Blazing Obsession by Dai Henley

But tonight wasn’t the night to share my thoughts. She knew I’d be ecstatic once I’d had time to think about it.
    After my divorce from Annie, I never thought I’d be a dad. We’d discussed it when we were together and decided to have children later in life. We never got that far.
    In the months following, I found myself looking at children’s clothes and toys in department stores, wrestling with the question; did I want a boy or a girl? I was caught up in the exhilaration of having someone with my genes roaming the planet long after I’d departed.
    *
    On a dull Monday in early February, Peter, my business partner, and I were reviewing the first three months of our new group leasing business with John Hartley. The figures were already spectacular.
    â€œAs you can see, we’ve exceeded the last quarter’s sales targets by some margin.” Hartley’s smooth, cultured, BBC voice dominated the room. “You’ll have to get a Securicor van to deliver my bonuses!” The margin between self-confidence and cockiness was paper-thin.
    The only blot on his copybook had been a row he’d had a month earlier with a newly appointed female member of his admin team. She’d come to Peter’s office in tears. Said Hartley had ‘lost it’, called her a ‘useless tart’.
    Peter and I challenged him about it. He waved his hand in the air and said dismissively, “Oh, she screwed up some paperwork, that’s all. I can’t have anyone on the team who won’t pull their weight.”
    â€œWell, it’s not acceptable. She’s only just started. And she’s a kid, basically. You’ll need to show a bit more patience, John.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I want the department to be the best, that’s all. Should I apologise to her?”
    â€œI think you should.”
    â€œIt won’t happen again, I promise you.”
    *
    Back in my office after the meeting, my phone burst into life. It was 3.30pm.
    â€œJames! Thank God you’re there!” Lynne sounded breathless and agitated. She spoke quickly.
    â€œI’m worried about Georgie. Nick asked if he could have him stay an extra night over the weekend. Said he’d take him directly to school on Monday morning. It seemed churlish not to agree.” I heard her sniffle.
    â€œHe never arrived. The school called my office, but I’ve been in meetings all day and stupidly, I didn’t check my messages until just now.”
    â€œCalm down! I can hardly hear what you’re saying.”
    She took another deep breath.
    â€œSorry. Mum only found out about it when she went to pick him up from school. He never arrived. I’ve been calling Nick ever since. There’s no reply. I can’t think what’s happened.” She started crying.
    â€œOK. Try not to worry. I’ll go round to Nick’s flat straight away. Give me the address. I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Where are you?”
    â€œI’m just leaving the showroom to go to my flat.”
    â€œIs your mum there?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. I’ll see you soon.” I stood, kicked my desk, turned and then kicked my wastepaper bin hard. It careered across the floor, bouncing against the wall, scattering papers in all directions.
    *
    Nick lived in a ground floor flat in a scruffy street in Poplar, a mile from Lynne. The front door had seen better days and the closely drawn curtains in the window had faded to the colour of dirty sand.
    I rang the doorbell several times, and getting no reply, I looked up at the upper floors hoping to see signs of life. I rang the bell of the flat above, labelled,
A. Nazir
.
    â€œYes?” The intercom crackled.
    â€œI’m trying to contact Mr Nick Burrows. Do you know if he’s around? It’s urgent.”
    â€œWell, no. He’s not.” He spoke with a cultured, singsong, Indian accent. “I saw him with his son