‘OK,’ I nod, ‘good idea. You check the loos, I’ll go and ask at the barbecue area. See if they’ve seen her – she might have asked for you if she couldn’t find her way back to us in the crowd.’ Fran has hammered it home from the first day I began working with them, that if Laurel gets lost she must find a policeman, or security guard — someone in authority — and ask them to find her mummy. Laurel knows the rules. Fran gives a sharp nod, but I can see her mind is already on getting to the portaloos, and she turns and starts to run towards the row of green plastic cabins. I gaze after her for a moment, a whicker of fear making my pulse beat faster, making my feet stick to the ground for just a minute before I begin the walk over to the barbecue area. I hurry as fast as I can, but the field beneath my feet is a slurry of mud, thanks to three days of constant rain, and straw, laid to soak up the mud, which is now a thick, sludgy, slippery mess.

Heat, a thudding bass from the DJ system in the ‘bar’ area (a tent, with a trestle table full of wine and beer bottles), and the acrid scent of barbecue smoke assaults my senses as I approach the table, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak.

‘Hi.’ My voice is drowned out by the crappy music, and the pop of fireworks exploding over my head. ‘Hey!’ I shout.

‘Hello, darlin’, what can I get you? Burger? Sausage?’ The burly guy behind the table turns to me, hot dog roll in hand. It’s my second visit to Pete the Meat tonight, the local butcher (and local lothario, if the rumours are true).

‘No, no thank you.’ I shake my head, ‘I’m looking for a little girl – she’s got lost. Have you seen her?’

‘What’s she look like?’ There is a smear of tomato ketchup across the sleeve of his white coat, a slash that looks like blood against the clinical whiteness, and my mouth goes dry.

‘She’s four, um . . . about this high.’ I hold my hand at about waist height. ‘She’s got blonde hair, and she’s wearing a pink coat, pink wellies and a sparkly silver bobble hat.’

‘Can’t say that I have. Let me ask the others.’ He turns and shouts to the two teenagers that work behind him, slicing rolls and folding napkins, before turning back to me. ‘Sorry, darlin’, we haven’t seen her. We’ll keep an eye out though, yeah?’