My legs don’t feel like my own as I sprint across the meadow and through the copse of trees towards the concert ground. The tuning of instruments and the holler of ‘Testing . . . testing,’ all adds to the cacophony resounding in my head.

My lungs are burning by the time the woodland opens out to the manicured lawns that roll down towards the stage. I’m buoyed to see just a couple of hundred people at most, milling about within the confines of the fences surrounding the site, so I’m confident that even if I’m not able to identify Vanessa, I’ll certainly know Jacob.

I need to be quick though, as the drive leading down from the main house is already teeming with people making their way to what they hope is going to be a pleasurable evening in the sun. Until a few days ago, I thought I was going to be one of them, looking forward to my own Lady of the Manor moment with excitement as I proudly watched my husband arrange the biggest event Whitstable has ever seen.

Yet now, I doubt I’ll even be able to get into the grounds, as a man wearing an all-black ensemble, with a lanyard hanging around his neck, puts a hand out to stop me passing through the gate.

‘I’m . . .’ I start, barely able to catch my breath. ‘I’m . . . I’m the organizer’s wife.’

I may as well have said I’d just been dug up. ‘Have you got your pass?’ he says, looking me up and down with bemusement.

‘No, I left it back at home,’ I say. ‘I live over there.’ I point blindly through the trees I’ve just come through. ‘I live on the estate.’

‘You need a pass,’ he says bluntly.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, I live here! I’m Leon’s wife.’

‘Well, then you’ll be able to get another one easily enough,’ he says, holding his scanner up to a punter who’s remembered their ticket.

I haven’t got time for this, I want to scream, reaching for my phone in my back pocket to call Leon. I try the other one and helplessly pat myself down, but I already know it’s not there. I must have left it on the bed when I raced out of the house.

I consider rushing him, but he’s big and strong, and even if I got past him, where would I go? I don’t even know what I’m looking for; I just know I’ve got to find it.