“The police have been questioning us all in turn: Eve, Eric, me, Paul, Igor; everyone who was around last night. They’re having a break now; it’ll be you and Martin next. Paul’s had enough; he wants Izzy to come back with us but she’s refused.” Melly’s voice is trembling. “She says Poppy needs her to stay the night. Paul’s waiting outside, he’s put my bag in the car. I’m not sure what to do.” Her eyes are lowered, as if reluctant to look Grace in the eye.

“Go home with your husband, Melly.” Melly clearly feels guilty for keeping quiet about Martin and Eve, but Grace has had time to think and now she understands. Melly meant well; if Paul had been unfaithful, she might not have told Melly either, out of compassion, and the hope the affair would burn itself out. “Tell Paul I’ll keep an eye on Izzy. My kids can stay too, it’s late. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back,” Melly promises. “First thing tomorrow.”

Grace nods. When disaster struck in her grandparents’ village, family moved in, kept the children fed and the homestead alive; as long as it took. Eve doesn’t have family; it’s down to her now, her and Melly.

Paul is waiting in the car, staring ahead, grim-faced. He turns as the door opens, gives an unsmiling salute to Grace as Melly climbs in beside him then drives off quickly, gravel spraying from the wheels.

The wood burner has gone out in the main room. At the far end, Poppy, Izzy, and Blake sprawl over one another on the sofa like animals in a litter. Their faces are grimy from searching in the wood. Blake looks hollow-eyed. Charley is lying on the floor with the dog. Grace sees with a shock there is a dark mark on her forehead, the skin has been broken.

“Charley, you’re hurt. Let me see—”

“It’s nothing; I fell when we were outside.” Charley turns her face away. “Don’t fuss, Mum.”

“Is anyone here hungry?” Grace forces herself to sound cheerful; she’ll check Charley later, when her friends aren’t there. She might get the full story then. “We didn’t eat supper; you might want something now?”

They stare at her blankly.

“I’ll heat something up.”

Charley and Blake nod, but Poppy looks at her as if she scarcely knows her. Izzy doesn’t reply. The forgotten food has congealed on the plates in the kitchen; it looks greasy and unappetizing. They need comfort food, something warming, easy to digest. There are three cans of tomato soup in the back of the cupboard, hidden away as if Eve was ashamed of keeping canned food. Grace opens them all, tipping the thick orange liquid into a pot and setting it on the stove to heat. She makes toast, glancing back at the silent group of children. Shouldn’t they be asking questions? Demanding to know what the police are doing, how long it will take to find Sorrel? Aren’t they frightened, as she is?