‘After the crash. She wasn’t hurt. A bruise or two, same as me. We tumbled a bit when the train crashed because we were standing up ready to get off at the next station, but it was so packed, we were cushioned by everyone else.’ She shakes her head. ‘Emily? EMILY! Where are you?’

As she calls out, I hear the panic and want to calm her down. ‘How old is Emily?’

‘Six.’

I try to imagine losing Leo. Even though he’s twice this child’s age, I’d be frantic. ‘Listen, I’m positive someone will be looking after her, but we’ll make sure. I’m Joel.’

‘Barbara,’ she says, and her cold hand in mine feels like a contract.

Together we head back towards the casualty area under the tarpaulin roof. I explain we’re looking for a child, and though I say nothing to Barbara, there’s a fast chain reaction as different emergency staff check and double-check if anyone has found a little girl.

‘I don’t know what’s happened to her,’ Barbara is saying. ‘After the crash, I kept calling for her but I think she got out of the carriage first . . .’

Behind her, I spot Liv coming under the tarpaulin and I realize someone must have tipped her off that a kid is missing. The last thing Barbara needs is to have a camera pointed in her face.

‘Let’s find her, eh?’

I nudge Barbara out the other way, so Liv won’t see her, or me. We start walking. The rain is getting heavier.

As she scans the darkness, Barbara stops suddenly. ‘There.’

My heart speeds up. ‘What is it?’ I ask her.

As my eyes adjust, I can make out the white legs of horses in a field beyond the ditch. ‘We ride, both of us, sometimes. She’s obsessed with horses. What if she went to find me there?’

It doesn’t seem likely to me, but at least this keeps Barbara out of Liv’s clutches. We walk with arms linked, so we don’t slip. She leads, pulling me gently in the opposite direction to where the police are headed. I know this is futile, there’s no reason a kid would have wandered off that far. But if I’d lost Leo, I would want everywhere to be checked.

‘Can you hear something?’ she says.

I strain, but there’s nothing but wishful thinking on Barbara’s part. My phone’s torch is feeble but it helps us both avoid boggy puddles and the scattered debris underfoot. The further we get from the emergency vehicles, the less light and noise there are . . .

‘There,’ Barbara say again. There seems to be nothing to the right except for darkness.

And two voices.

‘Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk . . .’

No one sings that song anymore, it’s something my parents would have known when they were kids.