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‘And who’s this?’ asks Glan from the neighbouring farm, out in his worn overalls and muddied wellies and clearly oblivious to the odour that’s following him around.

‘A member of the family – Paddy’s family,’ I reply. ‘He’s living with me now.’

‘Oh, why’s that? Where’s his parents?’

I can feel Willow dragging his feet, turning away. ‘His mum hasn’t been well,’ I say, ‘so that’s why he’s come to live with me.’

‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books. And you never having had children before.’

‘Right, well, got to be getting on,’ I say, and I swerve the still empty trolley around Glan and move on.

By the time we’ve reached the end of the chilled aisle, I’ve got some pasta in my trolley, sauce in a jar, yoghurts; cheese strings, because they looked colourful; but not much else.

‘Hello, Gwenllian, I was coming up to yours. I’ve got some spare boxes. Thought they might be useful for the move,’ says Ifan from the other neighbouring farm where he’s run a tyre and car servicing garage for years. ‘And I thought I’d invite you out for a chippy supper next time I saw you. I could drop the boxes up today, if you like?’

‘Oh, thanks, but it’s not really a good time. I can pick up the boxes . . .’ I turn around, looking left and then right, then left again.

But Willow is nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 10

‘Willow? Willow!’ A cold, tingling sensation crawls up from the back of my head and over the top of my skull. ‘Willow!’ I call more loudly, abandoning my trolley and hurrying up and down the aisles in search of him. Finally, with panic rising, I abandon the last of my British reserve and shout as loudly as I can, ‘WILLOW! . . . Oh God, oh God, he’s gone. He’s gone,’ I’m repeating to myself.

I find my way to the front of the shop and throw myself towards the information desk. The young woman looks up at me and smiles as she finishes wrapping some flowers in patterned paper for a customer.

‘Excuse me, sorry,’ I cut in. ‘But I’ve lost my . . . Willow, he’s nine, nearly ten,’ although I’ve completely forgotten when his birthday is, and it really makes no difference right now. ‘Small for his age. Dark hair. He’s called Willow,’ I say again.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he can’t have gone far. Kids, eh? Always keeping us on our toes!’

What do you know? I think with a surge of anger. He could be anywhere. The fear is palpable – I’m sweating, and I feel sick. Where is he? How far could he have gone? Why wasn’t I watching him, talking to him, instead of listening to neighbours who just want to find out a bit of gossip? Or invite me for a chippy tea, which is never going to happen, Ifan!

I run towards the entrance and stop just outside to scan the car park as I hear a tannoy announcement behind me. ‘I have a worried grandmother here, looking for her grandson. Willow, if you could make your way to the front desk by the doors, your grandma is waiting for you!’

Grandma indeed!

Not far away, a small gathering of bikers is parking up and pulling off their helmets. I immediately think Willow might have seen the bikes and be looking for Horse.

‘Excuse me! Have you seen a young boy, about this height? Dark hair?’ I put out my hand to demonstrate.

‘No, sorry,’ says one.

‘What’s his name?’ says another.

‘Willow, it’s Willow. Or Will,’ I say. My face is hot; I’m close to tears.

‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll help you find him.’

‘He has a friend who rides a motorbike. I just thought he might have come looking . . .’

‘Come on, we’ll help you look.’

And they split up and fan out across the car park, calling Willow’s name and asking other shoppers if they’ve seen him. I see them holding out their hands to describe his height as they ask people loading shopping into their car boots. People are shaking their heads and looking around.

I throw my hands up in despair and then push the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, hard. I’m supposed to be responsible for Willow. How can I have lost him on something as simple as a trip to the supermarket? I need to contact Lara. I’m not the person for this job. I don’t know what I’m doing.

I rummage in my big bag and for once, find my phone almost immediately. I pull it out to ring Lara. My shaking fingers scroll through my calls until I find her number. I need to know what to do next. Do I ring the police?

It goes to voicemail.