Michael Reyji Ray. Environmentalist. Music legend. Happily married to his childhood sweetheart. And what a dancer. A bad guy? You’ve got to be kidding – I have three of his albums. And I had the biggest crush on him when I was a teenager …

I pace by the gate as the phone rings and rings. Eventually a voice clicks on the line.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’ I start gabbling like a maniac. ‘Helen? Liberty’s gone. Might Julianne know where she is?’

‘Miss Miller?’

I hesitate. ‘Julianne? Is that you? When did you grow up? You sound just like your mother.’

‘Yes, it’s me, Miss Miller. Mum left for work already.’

‘Do you know where Liberty is, Julianne? She … she wasn’t in her bed when I woke up this morning.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ says Julianne.

‘You … I mean, you girls were friends once. Has she told you anything?’

‘We were friends about a hundred years ago,’ says Julianne, sounding suddenly prim. ‘Liberty changed. She doesn’t play chess or scrabble anymore … and now she’s into all that punk rock music stuff.’

‘She talked about someone called Abi. Do you know who that is?’

‘Oh, her. Yes, they hang out all the time, singing. Everyone thinks they’re going to be famous.’

‘Do you have a number for her?’

‘No. I don’t even have Liberty’s number anymore. Have you tried calling Liberty? She has a phone, doesn’t she?’

‘She doesn’t have her phone with her. I took it last night.’

‘Have you looked on her phone? For friends’ phone numbers?’

‘Her phone is locked. I don’t have the passcode. Where could she be?’

‘I have no idea, Miss Miller. We don’t really hang out anymore. I don’t appreciate Liberty’s attitude at school, to be honest. She thinks she’s better than everyone, just because she’s in a band. We don’t have an awful lot in common.’

‘A band? Liberty’s in a band?’ Panic. Utter panic.

‘Well … yeah. Didn’t you know? They think they’re going to be like the Beatles or something. Well, not the Beatles. I don’t know what sort of music they play.’

‘I didn’t know she was in a band.’ Nausea rises again. And then I start rambling: ‘Julianne. I think … maybe Liberty’s gone to see her father.’

Julianne hesitates. ‘There’s someone I could call. One of Liberty’s bandmates. Freddy. He’s okay. He’s in chess club with me. He might know where she is.’ I can almost hear her nodding at the phone. ‘I’ll text you his number.’

Julianne hangs up and I grab an ancient packet of cigarettes from the kitchen drawer and do something I haven’t done for years – smoke.

When the text finally comes through, I’ve smoked a cigarette right down to the butt, coughing after every inhale.