‘Well, there are a lot of lodges overlooking lakes in the country, but who knows? This is certainly better than nothing. I’ll take a photo,’ Amber says, getting her phone out and taking a quick snap of the drawing before handing it back to the girl. ‘I can then take it home with me and do some searching on the net.’

‘Vegetarian breakfast,’ a bored voice calls out. The porter appears, lays the new breakfast – a sorry-looking Quorn sausage – on the table and slams down a coffee, some of it spilling over the sides. ‘Coffee for you too.’ Then he walks off.

Amber bursts out laughing, expecting the girl to laugh too but instead she’s staring at her drawing, a furrow in her brow.

‘What’s wrong?’ Amber ask her.

The girl looks up, eyes filled with tears. ‘Something bad happened there. Something … really bad. I just felt it as I was looking at the photo. But I can’t grasp what happened,’ she adds in frustration.

A shiver runs down Amber’s back. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she says, trying to reassure the girl. ‘Probably just this whole situation making you think like that.’

The girl nods but doesn’t look convinced. As Amber watches her half-heartedly dig her fork into the sausage, she makes a promise to herself: she’ll do everything she can to get this girl safely home.

Half an hour later, Amber is walking towards her flat. She’s promised the girl she’d be back in time for the police visit. She’d leave the shop closed today. It wasn’t like anything would be sold anyway and the painting would just need to be delayed a few hours. As she goes to put her key in the door, her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and sees it’s her mum.

‘Hi, Mum,’ she says as she puts it to her ear, hovering it between her neck and shoulder as she lets herself into the main part of the block of flats she lives in. It’s a three-storey building enclosing a pretty garden. There’s a nice feel there, close enough to the sea to hear it, but far enough from town to avoid the noise from the late-night pubs. Amber had moved in three months after she and Jasper had split up, and that was ten years ago now. He’d insisted she stay in the house they’d shared together, but she hadn’t been able to face it. Without Katy, it was just a black hole of grief and painful memories. The flat meant a clean start, a complete contrast to the busy, bright family home they’d had. Walls painted white, a white kitchen, minimal furniture.

‘I tried calling you,’ Rita says. ‘You haven’t picked up!’

‘I’ve been at the hospital.’

‘With the girl?’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘She’s been at the hospital, Viv,’ Rita calls out. ‘With the girl!’