Frank felt something in the pit of his stomach; he couldn't have put it into words even if he had wanted to, something anticipatory and sick, like the sensation of waking up from a nightmare only in reverse. He glanced down at Alice, her pale face and slightly unfocused eyes. Then he looked back up at the young man - only a boy, really. He'd been impressed with Trevor's work at his parents' house, where he had stayed to supervise at Augusta's insistence, but he knew next to nothing about him. Possibly he was in some kind of trouble. Frank would have liked to tell him to go down the Ministry, but something stopped him, something somehow instinctive.
"I'm listening," he said. "I don't suppose you could make it at all quick. My wife has a concussion."