On Monday afternoon, a search was organised. Alice might have gone walking across the fields, or by the estuary, and slipped and fallen. She might be lying injured somewhere. Will was feeling increasingly anxious. He couldn’t eat or sleep or concentrate on anything. Angharad and John told Will not to join the search party, but to stay away; to stay in the chalet. He realised, now, that they too must have wondered if he had done something to Alice. Perhaps that was what they still believed, which explained why Angharad had been so adamant Will have a solicitor with him when he spoke to the police.

On the day of the search, Will waited around the holiday park, as he’d been told to wait. He heard voices in the distance calling Alice’s name. He heard sirens. He felt sick to the core.

He was afraid of the police; afraid of being accused of hurting Alice when all he’d ever wanted to do was love her. And he was worried about the one person who knew more than anyone else, the person who could get him in the most trouble: Marnie.

Everyone, including John Morahan, was out in the fields looking for Alice. Will slipped out of the chalet, trotted across the road and let himself into the caretaker’s cottage. He called, ‘It’s me, Marnie! Will!’ and went up the narrow stairs, two at a time. He stopped at the top. Through the small square of the landing window, he saw a police car draw up and turn into the park. His heart pounded. The travellers were gone now; Marnie was the only witness to the fight between Will and Alice. He opened the door to the child’s room and stepped inside.

The curtains were half drawn but it was stiflingly hot. The slice of space where the light came in was blindingly bright, everywhere else was gloomy. Will could see a section of the bed, the crumpled sheets, one skinny, brown, bare leg on top, a line of midge bites climbing the calf, a scab at the knee, a small, dirty foot.

There was darkness at the head end of the bed. Will’s eyes, dazzled by the sunlight, couldn’t make out Marnie’s face at all.

He heard a small sniff.

‘Hey, scruffbag, I brought you these.’ He held out a bag of jelly babies he’d bought at the stores. ‘Do you want one?’

A tiny voice: ‘No.’

‘Well, they’re for you. You can have them when you feel a bit better.’

Will sat on the edge of the bed and waited until his eyes adjusted and he could see her.