Tyler disappear? Does that make it my fault?

‘We’ve never really got on,’ I say.

‘Tyler Lambert and yourself?’

‘Right.’

‘How long has he been seeing your daughter?’

It takes me a second. ‘Eighteen months, something like that. I don’t know – I think he was seeing her before I knew about it. Back when she was seventeen. He’s five years older than her.’

PC O’Neill scratches something onto his pad but I suspect he already knows this if he’s spoken to Tyler’s father and Olivia. There’s nothing illegal going on, even if it doesn’t feel right to me.

‘Is it the age gap of which you don’t approve?’

‘In part.’

He smiles calmly. ‘I have a daughter myself. Not quite Olivia’s age – but she’s getting there.’

It’s irrelevant, of course. Dan does this – linking happenings to something he’s seen or dealt with at school. I suppose there’s no specific reason to be suspicious. It’s how people think, how they talk. One person’s experience is aligned to their own. I do it. The problem is that, with my confusion and now suspicion, I’m not sure who I trust. Is he saying this to try to trick me, or is it a genuine parent-to-parent interaction?

‘You’ve got all this to come,’ I reply meekly.

He tilts his head, conceding the point. ‘What else is it that you don’t approve of?’

‘Tyler doesn’t have a job and it doesn’t seem like he wants one. Olivia works really hard for a low wage – and then uses part of her money to buy things for him. I don’t think many parents would approve of that.’

PC O’Neill is tight-lipped. ‘And is that what you argued about on Saturday?’

‘I suppose. It wasn’t really an argument, not like that. I asked how the job hunting was going and he took it the wrong way.’

There’s a pause, and then: ‘Which way was he meant to take it?’

I snort at that. ‘Well, yes. Okay. He took it the exact way it was meant. Either way, he stormed off, slamming the door behind him. It’s not like I knew he wouldn’t be seen again.’

There’s a scratch of pencil on pad and then the officer looks up to me. ‘Is this the main reason why you don’t get on?’

‘Do any mothers get on with their daughter’s unemployed boyfriends?’

‘Good point.’

PC O’Neill pushes back into the sofa, wiggling his backside, making himself more comfortable. ‘How is your daughter’s relationship with Mr Lambert?’

It feels strange to hear that. Mr Lambert. It makes Tyler sound like a grown-up. He is, of course, but it never seems that he acts like it.

‘You’re better asking her,’ I reply.

‘We are – but I think your input would be useful as well.’

I shrug, wishing I had the cup of tea he had. I could do with it right now. ‘Olivia and Tyler break up and make up,’ I say. ‘They fall out over things all the time. I’ve stopped asking Olivia about what’s going on between them. Sometimes he disappears for a weekend but he always comes back.’

‘Any idea where he disappears to?’

‘You’d have to ask Olivia. I have no idea.’

Something new goes on the pad and I wonder if he’s written ‘no idea’.

‘Olivia’s set up a Facebook page,’ I add. ‘It’s called Find Tyler. I don’t think she’s having much luck.’

‘She showed us.’

‘Oh.’

‘Do you know much about your daughter’s friends?’

I puff out a long breath. ‘I used to when she was at school. There were birthday parties and trips out in the summer. I’d hire a van and drive them off to the zoo, or a few of us mums would carpool. Then Olivia hit about fourteen and that was that. She stopped talking about what was going at school, or about her friends. She was out a lot, or using her phone to message them. I know hardly anything about her friends now.’

‘Do you know much of what she gets up to in her free time?’

‘She works evening shifts at the Cosmic Café and I pick her up every now and then. The owner pays for her taxi other times. Sometimes she says she’s staying out with Tyler.’

‘But you don’t know what they get up to?’

I shrug. ‘They’re eighteen. What am I supposed to do?’

‘I’m not criticising.’

I stare at the floor and it feels like he is. All of this reeks of reckless mother. The opinion pieces almost write themselves. I’ll be in the Daily Mail; some privileged wife of an MP banging on about how I’m a terrible example of twenty-first-century parenting.

‘Tyler smokes weed,’ I say, looking to push the blame for all this back onto him. ‘He smells of it a lot and I’ve caught him with cannabis a couple of times.’

I expect a response, not quite a leap-off-the-sofa, call-for-the-riot-squad-reaction, but something. Instead, PC O’Neill calmly adds a few words to his pad.

‘Do you know if there are harder drugs involved?’

