I turn, starting to walk down the hill, before picking up the pace and beginning to run back down the hill, to the gate. ‘How can she be? I don’t understand.’ My legs are heavy and clumsy, unfamiliar with my pace. I let the gate swing shut behind me as I fumble for my keys.

‘I don’t know, Kat. But she has gone. Handbag, crutches, gone.’

Holding my breath, I push into my building, taking the stairs two at a time. Ice forms in my chest as disjointed pictures piece together. ‘How could we have let her…?’ I begin, but stop myself, we don’t need me to finish that sentence. Blame isn’t going to help us find her. ‘Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t panic, Emma. We’ll find her,’ I say, trying to reassure her, picking up my bag and heading straight back out of my flat. ‘I’m on my way.’

‘I’m so sorry, Kat. Your day off as well.’ There are tears in Emma’s tone and a voice in the background. ‘Okay, thanks for letting me know,’ Emma says, away from the phone.

‘What?’

‘Gail’s on her way in too. They just caught her before she left for the airport.’

‘Right.’ I swallow hard. ‘Good. Great. Well done, we need her… Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I run up the road just as a bus is about to pull away. ‘STOP!’ I yell, running across the road in front of it.

The driver slams her brakes on, opening up the doors. ‘Jesus, I could have knocked you over! Where’s the bloody fire?’ She shakes her head at me as I apologise, holding my pass to the machine and taking a seat. The bus bumbles into town, joining a queue of rush-hour traffic just by the ice rink. The guy in front of me groans. I tap the rail on the back of his seat, trying to check off a mental list of things we need to do in this situation. I dial the ward; Emma picks up straight away. ‘Emma, get someone on CCTV, check if we can see which door she left from and which direction she headed. Get all internal and external footage. I’m sure we can find her that way, she can’t have gone far…’ I suddenly realise the very public nature of this private conversation. ‘We’ll find her, Emma, I promise.’ I hang up, realising I’ve made a promise I can’t be certain to keep.

The bus grinds to a standstill. Three lanes of heavy traffic are stationary. Drivers in cars are straining to see what the hold-up is. One gets out of his car for a better look. He catches sight of me on the bus and shrugs his shoulders, then lights up a fag and smokes as he waits.

Someone behind me dings the bell and gets off. I just manage to dodge my head out of the way of their bag as they swing it over their shoulder. A couple more passengers get off the bus. I consider doing the same but the reality of this situation has started to fully sink in, and I sink too, my spine pressed into my seat. What have we done? Or what haven’t we done?