Despite the loud and constant chatter of a couple seated beside her, Theresa’s thoughts managed to remain fairly focused. She inadvertently learned an awful lot about them. They lived in a chi-chi village outside Stoke-on-Trent. They disagreed violently about whether red or rosé wine was superior, and spent much of the two-hour flight squabbling about that and other trivia.

Theresa realised that she had no clues about where Chloe might have gone because she always thought of her as a child rather than a person. She knew about all those things which were associated with childhood: the exams Chloe had passed and was due to sit, her grades, her hobbies and how she had excelled in the annual school play. But she knew nothing of Chloe’s real desires or those inner flames which every human kept burning, leading them hopefully towards some kind of better tomorrow. She recalled her own childhood, and realised that she could still remember yearnings she had had when she was only six. So, as Chloe was fifteen, Theresa knew that the best clue to finding her would be to search out these private desires.

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me next that you prefer Beaujolais to Rioja,’ said the male from the trendy village outside Stoke-on-Trent.

‘Absolutely. In my opinion Rioja tastes just like saddle soap.’

‘You spent a lot of your youth licking saddles, did you, dear?’

‘When I had ponies, I loved my life. They were my happiest years,’ said the woman from the village near Stoke-on-Trent. ‘I should never have married a man who’s never even been to a gymkhana.’

‘I regularly have a bet on the horses. That’s as far as I am prepared to go. But, no, dear, I cannot see the delight of a weekend’s hacking.’

Theresa ran her mind back over the time Chloe had spent in Nice. That was when she had known her best. To Theresa, Chloe had always appeared to be the rip of the family. A bit of a tomboy. The leader of the pack.

But as children moved into the teenage years, Theresa realised that even a few months could make a massive difference in behaviour. When those hormones kicked in, everything turned on its head.

‘If you feel that way, perhaps you would have done better to marry a horse.’

‘I married the nearest thing,’ replied the wife. ‘I married an ass.’

Theresa was very happy to get off the plane.

She took the Tube into town and went straight down to her daughter’s house in Wimbledon.

A policewoman was with Imogen, who was now visibly distraught, quite unlike the stern head teacher Theresa knew.

As Theresa sat down Imogen sprang across the room and started putting on her coat.

‘You can find out anything else you need to know from my mother,’ she said, opening the front door.

The policewoman jumped up. ‘Mrs Firbank, I strongly advise you to stay here. Leave this to us.’

But the door slammed and Imogen was gone.