He tried sharing personal information regarding his family, his ex-wife, his grown-up kids, the curse of his arthritic knee, attempting to encourage Megan to open up and talk, but with only limited success.

Megan wasn’t inclined to share. She’d said enough and heard enough too. But that didn’t stop Lewis trying. The more he said, the more she clammed up, right up to the time she couldn’t swallow her sense of betrayal for another moment when she told him exactly where he could stick his apologies. Lewis took it on the chin, knowing he’d have said a great deal worse in her place. It was surprising she was talking to him at all.

‘Tell me about Lottie.’

For the first time during the journey, Megan turned in her seat to face him. Most friends and acquaintances wanted to avoid asking about Lottie. They seemed awkward, tongue-tied, as people often were following the death of a loved one. Some had even crossed the street on seeing her, keen to avoid contact.

Megan wanted people to talk of Lottie. She wanted them to acknowledge her existence. To express their grief and hope. To offer their prayers to whatever God they believed in. And so, Megan welcomed Lewis’s question, whatever his motives. Whether he was merely making conversation, asking in the interests of the case, or if he were actually interested as he’d claimed, didn’t matter a great deal. Megan was just pleased that he’d asked at all. She smiled for the first time that day. Not a warm smile, not a happy smile, but, a smile nonetheless. A smile that told its own story. ‘What do you want to know?’

Lewis signalled to turn right, lifting his foot off the accelerator and touching the brake as the traffic slowed almost to a stop. ‘Tell me all about her, her personality, her hobbies, her likes and dislikes. She seems like a lovely little girl. I’d like to know more about her. It sometimes helps to build up a picture of a missing person, whatever their age. I like to know who I’m looking for.’

Megan thought that if she began weeping again, she might never stop. She feared she might cry for eternity, floods of tears flowing until she was old, wrung out and dry. And so she resisted her grief, talking of happier times, telling Lewis about Lottie’s maternal grandmother, her school friends, her love of books, dancing, and gymnastics. And the frogs too.

As Megan spoke, she clung on to hope. She also prayed, pleading, bargaining, offering herself as a sacrifice, anything at all to potentially aid Lottie’s rescue. In truth, Megan had no idea if God was listening. But what else could she do? She’d distributed the posters. She’d walked around the town for hour after hour in the forlorn hope that she may see Lottie, or gain some hint as to her location. She’d talked to the police; she’d pleaded her case, and appeared at the press conference. Now, all that was left was hope.