As we approach the field, a police officer directs us towards the school hall, that backs on to the fields a little further along from where the bonfire was held. There are people everywhere, and I hear Laurel’s name as groups gather together, some prepared with bottles of water and backpacks, as if in for the long haul. There is a sense of urgency in the air, underwritten by something else, something that if I had to name it, I would say was panic. Things like this don’t happen in places like Oxbury.

I lose Dominic as he forges ahead, which I think is probably for the best – I don’t think I can cope with the now strained atmosphere between us – and as I step into the hall I pause for a moment. The familiar smell of school dinners – cabbage, with an underlying, vanilla-y hint of lumpy custard – assaults my senses, and there is a rousing babble of chatter that dies momentarily as people notice me enter the room.

‘Anna!’ The caramel blonde woman from the PTA rushes towards me, her arms outstretched. The other mother from the PTA admission stand last night hangs back, hesitant, as though she wants to come over but daren’t.

‘What’s going on?’ I look around, puzzled by the sheer number of people in the hall and on the field outside. Quite a few had hung around last night to help search, and while I’d thought it would be similar today, this has the air of . . . organisation.

‘We’ve set up a search station . . . well, I have.’ She fusses at her hair, smiling with perfect white teeth on display. ‘The police are sending volunteers to us, and then we are directing them to start their part of the search, as arranged by the officers in charge. I’ve got someone making up posters and we’re even having T-shirts made up with Laurel’s face on . . . you know, Have You Seen Her? et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Right,’ I say, my eyes still roaming the room. I can’t see Dominic anywhere, and I wonder for a brief moment how he feels about all of this. I know that I feel overwhelmed by it all. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name?’

‘Lola’s mum. Cheryl.’ She looks a bit put out, and I smile to soften the blow. ‘Is Fran here?’ She cranes over my shoulder, looking towards the door. ‘I thought she might like to see what we’re doing, the effort the community is making.’ She gestures around the room, and I see a man with a large camera around his neck talking to one of the other parents. I shrink back, sure that he must be with the local press.