The wood burner has gone out in the main room. At the far end, Poppy, Izzy and Blake sprawl over each other on the sofa like animals in a litter. Their faces are grimy from searching in the wood. Blake looks hollow-eyed. Charley is lying on the floor with the dog. Grace sees with a shock there is a dark mark on her forehead, the skin has been broken.

‘Charley, you’re hurt. Let me see—’

‘It’s nothing; I fell when we were outside.’ Charley turns her face away. ‘Don’t fuss, Mum.’

‘Is anyone here hungry?’ Grace forces herself to sound cheerful; she’ll check Charley later, when her friends aren’t there. She might get the full story then. ‘We didn’t eat supper; you might want something now?’

They stare at her blankly.

‘I’ll heat something up.’

Charley and Blake nod, but Poppy looks at her as if she scarcely knows her. Izzy doesn’t reply. The forgotten food has congealed on the plates in the kitchen; it looks greasy and unappetizing. They need comfort food, something warming, easy to digest. There are three cans of tomato soup in the back of the cupboard, hidden away as if Eve was ashamed of keeping tinned food. Grace opens them all, tipping the thick orange liquid into a pot and setting it on the stove to heat. She makes toast, glancing back at the silent group of children. Shouldn’t they be asking questions? Demanding to know what the police are doing, how long it will take to find Sorrel? Aren’t they frightened, as she is?

The door opens; Martin kicks off his boots and comes in, blowing on his fingers. ‘I’ve been in the barns and outhouses with the police.’ His teeth are chattering. ‘We’ve searched the garages and the shed, nothing.’

She fills mugs with soup for the children, leaving them on the coffee table in front of them with a plate of buttered toast. As Blake stretches for a mug, his sleeve slips back revealing a wound on his wrist, a round red mark, wet-looking and surprisingly deep.

‘What’s that?’ She takes his arm.

He snatches it back and shakes his sleeve down.

‘How did it happen?’

‘Science.’

‘Can I see?’

‘S’okay.’ He holds his wrist to his chest; the other children stare at her.

‘It needs cleaning.’

He shakes his head.

She rejoins Martin. ‘Blake’s got what looks like a nasty burn on his wrist. He says it’s from science; it might need treatment. Charley’s got a mark on her forehead too. We ought to speak to our kids on their own, away from the group, and find out exactly what’s been happening.’

‘I’ll take a look.’ He moves a little closer to her. ‘I’m sorry, Gracie. I made a mistake.’