I tried not to picture Joan, alone, cold and scared as her dreams of living free in the forest became a brutal reality. Instead I kept my head lowered against the stinging rain, swung the torch in a calculated arc to avoid missing any signs of human life, and thundered down the forest paths, even as my blood thundered through my veins.

Once we reached the clearing, I tried Sam again. Again, no answer, but I had next to no reception and if he was on his way, the call might not have got through. I let Nesbit sniff around and then as soon as he caught a scent that he wanted to follow, we were off again.

More endless minutes of pushing through brambles and nettles, losing our footing on loose tree roots and stumbling in the darkness as the rain began to seep through our clothing and numb our freezing hands. I was beyond grateful to have Irene’s sensible shoes plodding right behind me, her silence somehow more reassuring than if she’d been trying to say something to make me feel better.

The twisting paths left me completely disorientated. In the darkness it was impossible to tell if I’d been in this section of the forest before. Irene eventually spoke, urging me to rest for a few minutes to catch my breath and my bearings, but I couldn’t ignore the compulsion to keep going until I knew Joan was safe.

Eventually, we had the reaction we’d been praying for. Nesbit started jerking at the end of the lead, barking and whining as he darted towards a sharp slope. Feet scrabbling for purchase on the carpet of wet leaves, I careened behind him, shouting Joan’s name.

Just as my torch picked up the tent in the hollow below us, the lead snagged on a low branch and sent me sprawling into the dirt, tumbling down the rest of the incline while Nesbit broke free from my grip. I landed in a crumpled heap right in front of the tent entrance.

Every scratch and bruise dissolved into nothing when I saw the pale face peeking out and a scared, cold eleven-year-old collapsed into my arms, her dog smothering her in kisses.

34

‘What’s Irene doing here?’ Joan asked, once she’d prised herself out of my hug.

‘Looking for you,’ I replied, adjusting my position to try to ease the stabbing pain in my ankle. ‘Lots of people are.’

‘Oh.’ Joan pushed her mouth to one side of her face, eyes lowered. ‘Is Mum here?’

‘She’s at the cottage with Grandad. It was very hard for her not to come looking, but she knew she couldn’t get very far.’

‘Everyone is very, very worried,’ Irene added.

Joan swiped at the tears now mingling with the rain on her face. ‘They were supposed to think I was at a sleepover.’