Qantas Flight QF31 from Heathrow (via Singapore) landed on time and without incident. A silence hung over the waiting crowd that soon enough gave way to shouts, tears and laughter as the first passengers exited into the lounge. Some people poured into the arms of their loved ones, while others beat a path through the crowd to their waiting drivers or the taxi rank beyond.

A pretty woman with a corn-coloured ponytail collapsed into the arms of her waiting man. Then, temporarily forgetting where she was and who was watching, she kissed him passionately on the mouth. Nearby, an elderly Asian couple waved frantically as a man pushed a pram towards them, twin boys dozing inside. Kate watched them, waiting for her turn.

She was a little surprised John wasn’t among the first passengers to arrive. He always flew business class, which gave him access to express lanes and priority service.

Mia went up on tiptoe to scan the crowd. ‘Do you see him?’ she asked.

‘Not yet, monkey,’ Kate said.

They watched the big glass doors keenly. They slid open again. This time, a smaller group of passengers paraded out.

‘I see him, I see him!’ Mia squealed, pulling her balloon down and facing its message towards the door. Then her shoulders sank. ‘No. Wait. That’s not him.’

The second wave of passengers dispersed. There was still no sign of John. The glass doors closed, opened. An elderly gentleman hobbled out, holding a cane in his left hand and a dusty old Samsonite in his right. The corridor behind him was empty.

Kate checked the flight board, double-checked they were in the right place at the right time, then triple-checked. Surprise gave way to concern.

‘Mum?’ Mia said.

‘Keep watching, monkey. He probably just got caught up at baggage claim or he’s being hassled by a fussy customs officer. He’ll be here. Just you wait.’

They waited. Eventually, trying to keep the alarm from creeping over her face, Kate found her phone and dialled John’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. She tried again. Again, voicemail. He had probably forgotten to switch his phone out of flight mode, she told herself. Either that or he had left his charger plugged into the wall of his hotel suite and arrived in Australia with a dead battery.

She began to chew her nails.

The glass doors opened. Kate drew in a tight breath. Three stragglers emerged: a middle-aged couple, who seemed to be in the middle of an argument, and a young backpacker with dirty skin and a tangle of dreadlocks falling across one shoulder. Nobody was waiting for them. The doors closed, opened. This time the flight crew wandered out, chatting casually to one another, happy to have reached the end of their shifts.

Where are you, John? Kate thought.