She jumped off Barton Bee and strode up Andrea’s gangplank to join her on the deck. Andrea was sitting at a slatted wooden table covered with a ferociously detailed puzzle on a roll-up jigsaw mat. Most of it was completed, with just one chunk of the middle left to do.

Meredith picked up the box lid and looked at the picture – a park scene with far too many identical-looking trees and white clouds, populated by people in sixties dress, boys fishing for minnows, girls in miniskirts and tank tops, skipping rope. She could see why Andrea had left that particular middle section till last – it was almost all pink cherry blossom. The remaining pieces in the bottom of the box were a muddle of pink and white.

Sun soaked into her tired bones, and she tipped her head back to feel its rays warm her cheeks, letting the box lid fall onto the deck.

‘Lovely evening.’

‘Yes. I get you a drink, then you tell me what’s wrong.’

Meredith made a face. ‘Don’t ask. Really.’

Andrea came over and gave her a spontaneous hug. Then she picked up a strand of Meredith’s hair. ‘Let me cut. Is too long for you.’

Andrea had converted one of her tiny bedrooms into a fully equipped mini salon, complete with spotlit mirror, basin and one black chair for a customer. She was one of the most in-demand hairdressers in the area – as long as clients were nimble enough to get down the often-slippery steps to the waterside.

‘Maybe later. Thanks, though.’

Andrea disappeared into the galley and Meredith sighed, feeling about ninety years old. She must only stay for one, she decided, otherwise she might end up telling Andrea what had gone on this week, and not just the bit about Ralph being missing. Meredith idly scrutinised the jigsaw, all the stylised caricatures of people going about their business, mostly on a pathway through the park. A glamorous-looking young mother sat smoking on a bench while holding the handle of one of those huge old prams, presumably rocking it.

She picked up a piece that looked like it might belong in the flowerbed next to the bench, but it didn’t.

Meredith wished she could have a cigarette, but until last night she hadn’t smoked for fifteen years, and she didn’t want to start again now.

Andrea returned and handed her a tall, cold G&T, the condensation on the glass sparkling in the sun, a thick chunk of lime bobbing in the fizz. No drink had ever looked so appealing. Meredith took a long swallow.

‘Thank you – oh God, that’s so good. Just what I need.’

‘The baby is missing,’ Andrea said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

‘What?’ Meredith was alarmed, thinking Andrea meant her own baby.

‘Look,’ she said, pointing at the empty pram in the puzzle. ‘And face is not in box, I have searched and searched.’