I glance towards the bar area, where Mr Abbott is talking to the parents and helpers behind the table, gesturing across the field with one arm. Behind him I see the PTA mums gathered at the now closed gate, a crowd of people waiting to leave bottlenecking in front of them. ‘The head teacher, Mr Abbott, is talking to them now.’

‘The head? He’s looking for her too?’ Fran looks up at me, a look of blind panic behind her eyes. ‘Dominic!’ she shouts suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘Dominic was meant to be here . . . what if he turned up and saw her . . . maybe she was cold, and he took her home?’

‘Maybe,’ I say doubtfully, but Fran is already fumbling in her coat pocket, dragging out her mobile phone and dialling Dominic’s number. ‘He’s her dad after all,’ she says, phone clamped to her ear. ‘I mean, why wouldn’t he take her home . . . and he wouldn’t think to ring me, not that I would have heard it even if he had . . .’ she trails off before she hangs up without speaking. ‘Voicemail,’ she says, bitterly.

Mr Abbott appears by her side and gives us both a tight smile, as we hear the sound of Laurel’s name being called in an announcement over a loudhailer.

‘Mrs Jessop.’ I point at Fran and he turns to her. ‘I’ve spoken to a few of the parents over at the bar area, but none of them have seen Laurel. We have implemented the first stages of our missing child process. All exits have been closed for the moment, and several people have already volunteered to start searching the immediate area for any sign of Laurel. What time did you last see her?’

‘I don’t know . . . the display had started, I think. Anna?’ Fran turns slightly, throwing the question to me, her eyes already looking past me, still searching the field for any glimpse of Laurel.

I have no idea. I haven’t checked the time all evening, and my heart thuds in my chest, a frantic double beat that makes my breath stop in my throat for a moment.

‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘Just after the fireworks started?’ Mr Abbott flips his wrist and checks his watch.

‘So, she’s been missing for around half an hour now?’ He frowns, and I feel sick – I hadn’t realised how long it had been, it feels like seconds ago and a hundred years all at the same time since I last saw her. ‘OK, I think perhaps it’s time we made a phone call . . . I think we need to get the police involved.’

I turn to Fran, and see my own fear written all over her face.

‘I’ll do it.’ She gulps hard, and slowly pulls her mobile out from her pocket again, tapping in the numbers with shaking fingers, her face illuminated by the glow of the screen.