‘So is it OK if I bring them through, love? Just for five or ten minutes? Might cheer you up. Nurse says she can make an exception so long as we keep it short.’

Sarah looks at her mother and knows that this is not really a question. Her mother has a very specific expression when she is shaping a recommendation as a question. She leans forward slightly, doesn’t blink and then raises her eyebrows, signalling that only the correct answer will actually be heard. Namely – yes. As a young child, Sarah would rail against this tactic, but she learned long ago that resistance is futile. And she has no energy for more lectures.

‘OK. But I’m feeling tired, so not for long.’

It’s day six, and Sarah has been reassured that her liver function is improving. The consultant is looking a good deal less concerned when he pops by the bed, and nurses now say that everything is going in the right direction. The psych team are finally off her back and there is even talk of her going home soon.

Sarah is not sure how she feels about going home. She is still reeling from how quickly her emotions shift from hour to hour. How she has so swiftly moved on from fear of death to impatience with the hospital and her mother.

And the other big bogey is back – worrying what will have come out of the television appeal.

The friends troop into the room looking cowed. Sarah is now in a side room just off the general children’s ward. At seventeen, she does not qualify for an adult ward, so this provision is to make her feel less awkward. Away from the babies. The nurses have told her she is ‘lucky’ that this side room was free.

Lucky?

‘We didn’t know what to bring so we decided on sugar. Your mum won’t approve, but hey.’ Tim is holding a little carton of biscuits and a box of fudge.

Sarah decides she will punish them all for as long as possible, and

refuses to look anyone in the eye.

Just last night she dreamed about them all at the farm, a birthday party Mrs Ballard threw for Tim. He must have been ten, maybe eleven. Anna’s mum had been horrified when she discovered Tim’s mother didn’t bother with parties, and made this huge fuss – a big tea and a star-shaped chocolate cake with fresh cream. Tim and Paul brought a balloon-modelling kit and learned how to make sausage dogs, swords and hats. Walking along the narrow road from the farm to get her lift home after the party, she’d had a bright yellow sausage dog tucked under her arm. She had been so happy that day and so sad it was over. She had felt her expression changing; the two boys looking at her sideways. Always hard to go home, isn’t it? She can’t remember who said it, Tim or Paul, but she remembers exactly how she felt as she nodded – sad, but sort of guilty, too. She knew it was wrong to prefer Anna’s family to her own, but she just couldn’t help it.

And now? Sarah finally looks up and glances from face to face. She wonders what on earth happened to them all. When exactly did they stop being who they were to each other back then?

Jenny looks pale, and Sarah finds herself hoping she is remembering the horrible things she said during their row. It wasn’t just the two boys who were cruel. But then a picture of Anna in the club flashes into Sarah’s mind, and she closes her eyes and leans back on her many pillows.

‘Sorry. Are you feeling all right? Do we need to get a nurse?’ Jenny’s voice.

‘I’m fine. Just tired.’

‘Right, yes. Of course. Look, we promised your mum we wouldn’t stay long but we just wanted . . .’ Jenny’s voice trails off and she suddenly sucks in air.

‘Look, we came because we wanted to say sorry. For what we said.’ It is Tim who has stepped forward.

Sarah opens her eyes and looks again from one to the other. Tim. Paul.

Jenny.

‘We just felt so guilty. For swanning off to do other stuff. That’s the truth.’ Paul is fidgeting with his belt buckle. ‘We shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

‘You’re sorry you said it . . . but you still think it’s my fault?’

Sarah keeps her gaze on the boys. They had been the most outspoken when they had the row.

‘It’s those men. If they could just find those men.’ Jenny again.

Finally, Sarah takes a deep breath. ‘So – how did the TV appeal go?

Many calls? I’ve got my phone back but not enough data to see it.’

The ice broken, they babble about how much the appeal helped. Loads of calls, apparently. Sarah lies again and says the pills really were an accident

and they’re not to worry.

‘So you won’t do it again?’ Jenny’s tone is urgent.

‘No. I won’t. I promised my mum I would be more careful, and I couldn’t put her through that again. It was completely stupid. So tell me then. This TV appeal. What exactly did they show?’

Jenny says that she’s really pleased they used the lovely video of Anna, and also one of the photographs that she emailed the producer of the programme, but her mother was upset that her interview had been cut back so dramatically.

‘They edited out all the bits of her talking about other missing girls who have turned up and her saying that no one should give up hope – that any piece of information might be key to finding Anna alive.’

Everyone is silent for a moment. Sarah closes her eyes again.

And then her mother is suddenly back in the room, ushering everyone out and saying that the staff have bent the rules and they don’t want to push their luck.

They each say goodbye and sorry, yet again.

After they have gone, Sarah’s mother sits on the chair next to the bed and fidgets. She smooths her skirt over and over.

‘What’s the matter, Mum?’ ‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, there is.’

Her mother pours some cordial into Sarah’s empty glass and tops it up with water from the plastic jug. She examines the box of fudge as if reading the description on the back.

‘OK. So the police have been in touch again, Sarah. And of course the doctors say you are too poorly to see them. I wanted to keep this from you. You’ve been through quite enough but apparently they do want another little chat with you once you’re home, so I thought you should know. Prepare yourself. So it doesn’t set you back.’

‘What about? What do they want to talk to me about?’

‘Apparently there have been some more witnesses from the club. After the TV appeal. That’s all I know.’

‘But I’ve told them everything. Everything I know.’ ‘I know, love.’

‘No. I don’t want to talk to them again.’

‘OK, love. I understand. No need to upset yourself. I’ll try to explain to them that you need to rest.’

And now Sarah is leaning back on her pillows, closing her eyes and trying once again to block out the echo of Anna’s voice. The desperation on her face that night in the club.

Please, Sarah. I don’t feel safe. I’m begging you. Please . . .