A Baxter Saturday morning was usually a leisurely affair. Jean would read the Guardian, and Michael would make a pot of coffee (coffee at 88 Duke Avenue was always the more recreational beverage, as opposed to the habitual and everyday partaking of tea). On a usual Saturday, the entire family would be in pyjamas until at least 11. That is, however, unless there was a party in the making.

It was Audrey’s birthday, so Mrs Baxter had been preparing since 8 am, soaking the ladyfingers and marinating the chops and dyeing her hair.

Jessa was supposed to be helping but instead had found a series of videos online featuring hilarious clips of people falling off of trampolines, and was watching them on the netpad.

“Really, Jessa, must you always have your head craned over that thing?”

“Well, I could watch stuff on the big TV, but you wanted to keep UK Today on, even though you’re not actually watching it.”

“I’m listening to it, thank you very much! And I can choose whichever channel I want because I’m the one who pays the bill,” Mrs Baxter playfully threw a pile of napkins at her daughter.

“Mum! You made me miss the good bit!” Jessa rewound the video by four seconds.

“I am so terribly sorry. Can you fold the napkins, please?”

“…Prime Minister Linden has come under fire again for his potentially misleading and self-congratulatory declarations. In the studio, we have Hope4Humanity’s director, Siobhan Duffy. What do you think of these accusations, Siobhan?”

“Well, Melissa, I think they’re absolutely right to point out these flaws in the Prime Minister’s statistics. He’s making all these announcements about how he’s building a better Britain, but when all his statements are based on his own privately-funded research, it brings about a very reasonable doubt.

“And, more specifically, what is Hope4Humanity’s stance on the homelessness rates?”

“The Prime Minister seems to have latched on to homelessness as his key issue, but we’ve seen nothing to suggest that he’s done any good at all. He has funded more shelters, which means there are more beds at night for the homeless. But this is very conflicting. Because, yes, technically there are fewer people sleeping rough, because now they have a place to go at night. But there’s no follow-up, no infrastructure, nothing in place to help these people find real homes or jobs or to get them back into society. It’s the humanitarian equivalent of sweeping dust under the rug.”

“His opposition has suggested these fabrications are deliberate on the Prime Minister’s part.”

“I suppose I can’t speak for that, but at best, it’s a vast oversight of the basic needs of people…”

“Jessa, the napkins?”

“In a minute.”

“Always in a minute…”

#

It was a small gathering. The girls’ Nanny and Grandpa were away on the first of their ‘winter sun’ European holidays, as much as Jean Baxter protested that it was barely even autumn and there were plenty of sunny days left to enjoy in England. But they weren’t having it, and had jetted off the Mediterranean.

Jessa had always been allowed to bring a friend to Audrey’s birthday parties, because the sisters’ age difference was vast enough that their parents wanted to make sure Jessa had somebody near her own age to talk to. Even as Jessa grew older and ever-more capable of conversation, so the tradition continued, and Maggie and Flynn had been invited to the dinner.

After Mrs Baxter’s three course meal of prawn cocktail, followed by a pork roast, followed by a cheese and grape plate, the group retired to the living room for an evening of board games and dessert. And then, as is the case with any great party, it seemed to be over as soon as it began.

It was the first time that Jessa’s friends had experienced Mr Fletcher outside of school, as Audrey’s boyfriend, and while it was a little awkward at first when he insisted that, given the circumstances, they should call him Hugo, they quickly warmed up to him being around, and it turned out that he was great fun, and much to everyone’s surprise, harboured a hidden talent for charades.

By 11 pm, Hugo was the only remaining guest. Mr and Mrs Baxter said goodnight and went upstairs to bed, leaving Hugo, Jessa and Audrey watching an old horror movie in the living room.

“Excuse me,” Audrey stood up from the sofa. “Just popping to the facilities.”

Hugo and Jessa listened as her footsteps dissolved up the carpeted staircase and into the bathroom.

“I hope this wasn’t weird for you,” Hugo said quietly in his girlfriend’s absence.

“I thought it would be, but it was fine,” Jessa smiled. “You’re actually kind of cool, I suppose.”

