Emily begins to hum. I join in, as loudly as I can, trying to throw my voice up beyond the ditch.

Someone has to hear us soon.

We’ve run out of songs. ‘Let’s start again, from the beginning.

But Emily’s struggling to breathe and she’s getting colder. ‘Where’s . . . Mummy?’

‘She’ll be here soon. We just have to stay brave for a bit longer.’

She doesn’t respond. I need to keep her awake.

‘How about I teach you a song instead? One for Granny.’

‘A funny song?’ she says, through the tears.

I haven’t even thought of one, but it comes to me in a flash. The song I learned with Tim all those years ago at the St John Ambulance meetings: a song with the perfect rhythm for carrying out CPR.

‘Do you know Nellie the Elephant?’

‘No . . .’

‘Your grandma will know it. It’s about an elephant who runs away.’

‘From where?’

‘From the circus.’

‘African . . . or Indian?’

‘I don’t know. Which do you prefer?’

‘Indian ones. They’ve got bigger ears.’

‘OK, let’s say she’s the Indian kind. Shall I teach you the words?’

Emily doesn’t respond so I start anyway.

‘It starts . . . Nellie the elephant packed her trunk . . .’

Chapter 65: Joel

‘I can’t do this anymore, Liv.’

I’ve waited till she’s got enough video material for a complete sequence about the casualty we’ve followed.

‘Are you struggling?’

Yes. But it’s not about my health, it’s about what we’re doing to make this situation even more horrible.

‘I’m not in pain, but I need to sit in the car for a while. Your freelance can’t be far away now, can he?’

‘Shall I come with you?’ She is only offering because she feels she should, and I shake my head.

‘I’ll be fine. You carry on.’

I lose her in the sea of hi-vis jackets. As I walk back towards the car, I admit to myself I do have some pain, though nothing like the piercing agony in July when the loose lead nearly punctured my heart.

It’s still raining, but shock has turned some people into human statues who don’t seem to notice they’re getting drenched. I wonder if I could fetch blankets or guide people towards the shelters. Anything to be useful.

A woman tugs at my coat. She’s wearing a light-coloured mac and her hair and face are saturated, her eye make-up has run down her cheeks. ‘I can’t find my granddaughter.’

‘Would you like me to help? I think they’re organizing transport from the tent over there. I bet she’s waiting for you or they’ve taken her to hospital.’

‘I’ve been there already, checked all the lists. Something’s wrong.’

‘When did you last see her?’