Will stayed on the estuary side of the road, where he could observe without drawing attention to himself until he had passed the press crowd, then crossed over, continuing until he was more or less parallel to where the old funfair had been sited. This was where Marnie had climbed over the fence. In daylight it was clear that Mrs deVillars had been wandering towards where the old funfair used to be.

In the old days, that area had been surrounded by fencing decorated with murals of lasso-swinging cowboys, bucking broncos and smiley-faced cacti, with strategic viewing holes giving tantalising glimpses of the gardens and the rides inside. Now the fencing was gone and it looked like a set for a zombie film. The scaffolding that once supported the flume was half collapsed like an old drunk slumped down on one knee. The fun-house was boarded up, the bumper cars huddled together at the far end of their rink, which sloped downwards so that the lower end was submerged beneath dirty water. Broken blocks of concrete and churned-up mud were everywhere. Beyond was the police tape and, mostly hidden beside two strategically placed dumper trucks, the sinister tent that covered the place close to where the old carousel used to stand.

A small group was gathered nearby. Police officers, contractors and a man in a long coat and a hat. The man had his back to Will but Will heard him say: ‘It was my mother. She’s in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s and has a tendency to wander.’

Will’s heart began to race and the old fury flickered: Guy deVillars.

‘I must say,’ Guy continued, speaking with the trademark confidence of the born-privileged, ‘I’m appalled she was able to get so close to the machinery. One would have thought security would have been in place.’

‘The guard was patrolling the other side of the site at the time,’ said one of the officers.

‘If any harm had come to her…’

‘I appreciate your concerns, Mr deVillars, but we can’t be watching everywhere all the time.’

Guy had a point. It was surprising that someone as frail as Camille deVillars had managed to come so far into the park, but then she had known every inch of it since childhood. If there was somewhere inside Channel View, what was left of it, where she wanted to be, Will didn’t doubt that she would find a way in.

He took out his phone and made a video, feeling nostalgia for the funfair as it used to be. It had been open to the general public as well as the campers, and during summer weekends and school holidays it was packed. The air used to smell of fried onions and candy floss; the place was full of sunburned shoulders, kiss-me-quick hats and kids hyped up on coconut ice and fizzy pop.