Maisie’s heart threatened to stop. Her fingers loosened and the keys slipped to the ground. Danny Fox. I can’t cope with Danny Fox. Clamouring voices vying for attention. Strangers asking questions Maisie couldn’t or wasn’t prepared to answer. The front door seemed miles away. The car door was straight ahead and locked. The keys, the keys, where are the stupid keys? Maisie bent over to search the muddy ground for them and her inquisitors descended on her.

‘Get off her, yis leeches!’ Valerie shouted, and pushed the man closest. Maisie continued scrabbling for the keys in the wet grass and mud while her youngest stood guard, pushing random strangers away from her.

Suddenly Fred’s face appeared through the throng, his strong arms coming around her and hauling her up. ‘Let’s go,’ he barked. He led her and Valerie away, shutting them into his car. He leaned over Maisie’s knees and rooted in the glovebox, then presented her with some tissues. ‘Here.’

She took them and wiped her knees and hands, as best she could. They were halfway down the road before anyone spoke.

‘Where are we going?’ Maisie asked.

‘To join the search,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that where you were headed?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ She was glad he was there.

‘Right, then.’

‘Ma’sie soaked the journos at the door and gave out shite to the neighbours,’ Valerie said, with great pride.

‘Did she? Whatever happened to “no comment”?’

‘She said that too.’

‘Well, that’s OK, then.’ He winked at Valerie.

He’s so good with her, Maisie thought. Much better than I am. Danny Fox’s voice spoke in her head calling her terrible, vicious, hurtful names, and concluded, It’s your fault, Maisie. It’s all your fault.

‘Any news?’ Maisie asked, in a bid to silence Danny.

‘Nothing yet, Mai, but people are rallyin’ and that’s good.’

‘I want Jeremy’s stuff back,’ she said.

‘You’ll get it in good time.’

She was silent for the rest of the journey, looking out of the window at the changed world. Different but the same, she thought, as they drove past familiar shops and faces.

The car park was full of people, all walking around in raingear. There were plenty of guards, too, standing around holding walkie-talkies, a few journalists and a TV crew. Two guards created a line between them and the volunteers. Tom was in the centre of the crowd, speaking through a megaphone.

‘Can anyone who has a mobile phone with them stand to the left and hold it up, please?’

About twenty of the eighty-strong assembly held up mobile phones and moved to the left.

‘Good. Now put this number in your phones.’ He called it out. ‘Do not dial that number unless you find something relating to the missing boys.’ He repeated the number again slowly, while the men and women with phones eagerly keyed it in.