Was she a maniac? Meeting this woman now, without telling anyone, was probably a mad thing to do. But that creepy Winkler hadn’t got back to her, so he was obviously discounting the messages too. She had to do something. She had tried to call Winkler but hadn’t been able to get hold of him, so had decided to take matters into her own hands.

Maybe this was why her friends weren’t in contact. They thought she was crazy. Several had emailed cautiously, the ‘if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask’ sort of message, but not since yesterday. Helen had felt like emailing back: ‘Yes. How about actually phoning, or coming over to give me a hug?’ But she hadn’t. Stiff upper lip, and all. She didn’t have time for anyone else at the moment anyway. Marion from the gym had sent a few messages but even she had been quiet for the last couple of days.

She walked into the Marks and Spencer’s café. On autopilot she bought a large skinny latte, just like a normal person out for a normal coffee – although as if she cared whether she had skimmed milk or full fat! – but then had to bite her lip to stop herself crying when the rotund lady behind the counter carefully dropped the small round of shortbread onto the saucer next to it. Frankie loved those little shortbreads. It was the reason that Helen always came to M&S for her coffees.

It felt weird being here without Frankie. It felt weird being out of the house, with make-up on, in public, when the red-top newspapers on the stand not ten feet from her featured photographs of her missing daughter, and an announcement of a £100k reward.

Everything felt weird.

She sat down in the corner of the small café furthest away from the window, with her back to everything, keeping her large dark glasses on. She didn’t want anyone to recognize her – except Janet Friars, of course, who presumably already knew what she looked like. With every fibre of her being, she was thrumming with desperation that this meeting would lead to Frankie’s safe return. Anything. I’ll do anything, she whispered to her shortbread. She checked her iPhone – but it was switched off. Damn. She’d forgotten to charge it again. Janet Friars was four minutes late, and if she’d Facebooked to say she couldn’t make it, Helen wouldn’t be able to check. Please don’t blow me out.