It might not have been Igor, it might be worse. Sorrel might have gone to the road to look for her, forgetting that her mother was in bed. Her fluttering skirt would have shone in the gloom like a flag. Who knows what monster might have slowed as he passed, what lorry she might be in, what cellar, what boat? An adult can last thirty days without food – she googles this with trembling fingers – much less without water. She can’t find any information about a child. Fear settles closely over her, a great bird with hooded wings and talons that tear. She forces herself to shower, then puts on her clothes as though she is dressing someone else, someone old with stiff limbs that refuse to bend. When the phone goes her heart lurches. She leans against the window to take the call, out of breath as if she has been hurrying.

‘Difficult news, unexpected.’ Eric pauses.

‘What d’you mean, unexpected?’ she gasps out. ‘What’s he done?’

‘Some of Sorrel’s clothes were found under Igor’s bed – a few of them, in a tidy little pile.’

She holds the windowsill, afraid her legs will give way. ‘Which ones?’ Her mouth is dry, her head clamouring with the kind of questions no mother should have to ask. Was it the little red anorak? Her skirt? Her knickers? Were they muddy or torn? Bloodstained?

‘Not the ones she was wearing when she vanished,’ Eric replies quickly. ‘That’s all they told me. They’re still questioning him. I’ll phone back soon when I know more.’ Beneath her in the house, the front door opens and shuts. From the window she sees the children file out: Blake, Poppy who turns to look up at her, Izzy, Charley then Martin. Grace follows, watching from the step as they file into the car.

Poppy must have been persuaded to go to school by Izzy, who doubtless thought she needed distraction, as if you can be distracted when your mind is full of grief and shouting with fear. Will she cope with today? She must phone the teacher, tell her she’ll come immediately if Poppy wants to come home. She sees Martin nod at Grace before he gets into the car. He looks different seen from above; his shoulders are rounded, his abdomen protrudes. She turns her head down the garden to where the pine trees cluster behind the barns. She’s never looked at them properly before. Now she sees that they make a dark smudge in the landscape, like a mistake someone made then tried very hard to rub out.

Grace