When Carlos arrived at his mother's flat, she was drinking coffee and Jordan was sitting opposite on the settee with the dregs of a glass of milk on the table in front of him.

"Everything okay?" Carlos said.

"We've been having a lovely chat," his mother said.

Carlos wasn't sure for a second, then saw her lips curl slightly and decided she was being sarcastic. Jordan wasn't exactly chatty at the best of times. Not surprising given what the poor kid had gone through. Course, this whole situation was complex, what with Jordan and Richie's families having pretty much annihilated one another about eighteen months ago. Luckily, with Richie still in prison and likely to stay there for a long, long time, that wasn't a problem.

Carlos didn't feel too bad about it, though. He'd needed someone to replace Richie. And Jordan visited Richie's mother regularly, even now, which was something. Just sat there, neither of them speaking, holding hands. He'd seen them there that first time at the Home. Jordan was a blank. And Richie's mother hadn't spoken in years.

It was Richie's fault that Carlos and Jordan had met. Richie'd asked Carlos to check in on Liz, see how she was coping. Carlos couldn't see the point, wasn't intending hanging around, just dropping off some fresh flowers and scarpering, but when he got there he'd found this kid with her, a boy, barely a teenager, and remembered seeing the picture of them together in the newspaper. Part of the media frenzy. Kid Rescues Brain-Damaged Woman From Inferno. Not to mention the horror show inside the country cottage as body after body was discovered. Fascinating. Then all the speculation. Nobody knew who'd killed who. It was all guesswork. The fire saw to that.