MICHAEL
It's an ordinary house, as average as they come; one small property in a block of near-identical brick-built terraces. The paint is fresh, but not too fresh. And the door, fronting directly to the road, looks well-used. But the windows are clean; no litter fouls the frontage...
And there is a light on inside...
Charlotte sits in the car, inert. Her face is a pale sheen and, as I take her fingers in mine, her hand is cold.
I lift the fingers, press them to my lips. "This is it, then."
She nods but doesn't move. "Suppose she doesn't want to see me?" She's gasping for air...
Panic attack?
"... She abandoned me all those years ago. Suppose she just didn't want me?"
"Why would she not want you?"
"Because I'm his."
James speaks. "There are plenty of mothers whose children have unworthy fathers, but they still love them."