‘No. It wasn’t. I made a mistake, a massive one.’ I close my eyes, thinking of that blonde head bobbing in the window of the caravan. I’d been so sure.

‘Have you been on Facebook today?’ Jess asks, a note of trepidation creeping into her voice.

‘Not yet. Why?’ I pull the laptop back towards me and log into my Facebook page. ‘Oh.’ The first thing that comes up in my timeline is a page entitled ‘FIND LAUREL JESSOP’. I click on the page and Laurel’s face fills my screen. My heart does a little double skip in my chest as I start to read the opening post.

‘Jess, who did this? Was it you?’

‘No, it was Cheryl Smythe. She’s been rather busy since yesterday evening, don’t you think?’ I can picture Jess rolling her eyes as she speaks.

‘Do you think this will help?’ I am scrolling down the page, scanning my eyes over the posts. They are all incredibly supportive, some offering ideas as to what may have happened to Laurel, others suggesting places to search. There is a post from eight o’clock this morning, from Cheryl, informing people that the school hall will be the main point of contact for all search volunteers – which explains why it had been so busy this morning.

‘It can’t do any harm, can it?’ Jess says. ‘I mean, look at how social media has worked before. Lots of people have been found thanks to thousands of others all sharing the same image. I just thought that I should let you know in case Fran hasn’t seen it yet.’

I don’t know how Fran will react to the page.

‘Thanks, Jess.’ I hang up, and push myself to my feet, my stomach rumbling. It’s almost mid-afternoon and I haven’t eaten since one of Pete the Meat’s dodgy barbecue burgers last night, and despite feeling as though I could never feel hungry again, my stomach is telling me otherwise. Deciding to make a few rounds of sandwiches – as far as I know neither Fran nor Dominic have eaten today either – I head into the kitchen, only to find Dominic, Fran and Kelly all sitting at the kitchen table. There is no sign of DS Wright and I assume she’s gone back to the investigation.

‘Sorry, am I interrupting?’ I say, glancing from one person to the next and wondering if I should head back up to my room, even though I desperately what to hear what is being said.