She drove around for another twenty minutes. She went back to the house and called her. As she came back out on to the street Vera was pulling into her driveway. Jake was waiting for her with his paws on the bay window, barking happily, twirling and spinning, chasing his tail with excitement. Lynn ran over, breathless, but before she could get a word out, Vera was talking at her. She pointed to the window and the dog doing his celebration dance. ‘That dog is the dumbest animal God ever created but how could you not love the bones of him? The big eejit,’ she said, taking her shopping out of the back.

‘Vera, please tell me you’ve seen Bridie!’ Lynn panted.

Vera dropped her shopping. ‘You’ve lost Bridie?’

Lynn nodded. ‘I lost Bridie. I took me eye off her for less than three minutes.’

‘How long ago?’

Lynn looked at her watch. ‘Forty-five minutes.’

‘Jesus, and you’re sure it was less than three minutes?’

‘Three minutes and no more.’

‘Well, wherever she went she didn’t walk. This is a cul-de-sac, there’s only one way out and Bridie wasn’t a sprinter even back in the good old days. So the question is, who’d she get a lift with and where were they going?’

Lynn remembered the last of the journalists packing up just before she went to the toilet. ‘Oh, God, she’s gone to the press conference!’

‘Well, then, I’d get on over there.’

‘I could kiss you, Vera.’

‘I wouldn’t thank you for it.’ Vera chuckled. ‘Now, go on.’

‘I owe you.’ Lynn ran back to the car.

Lynn arrived at the press conference just as it was starting. The school hall had a stage and that was where they’d set up the long trestle table and covered it with a white cotton cloth. Two chairs were placed at the centre of it, with microphones positioned in front of them. There was one bottle of water and two glasses and behind, projected on the white wall, the now familiar large picture of the two boys. The rest of the room was filled with foldaway chairs and there wasn’t a spare seat. She glanced around feverishly, hoping to see Bridie. Guards in uniform milled about, cameramen fixed up their tripods, journalists chatted among themselves and others talked into cameras with lights on against a background of shuffling movement. As Lynn took it all in, the walls began to close on her, her breath shortened and she felt the familiar shocking pain. She must have looked ill because a woman appeared from nowhere and offered her a seat.

‘Thank you,’ Lynn said, fumbling for her spray.

‘You’re Bridie’s friend,’ the woman said.

‘You know Bridie?’

‘She came here with me.’

‘Oh, God, you’re one of the journalists who was packing up outside, aren’t you?’

The woman smiled and held out her hand. ‘I’m Joan.’