‘Oh God, sorry.’ Holding up my hands I go to move past her, but she lays a hand on my arm. Her nails are bitten down to the quick, her fingers thick and rough looking.

‘How is Fran?’ There is a slight West Country twang to her voice. ‘Is she OK? Is there anything I can do for her? I haven’t seen her for a while, but you know . . . I want to let her know I’m here if she needs me. Tell her, won’t you? Tell her Ruth, from the PTA, is here if she needs her.’

‘Um . . . OK. I’ll let her know.’ I have no idea if Fran knows this woman – Fran rarely does the school run, so I’d be surprised if she would recognise her, and anyway, even though I know her from the PTA I still can’t think which child belongs to her.

‘Anna, come on, we have to get started.’ Jess tugs on my arm and we walk out of the stifling hot hall, the cold air outside hitting me like a slap in the face.

As we cross the path and step onto the wet straw that marks the entrance to the field, the area where last night the PTA stood guard to ensure no small children escaped (although that didn’t seem to work so well, did it?), I realise that I am still wearing yesterday’s clothes. As well, I’d shoved my feet into trainers, not wellies. Although the sky last night was clear, meaning a frosty start to today, the rain that has fallen all week long along with hundreds of feet marching through the field has led to more sloppy mud, with a thin crunchy shell of frost on top. There is a damp mist in the air, the kind of cold that seeps right into your bones, and already my feet are cold. My shoes slide awkwardly on the mud as I follow Jess.

There are maybe thirty other people combing the edges of the field where the grass leads into the wooded area that surrounds the lake beyond it. I see others heading out of the gate, presumably to search the lane. I look around, but I don’t see Dominic.

‘Are they looking anywhere else?’ I ask. I hadn’t felt able to ask DI Dove for any information this morning, or indeed last night, not in front of Fran and Dominic. After all, Laurel isn’t my daughter, as Fran regularly goes to great lengths to remind me.