I rang the Singapore Hilton and could not make the first girl understand what I wanted and needed to know. I could feel my voice rising and Jack took the phone and calmly went over it all again. Then he put his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘They’re getting the manager.’

Jack repeated his message once more and then listened. I watched his face change and he flashed me an anxious look. He gave the man our number and said, yes, we would ring later. He put the phone down and came over to me.

‘Your mother booked in for one night only…’ He hesitated. ‘She didn’t catch the airport bus when it came and no one could find her. Her luggage is still all in her room and she hasn’t booked out of the hotel. No one has seen her since early yesterday morning.’

I stared at him, felt the blood drain from my face. Something really had happened to Fleur.

Jack took my hand. ‘I’m going to run you a bath and then make you toast. You’re getting into bed. Do you hear me? We’ve had one fright with the baby, we don’t want another…’ He paused.

‘What?’ I asked. ‘What is it?’

‘The manager is going to contact the police if she doesn’t return tonight. We’re to ring the hotel in the morning. They are going to ask Fleur to ring us immediately if she comes back.’

My back ached and Jack ran me a bath and made me get in it. I was glad to be in bed. He came and sat on the edge of it with toast, which we shared. Then he brought the phone upstairs where we could hear it and I checked my mobile was switched on. He went for a shower and then got into bed and held me tight, and even though he warmed me I could not stop imagining all the terrible things that could have happened to Fleur.

Jack always could fall asleep straight away and he did tonight. He had been up since 5.30. I lay there against him thinking it served me bloody well right. I had not wanted my mother to come and now she was probably dead in some alleyway in Singapore. Or…Or what? If she had been taken ill she would have had her passport on her, and hotel and flight details. If she was in hospital we would know by now. Which meant she was in trouble. Or dead.

I shivered and carried on circuitous conversations in my head. It was a long time since I had prayed. I tried to remember what my mother had said to me on our one and only telephone conversation, how her voice had sounded, and I couldn’t.

If my mother was dead, I would be to blame for not checking all her plans in detail, like any daughter would have done. For not phoning or texting or letting her know she could contact me and not feel a nuisance. For not monitoring her progress thousands of miles towards me. For not caring enough; for being wickedly self-absorbed and childishly selfish.