‘Oh, thank you,’ I say, pulling the ticket out of the machine. ‘That’s great.’

I go to walk away but the driver calls me back.

‘Hey, you haven’t paid.’

In a panic I pat my pockets. I left the B & B in such a rush and I can’t remember picking up my purse. I can hear the two young schoolboys laughing behind me as I make my way back to the driver.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say as I feel the reassuring bulk of my purse in the back pocket of my jeans. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Four pounds,’ says the driver, his voice impatient now.

I unzip my purse. There are two five-pound notes and a ten.

‘There you go,’ I say, thrusting a fiver into the driver’s hand.

He nods then pushes a button on his machine and hands me my change.

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the coin and putting it into my back pocket.

As the engine starts I go to find a seat. The two teenage boys snigger again as I trip over a folded pushchair that’s been left in the aisle. I curse under my breath, then, steadying myself, head for the back of the bus, away from them and the crying baby who is sitting up front with its mother.

I look out of the window as we leave Lewes. A small white building comes into view: Elspeth’s school. I crane my neck to see if I can spot any of her friends but it’s still early, another few hours yet until the morning bell. I imagine the children sitting at their desks later, all safe and sound. All safe and sound, except Elspeth. Then a thought comes into my head unbidden: if only it was one of them instead.

As we leave the school behind and head out into open countryside I try to think clearly. Surely seeing her school and travelling through this landscape should trigger something but there is nothing.

I look out of the window as a familiar road sign looms into view. Ketton House Farm: Ben’s house. My chest tightens as I recall the evening of Barbara’s party all those years ago; the night that changed my life for ever. I see myself, fourteen years old, all dolled up in a tight black dress, walking down that narrow lane with my parents. I see the playhouse and Ben standing at the door. I can hear the loud music, smell the sickly scent of dope in the air and the sweat of hot bodies. Then I remember Barbara’s words, ‘Dangerous people should be locked up,’ and I start to tremble. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should just turn back.