“Good,” he replied. “Because I like Audrey a lot, so I’m glad I can hang out with you and your parents like this.”

“What’s your family like?” Jessa enquired.

“We’re not a close a family.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Where did you teach before Winsbury?”

Audrey’s footsteps got closer as she came back down the stairs.

“Right before getting the Winsbury job I was based not too far away, elsewhere in London.” He turned back to the television. “I just realised I’ve seen this film before.”

And before Jessa could probe more into his personal life, Audrey was back in the room, and somehow it seemed inappropriate to continue questioning Hugo in front of her.

#

Jessa arrived at school on Monday morning at 8:30, as usual. But instead of the familiar bustle in the foyer and the everyday sight of students wandering around into the cafeteria or the library or their tutor rooms, there was an unfamiliar stillness. Mrs Pacey was away from her usual position at the reception desk and instead was meeting students at the door with an instruction to head straight to the hall.

Jessa felt a churn in her stomach. Something was wrong.

Some schools held daily assemblies in the morning before lessons began, which was the case at Jessa’s middle school, but at Winsbury, the students had registration in the morning with their tutor, where they received any news bulletins or important updates. This made school-wide assemblies rare. So it was obvious to the students that if Dr Mortlock had summoned them to a full school assembly, it could only be in regards to something very good, or very bad.

Dr Mortlock sat, upright and prim, on the padded purple leather of her throne, looking out over the hall of students. Jessa shuffled sideways down the row to the seat that Maggie and Flynn had kept empty for her.

“What’s going on? Did you hear anything before I got here?” she said.

“No, nobody’s told us anything,” Maggie replied. “We’ve noticed some of the teachers talking to each other, though. We couldn’t hear what they said, but they all look really worried.

“I’ve never seen Dr Mortlock look like that before. Man, she’s terrifying,” Jessa whispered.

“She looks upset to me,” said Maggie. “And, even weirder, I don’t think she’s moved an inch the whole time we’ve been here. She’s been just up there watching everyone.”

When Dr Mortlock stood to her feet, the scuffling and the muttering and the speculating ceased, and the hall fell into silence. When she spoke, her hushed voice commanded an even deeper quiet.

There was no “good morning.” No “thank you for joining me.”

“I’m afraid a tragedy has occurred,” she began. “This weekend, our Head Girl, Emmeline Victor, was reported missing.”

The hall burst into a hubbub. Many students gasped, and a couple of girls whimpered into tears.

Jessa didn’t know Emmeline personally, but everyone knew of the Head Girl’s stature in the school. Emmeline had been an impressive student since her first year. She consistently achieved top grades, partook in a record amount of clubs, and in her third year initiated and developed The Winsbury Times, an online newspaper that was not only one of the most notable and reliable youth news sources on the internet, but also provided an engaging and sometimes irreverent review of student life, enjoyed by students all over the United Kingdom, and possibly even further.

“Quiet please,” Dr Mortlock continued. Again, the room hushed.

“Emmeline was last seen leaving school on Friday, but she never made it home. Her disappearance will be reported publicly later today, but we wanted you all to hear first so you can prepare yourselves for any potential backlash. Considering Emmeline’s standing in this school and her notable online presence, we are anticipating an increased interest in Winsbury.

If any member of the press approaches you, it is important that you do not engage them, but to direct them to contact the staff here. We are happy to cooperate by answering their questions.

I am imploring you to exercise extreme caution. We do not know the circumstances of Emmeline’s disappearance, and the safety of our students is paramount. A security service is being implemented, who will be stationed outside the school. If you see anyone near the school that you do not recognise or who is not a uniformed officer, do not approach them, but come inside and report it to a member of staff immediately. Scheduled lessons will continue as normal.”

Jessa had heard about missing children before, on the news, but it always happened so far away to people she didn’t know. She’d seen footage of parents distraught over lost children, begging for their safe return. She looked around the hall to see students crying, comforting one another. Others in a desperate chatter about what could possibly have happened. This was not a distant news story. Winsbury had been shaken.