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Reynolds said he’d be right there and told him not to let anybody leave. Jonas didn’t waste time explaining that he’d already done that – just said ‘Yes’ and hung up.

He and Mike King jogged back to the judges’ caravan and commandeered the PA system. Through shards of feedback, Jonas asked all judges in all rings to halt their classes while they searched for Charlie Peach, then handed the microphone to the boy’s carer to give a description of him.

The moment the announcement was over, the mood of the show changed as if a switch had been thrown. The urgency and purpose were palpable. Horses were dismounted and hitched to horseboxes, people left their deckchairs and put down their cups of tea and swarmed through the tents and the cars, crawling underneath, opening boots, checking the Portaloos.

Horse people, thought Jonas. Good or bad, they really get things done.

Steven heard Jonas Holly’s voice on the PA system and flinched hard enough for Em to notice.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. Just made me jump, that’s all.’

She smiled at him and he tried to smile back but it didn’t feel right on his face. He was suddenly tense.

They listened to the announcement, sitting on the grass with Skip dozing over their heads. Another voice boomed out, describing a boy with pale hair and a Dr Who T-shirt.

‘His name is Charlie,’ the voice said. ‘Charlie? If you can hear this, come on back to the minibus, all right, big man? I’ll wait for you there.’

Steven and Em looked around them.

‘He’s probably getting an ice cream,’ said Em.

‘Mm.’ Steven hoped she was right.

He sat for a minute more, inwardly twitching.

He couldn’t do nothing; he stood up. ‘I’m going to help look,’ he told her.

Em scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ll come too.’

She tied Skip to a piece of twine attached to a random horsebox and draped her jacket across the mudguard. ‘We won’t be long,’ she shrugged.

Steven watched the crowds looking in and under cars and around the tents and toilets. If the boy were there, someone else would find him. Instead, Steven led Em to the edge of the meadow, which was bounded by thick hawthorn hedges run through with old man’s beard, bindweed and the occasional wild clematis.

‘Do you know the kids who have gone missing?’ asked Em.

‘Nah.’ He shrugged. ‘The girl, Jess, went to our school but I didn’t know her.’

‘You must be the only one,’ said Em wryly.

Steven shrugged and added, ‘The boy wasn’t from round here.’

They walked clockwise around the meadow. In most places the hedge was so thick they couldn’t even see the field on the other side. Elsewhere it was thinner, but still made impassable by thorns. The field sloped away at the far end, and the show disappeared over the close horizon. The sound of it disappeared along with the sight. Deep in the second corner, close to a single oak tree, Em noticed a break in the hedge. They couldn’t get close to it because of waist-high nettles, but by walking on a little way and looking back, they could see the posts of a stile, disused and almost hidden by the surrounding foliage.

‘You think he could have got through there?’ said Em.

Steven examined the nettles, then shook his head. ‘They’d be broken if anyone had gone through them.’

They walked on. Even though they were only a hundred yards from where people were searching desperately for the missing boy, it was quiet here. The loudest sound was the chirrup of crickets in the long grass, and the occasional thump and rustle of rabbits as they warned each other and ran away. One baby, too young to understand danger, sat in the open as they approached. They were less than ten feet away before it gave a playful binky and hopped into the hedge, making them both laugh.

The ensuing silence was such that they could hear the rain-starved grass crackle underfoot.

‘Thanks for bringing back the trailer,’ said Em suddenly.

Steven’s stomach lurched. ‘I didn’t take it.’

‘It doesn’t matter who took it,’ said Em with a shrug.

Steven stopped her with a hand on her arm. He felt a little thrill at touching her skin and took his hand back hurriedly as she turned to him.

‘I promise,’ he said urgently. ‘I didn’t take it.’

Em nodded her understanding that the distinction was important to him. ‘But you brought it back,’ she said. ‘You remembered the code.’ She looked at him until he broke eye-contact.

When they walked on this time, she took his hand.

A tingle ran up Steven’s arm and spread across his chest, kick-starting his allergy again.

He stole a glance at her. She seemed unaffected. Their arms formed a V between them, his wiry and too long, hers bare and slim and perfect. At the point of the V, their hands tied a knot that swung easily – as if they’d been holding hands for years.

She said something and he didn’t hear her, so she said it again.

‘We should let that policeman know about the stile, just in case.’