Five of the kids are walking ahead and Adana is pushing her youngest in the buggy, filling me in on a newspaper piece she read online last night – an interview with Mary Murphy a week after Lily disappeared.

‘God, that poor woman. Imagine trying to speak to a journalist. Imagine your child being gone a week …’

‘I know. Horrific,’ Adana says. ‘And imagine wondering if one of the people helping you search is actually responsible.’

‘Do you think so? Really?’

Adana shrugs as we turn into Rowanbrook Drive.

‘I don’t know. The thing is, everyone believes she fell in the river. But then why didn’t they find her? It sounds like it’s little more than a shallow stream. Well, you’d know, you live here – it’s not a raging white-water rapid, is it?’

I fish for my key as we approach Number Six.

‘I don’t actually, I haven’t been there. We could have a look?’

Without answering, Adana turns the buggy and calls her two older kids.

‘OK gang, we’re going on a walk,’ she says as they run towards her, Sophie in between them, Ben and Emily trailing behind.

A shiver runs down my bare arms, despite the warm sunshine.

‘But everyone be careful, it’s a bit dangerous,’ I warn, leading the way towards the green and the woods and the river beyond.

‘See those red-brick houses there,’ I say to Adana as she pushes the buggy across the dry, spindly grass, ‘they’re the ones that were being built when Lily went missing. At least that’s what I figure from reading the Wikipedia page.’

‘So, Mary and the other women were somewhere there, I guess,’ Adana says, pointing back to the edge of the green, ‘and the kids were playing over there in the trees.’ She shields her eyes to look ahead towards the wooded area into which our children have just disappeared.

‘And in the building site too. The kids kept sneaking in there, apparently.’

‘Speaking of kids, we’d better keep up with ours,’ Adana says, pushing the buggy towards the trees. ‘Imagine the headlines: Women exploring mystery disappearance manage to lose six kids of their own.’

‘Well, we’ve only lost five,’ I remind her, nodding towards the buggy. ‘We’re doing OK.’

Inside the woods, the light is different. Even when the sun makes it through the trees, it’s a quieter light somehow. A colder light. And even with the noise of the kids as they crash through branches, there’s something eerie about this place that makes me shiver. Maybe it’s the contrast with the sunlight, or maybe it’s the silence. Or maybe it’s because we know what happened here. Adana glances over, and I’m waiting for a customary wisecrack, but none is forthcoming. Solemn is the word that comes to mind. The woods feel solemn.

Without speaking, we push on, following the flash of blue that is Sophie’s t-shirt. Whoops and shouts reach our ears as the kids spot the river. When Adana and I catch up, the five children are hunkered at the water’s edge. Ben has found a stick and is testing to see how deep it is. Adana’s kids are throwing stones into it, and Sophie is throwing daisies. Emily just watches, as the copper-coloured water flows past. It’s little more than a stream, really; ‘river’ is far too grand a term. Could a child get swept away in it? Hardly likely. It looks about six inches deep, no more, if Ben’s poking is anything to go by.