Now, standing at Emma’s door, Steph seemed to sway, untethered. None of this should be happening. She should be catching up on The Apprentice with Freya, discussing how irritating all the contestants were, Freya’s feet lolling across her lap.

Panic swept her as she tried to remember the last time they’d actually sat like that on the sofa, actually watched an episode together. It had once been their never-missed thing, but for the last few weeks Freya had claimed homework and disappeared into her room, leaving Steph to press Record and feel bereft. She imagined episodes stacking up on their cable box, waiting for Freya’s return, and the thought made her want to howl.

The door opened in front of her and she struggled to reset her face.

Emma’s outfit was more subdued than usual: knee-length gray sweater over mustard-colored tights. A closer look revealed that her collar and cuffs sported tiny jeweled pineapples. Steph had never been sure of Emma’s age. She was petite, with a youthful face and fashion sense, but sometimes there were glimmers of maturity. Once, for example, they’d seen each other in the street when Freya had just sprinted off for her bus, Steph was doing up the fiddly buttons on her long coat, and Emma was folding polythene-wrapped dresses into the boot of her battered car. Emma and Steph had swapped the usual pleasantries. Then Emma had nodded toward Freya, flying down the road with her phone at her ear, and said, She’s full of life, isn’t she? Steph remembered how it had made her pause, surprised and pleased at this insight into how others saw her daughter. But also, Emma’s observation had seemed to place her closer to Steph’s age bracket than Freya’s.

“Steph,” Emma said now, “I . . . Freya . . .”

“She’s gone missing,” Steph said, and the words enclosed her in dread.

Emma nodded, blinking. “I’m so sorry. You must be so worried.”

You have no idea, Steph felt like saying. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d knocked on Emma’s door. She’d had a thought that her neighbor might have seen something. Steph got the impression she was home during the day, more than she used to be: Her Corsa was constantly parked in the street. The police would talk to all the locals but Steph had the chance to act sooner, faster, to find her, find her, find her.

More than that, though, she couldn’t face being alone. Couldn’t let herself think about the way Paul had reacted, where he might have gone, and how all the things they’d never properly talked about might somehow be linked to this, the worst day of their previously unspoiled family life.