I have to go carefully now. Although we never met in person, I can’t risk Maggie recognizing me. I want to keep talking to her—she was close to Meg, she might know something.

“You’re Maggie who works for the Wishmakers, aren’t you?”

She looks puzzled, then nods.

“That’s me.” She looks at me more closely. “Don’t I recognize you from somewhere? I can’t for the life of me figure out from where.”

I try not to panic.

“Oh, I have one of those faces. My wife, Ruth, was friends with Meg—that’s how we got to know them.” Maggie sips her tea as she listens.

“I remember Ruth saying how disappointed both Meg and Grace were when she couldn’t go on the Hawaii trip,” I say, keeping my tone light.

“Oh I know, poor mite. She would have loved it—all that sunshine, the lovely hotel. But it wasn’t meant to be. First all the trouble with the passport, then she was admitted to hospital again. That was it, I’m afraid, there was no way she could go.”

Maggie passes the cup back to me.

“Her passport?”

“Oh, it was a silly thing really.” Maggie looks around her at the other volunteers, who are standing in small groups talking quietly, eating chocolate bars and smoking.

“I’m ashamed to say I got a bit frustrated with Meg at the time. Not her fault, she had more than enough on her plate. But she was usually so good with paperwork, so organized. Anyway, we’ve got more important things to worry about now, haven’t we?” Maggie looks over again as a low ripple of outrage runs through the group of volunteers. I only catch the odd word, but it’s clear they’re talking about the police, frustrated they don’t seem to have a clue where Simon has taken Grace. I need to keep her attention—I have the feeling Maggie is someone who’ll keep talking if I ask the right questions.

“Ruth and I are about to apply for a passport for our son, actually. Is it as painful as everyone says? I’m rubbish at admin stuff.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. You just have to get everything together and make sure you’ve dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s. Megan’s problem was that she never got hold of a copy of Grace’s birth certificate. That was all. I had all the other forms, all the signatures, the money ready to go. I asked again and again, even gave her the number to call to get a duplicate. She would have got round to it eventually, I’m sure, but then, like I said, Grace went into hospital so . . .”

A man with a laminated map around his neck and reflective trousers and vest blows a whistle for us to regroup. Maggie pours away the rest of her tea on the stubby ground and nudges me.

“That’s Martin, one of the organizers. Ignore him at your peril,” she says with a wink.

I stand and give Maggie a hand up. Next to Martin I’m surprised to see the farmer, Mr. Leeson, and shivering next to him the woman who works with Susan—Zara—in huge hoop earrings. All the news reports keep saying how loved Meg and Grace were, and here’s the proof.