I put on my sympathetic face, the one I use for when people criticise the media. (It’s not like I don’t know how callous we sometimes come across.) ‘We get a lot of reports of people going missing – thousands of them every year – and it’s hard to get all of them in the paper.’

‘I suppose I thought people would be as frantic as we are,’ Ruby replied. ‘It’s as I said at the press conference: this is totally out of character for Mum.’ She made a grim face. ‘Goodness, I hear myself saying that and I can hardly believe what’s coming out of my mouth. I feel like one of those actors in a crime drama. But I can’t stress it enough, Mr Fawcett, this honestly is out of character for her.’

I said, ‘Call me Jack.’

The waiter came back with Ruby’s tea. He made a big fuss of putting everything down – cup, saucer, strainer, spoon – and he was beaming when he announced, ‘You will be having the buffet breakfast!’

I looked at Ruby, who shook her head, no, so I told him we just wanted to talk in private. That seemed to confuse him, but he nodded and backed away, holding a napkin under his teapot. I waited for him to be out of earshot before I said, ‘Ruby, I want you to tell me, as frankly as you can, based on your instincts, what do you think has happened to your mum?’

Ruby wasn’t drinking her tea, just staring into it, and she had her fingers resting gently around the rim of her cup. ‘Are you asking me if I think my mother is dead, Mr Fawcett?’

I was a bit taken aback. Obviously I was wondering if Ruby understood that, given her mum had been missing for weeks with no sign of her, she was most likely dead, but I would never have said that to her. ‘I just want to know what you think has happened.’

‘Of course I accept that she may well be dead, Mr Fawcett. Jack. I can see how bad this looks. Yes, there’s a possibility that something has happened to her – that she’s fallen, or tripped, and has a memory loss – but there’s also a very good chance that she’s come to harm.’

She reached down to pick up the ‘Mum’ folder from under her seat, saying, ‘I actually brought along some photographs and other bits and pieces to show you how completely normal and lovely Mum is. She’s just a typical grandmother, mad about the grandchildren, not the kind of person who would disappear without a very good explanation.’

She took out a couple of photographs of her mum playing with the grandkids: Agnes was holding Ruby’s little girl, Stella, steady on a pony ride in one of them, and there was another where she was riding with Ruby’s boy, Rocco, on some kind of rollercoaster.

I said, ‘How many grandkids has your mum got?’