His question takes me by surprise, not because I haven’t asked myself the same thing, but because it’s so unruffled.

‘I hope not.’

‘Have you seen any signs?’

‘I mean… I… don’t know. I suppose I’m not sure what to look for. Liv’s moody – but she’s a teenager. I was moody at her age. Dan’s a deputy head. He’s trained with this sort of thing. I think he’d have noticed.’

He seems to accept this answer but I feel like asking him what I could do. Should I go through Olivia’s room, looking for evidence? And evidence of what? That would only make our relationship worse, regardless of whether I found anything. Even if I did find something, what then? An ultimatum? It’s us or Tyler? I don’t know who or what she’d choose.

‘I don’t think my daughter’s on drugs,’ I say. ‘I know she’s not. She drinks – but everyone does at eighteen. I don’t think she smokes, not cigarettes anyway. I don’t think she’s that different from any other teenager.’

‘What about Tyler?’

‘I…’ I stop myself, not quite trusting my own words, before telling him I don’t know. ‘You’ll have to ask Olivia,’ I add, aware I’m beginning to sound like a parrot.

We go over a few details, mainly relating to timings. He asks if there’s anything else I can think of and I mention the broken glass that might have been a break-in. We examine the door together and he says he’ll check the details in the file.

We’re still standing in the kitchen when he nods towards the back door. ‘Do you suspect this was Tyler?’ he asks.

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘But nothing’s missing?’

‘There might have been a bit of money. Neither Dan or myself can remember everything that was in there. We checked the important things – passports, expensive goods, that sort of thing. Nothing obvious has gone.’

PC O’Neill writes that on the pad and then pockets it, along with his pencil.

‘Do you think you’ll find him?’ I ask.

‘I’d like to think so. Most missing people turn up themselves.’

‘What about those who’ve been missing for five days?’

‘I don’t know the specific stats…’

‘But what do you think?’

He glances towards the stairs, willing an interruption that doesn’t come. The gesture says more than words and it’s probably only at this moment where I realise how serious this all is. I’ve expected Tyler to return at any point. Olivia would be overjoyed and everything would continue as they have. That now seems naïve.

I wonder if I should tell the officer about the taser in my husband’s gym locker. Could it be relevant? I want to say no – but I’m unsure about so many things at the moment. If I do say something, there’s no turning back. It’s a can of worms I can’t reseal.

‘You shouldn’t read anything into this,’ PC O’Neill says, ‘and please don’t take offence, but I do need to ask about your whereabouts for the past few days.’

‘Oh…’

‘It’s perfectly normal procedure.’

‘You don’t think—’

‘I don’t think anything – but I have to ask. I’m sure you understand why…?’

I can’t reply that, no, I don’t understand. I’m sure there’ll be a load of police double-speak – ‘ruling out of inquiries’ and the like – but the only reason to ask is if there’s a nugget of suspicion about me, however small.

‘I’ve been at work during the day,’ I say, ‘then here in the evenings. Nowhere special. My friend Ellie’s down the road.’

The officer doesn’t write anything down but he nods acceptingly.

‘And that’s since Saturday…?’ he asks.

The thing is, I know I had nothing to do with Tyler going missing – but I also know how easy my schedule will be to check. If I lie, I’ll be found out – and then it’ll look bad. The problem is that I can’t tell the truth, not all of it.

‘I was in a hotel on Monday night,’ I reply. ‘It was for work. I can give you the name if you want...?’

He waves a hand as if it doesn’t matter, but takes out his pad and notes the name anyway.

‘When did you get back?’ he asks.

It’s perfectly innocent, of course. A normal question – but how can I tell him I woke up in a field?

‘Early on Tuesday,’ I reply. Not a lie.

We’re interrupted by movement from the stairs. My daughter’s timing has never been better as, moments later, Olivia and PC Marks appear in the living room. There’s a momentary glance between constables and then PC O’Neill says he thinks that’s all for now.

I see them to the door, full of thank yous and needless apologies. It’s the British way. They head along the drive and sit in the car chatting. It takes about a minute for me to realise I’m staring. I close the door and take a breath, wondering what counts as lying to the police.

Is omission a lie?

Is keeping information back something that can get a person in trouble?

Because, if it is, then I could really have a problem.

What I didn’t tell PC O’Neill is that, after Luke did his no-show on Monday night, I spent at least part of the night at that hotel with another man.