I walk into the kitchen and pick up the kettle, angling it under the tap. ‘According to the police,’ I say above the sound of water gushing, ‘Nick is “absent”, not missing. He won’t be missing for at least another twenty-four hours. Until that time, please could we underplay this, for Lottie’s sake? I understand why you’ve come – you’re anxious – but she’s upset enough as it is, and this is just adding to the drama.’

‘Excuse me—’

‘Now, Cora.’ Tim steps forward, like a referee coming between two warring footballers. He takes the kettle from me, places it on its stand and flicks the switch. ‘There is nothing to be gained by upsetting each other. Let’s sit down and talk this through. Have you eaten anything, Grace?’

‘Not a lot.’

Trust Tim to be the one to notice. He leads me to a chair and sits me down, then makes me a cheese and chutney sandwich. I am so close to tears that his kindness almost pushes me over the edge. Lottie comes in, takes two slices of bread out of the packet and puts them in the toaster.

We sit in silence round the kitchen table while Lottie eats her toast, then when she starts removing the contents of her book bag, Cora finally loses patience.

‘Lottie, please. Go and do that in the sitting room or your bedroom. I’m sorry, dear, but the grown-ups need to talk.’

‘Mum,’ Lottie objects, her jaw set.

‘Sorry, darling. Just for ten minutes.’

She scowls, but she does as she’s told. I follow her into the hall, feeling guilty for not sticking up for her.

‘It’s not her house,’ she says fiercely. ‘She can’t tell me what to do.’

I close the kitchen door. ‘Shh. Keep your voice down. She’s just worried, Lottie. She’s Nick’s mum. We have to be kind to her.’

‘She’s not always kind to you.’

I pause, surprised. I didn’t think it was that obvious. ‘That’s just her way. She doesn’t mean it.’

I speak to the police and am told that the detective in charge of Nick’s case is out. Even though I press for information, I’m put off. But at least I have a meeting now; with a DI Marsh.

Cora has been listening to every word. ‘You should have let me make that call,’ she says. ‘I know how to deal with them. I’d better come with you tomorrow.’

Toffee trots over and puts his paw on her knee. She removes it and brushes imaginary dirt off her trousers.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m going on my own.’

She sighs. ‘If that’s the way you want it. Now, tell us everything that’s been going on.’

‘I don’t know where to start.’

A wave of sadness catches me off guard. What if he doesn’t come back? What will I do without him?