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I read the warning again and again, my ears ringing. There’s just one reply:

ComeDineWithB: Oh no! What happened?

But then no answer.

I quickly find Yummummy25’s other Mumsnet posts, comments on ready meals for children, wedding guest dress etiquette, advice to a woman with a controlling husband.

I find the original thread and private message Yummummy25.

BrightSide: Georgia Smith has started teaching at my daughter’s school and I have some concerns. Please can you tell me what happened?

I add my number and send it and my phone rings.

‘Have you heard from Jenna?’ It’s my brother. As always, the only person who really cares about me.

I shake my head even though he can’t see me and hear myself reeling off a summary.

Tristan sighs. ‘Oh, Frankie, I’m sorry I’m not there. I’ll be home as soon as I can get away from all of this nonsense.’

‘No – don’t worry. There’s not much you can do,’ I say, but I don’t mean it.

‘I tried calling Father but he didn’t pick up,’ he says

‘I tried too. But he won’t know where she is, will he?’

‘I suppose probably not.’

‘Then I should just call the police, shouldn’t I?’

‘The police?’

‘Don’t you think? It’s been almost seven hours. I’ve asked everyone who’s likely to know apart from Rose – I mean, she could be missing herself, couldn’t she?’

‘I’m not… Do you really think Jenna’s missing?’

I take a breath. ‘I don’t know where she is. She hasn’t been seen since lunch.’ My voice breaks. This is the definition of missing, isn’t it?

‘Maybe… But the first thing the police will ask is if you’ve spoken to everyone. We do live with our parents. And they might know. Even if they don’t, it’s a step the police will want to take before anything else.’

I don’t want him to be right.

‘I can’t help it though, Tris. Georgia’s back, and the way she looked at Jenna when I dropped her off this morning, like they were best friends or, I don’t know…’ I want to say ‘like mother and daughter’ but it curdles my stomach.

‘Get yourself home. They’re probably there already. I shouldn’t be too long – we might make dinner – and we should have a sit-down before thinking about involving the police. Much love, Frankie,’ he says and rings off.

I say goodbye and get going again, winding back through the estate.

We need to sit down before we involve the police?

I press my thigh as I turn into the main road. Then my phone rings again and I put it on speaker as I drive past a field turning from green to gold.

‘Hello?’

The line crackles. Then: ‘Frances? Mr Whitlow here. I’m on my way to security. They say they’ve found something.’