The Cosmic Café is on the furthest outskirts of North Melbury, closer to the dual carriageway than it is the town. It’s a mix of a truck-stop, old-fashioned diner, and a proper English greasy spoon. It’s been a fixture for longer than I’ve been alive, although not always under the same ownership.

It’s almost nine o’clock when I pull into the car park. There are a few lorries parked in the furthest corner, shrouded in shadow, the drivers perhaps settling down for the night. There are also half a dozen cars directly outside the entrance, illuminated by the light stretching from inside. The Cosmic Café is open twenty-four-seven – which I can understand all by myself, without the need for Declan to mansplain it to me. Not only is it popular with lorry drivers and locals, it’s something of a hangout for young people. It’s not as if there are many places for teenagers to get out of the way of their parents in the town. If they spend any time loitering in the centre, the police get called by NIMBY locals. It wasn’t that different in my day. Ellie, Wayne, Jason and I would escape to the watermill but there were plenty of people our age who opted for the Cosmic.

Olivia got a job here about six months ago. She catches the bus to start her shift for one o’clock and then takes a taxi home afterwards, paid for by the owner, Rahul.

There’s a gentle buzz of voices and clinking cutlery when I enter. If it wasn’t for the darkness outside, it could be any morning. The café smells of baked beans, frying eggs and sausages. I wasn’t hungry before but it’s hard to walk into this place and not have the insatiable urge for a fry-up.

The walls are covered with the faded record sleeves of bygone eras. Vinyl records might be making a twenty-first century comeback – but the cardboard covers here are the originals. It was decorated this way when I was Olivia’s age and little has changed.

Someone calls my name and, when I turn towards the corner closest to the window, I see Rahul sitting by himself in a booth. He’s originally from India, a beefy chunk of a man with a smile almost as big as his belly. He waves me across and I slot in opposite him. The red leather of the bench has long faded to a murky pink and there are small tears across the length of the seat. I’d guess this is much the way customers prefer it. There’s a definite charm to this place.

‘No taxi tonight,’ Rahul says.

‘I told Liv I’d pick her up.’

‘You have any other daughters at home?’

‘Huh?’

He grins. ‘Your Liv’s a hard worker. Good worker. Could do with another six of her.’

His smile is infectious and I find myself melting into the booth. After everything of the past couple of days, it’s good to hear something positive.

The door jingles as a couple enter hand in hand. He’s wearing a suit and she’s in a short green dress. It’s not too late, but it looks like they’ve been out to the theatre, something like that. Perhaps for a few drinks. His shoes are shinier than anything in the diner but they slot into a booth and grab a pair of menus. There’s something wonderful about the breadth of the people who come here. There’s a group of five teenagers in one of the other booths, empty milkshake glasses scattered across the table. Four or five truck drivers are sitting by themselves, reading the paper or tucking into the all-day breakfast. There are men and women; old and young; privileged and poor; white, Asian, whatever. No one worries about anyone else. It makes me proud that this tumble dryer of humanity is on the edge of my town.

‘Long day?’ Rahul asks.

I blink at him, wondering how he knows. It must be me, of course. Everything about me.

‘Is it that obvious?’ I reply.

‘You work too hard. Take some time off, lay on a beach, read a book. Tell your boss Uncle Rahul said it was fine.’

He laughs and so do I. It’s hard to do anything else when in Rahul’s presence – as if he’s carrying something infectious that automatically spreads happiness.

‘I’ll try that,’ I tell him.

His eyebrows raise as he looks over my shoulder – and then Olivia appears at the edge of the table. She’s slightly flushed, her dyed pink hair greasy and stuck to her scalp. Her sleeves are rolled up, showing off the teddy bear tattoo on her arm. At first glance, it’s something sweet; a symbol of childhood innocence. On closer inspection, the teddy is clutching a knife and holding it above his own head threateningly. We’ve never talked about it and I haven’t asked about any others. I don’t think I want to know.

Olivia turns between us suspiciously.

‘Have you been talking about me?’

Rahul throws his hands up, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Of course. All about you. It’s always about you, Livvie, my love.’

I’ve never heard anyone call her ‘Livvie’ but it’s so systematically charming in the way Rahul says it.

‘I checked the toilets and Tracy’s logged onto the till,’ Olivia says. ‘Everything should be set for night shift.’

‘You’re too good to me, Livvie. Too good. Young girl like you should be off seeing the world, breaking the hearts of all those boys.’

She wraps her arms across her front, flattered yet embarrassed because I’m here. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she says, before turning to me. ‘Can we go?’

I use the table to push myself up, fighting and losing the battle against giving the old-woman sigh.

Olivia says nothing as we head to the car, clambering into the passenger seat and then resting her head on the window. I touch her gently on the knee and she neither flinches, nor kicks me away.

‘Where would you like to go?’ I ask.

‘Bashington. There’s that block of flats on the outskirts, near the park. D’you know where I mean?’

I tell her that I do. Bashington is the closest town to North Melbury. Our nearest rivals, if you will. There was uproar a few years back when Bashington won a Britain in Bloom commendation and we didn’t. This is the sort of place in which we live.

The roads are nearly empty and, though it is largely country lanes between the two places, having someone else in the passenger seat makes everything feel more comfortable.

It’s now been four full days since Tyler was last seen and I can’t remember if this is the same length of time as the previous occasions when he disappeared. The last time was between Christmas and new year. He and Olivia had gone to the Red Lion at lunchtime and ended up having a row over something of which I’m not sure. I only know that much because I went to school with one of the barmaids and saw her in town a few days later. Tyler stormed out, flinging a pint glass into the wall as he went – and that was the last anyone saw of him until after Boxing Day. He was definitely back before new year but I wouldn’t be sure of the actual day. All I saw of it was that Olivia was upset for a couple of days and then the clouds lifted and there were rainbows and unicorns once more.

I do worry about her mood swings, not to mention her infatuation with a young man who thinks throwing pint glasses in a pub is perfectly acceptable. That’s not to mention the time he went off with another girl, or the multiple occasions he’s been arrested for shoplifting. But what is there to do? If I tried to stop her seeing him, she’d rebel even more. And she’s eighteen anyway. My mother used to use the ‘not under my roof’-stuff on me and it only made me spend more time outside with Ellie, Wayne and Jason.

Look where that led.

Olivia hasn’t spoken for almost fifteen minutes. Her head is pressed against the glass of the side window. I suspect she’s dozed off, though, when I glance sideways, her eyes are open.

‘I know you miss him, love.’

Her only response is a deep breath through her nose.

‘Is there anything else I can do?’

‘No. This is good.’

She sounds so pained that it hurts me. I want her to be small enough that I can pick her up, wrap her in a blanket and hold her tight to me.

There’s a little more silence and then: ‘I’ve set up a Facebook page.’

Olivia speaks so softly that I can barely hear her over the warm air being spewed from the vents.

‘That’ll do some good,’ I reply, not really knowing what I’m talking about.

‘It’s called Find Tyler. There are some pictures of him, plus I’ve put down some of the places he used to go. That sort of thing. Some of his friends have shared it.’

It’s a fine line between encouragement and being patronising, so I offer what I hope is a reassuring ‘mmm’, rather than overdoing it.

Olivia doesn’t add anything to that, not speaking again until the Bashington block of flats is in sight. Despite the town’s commendations for its attractiveness, this part is an ugly stain on the area. It’s a ten-storey pebble-dashed mistake which the council have been talking about knocking down almost since it was built. Olivia directs me to a darkened car park and asks if I’ll wait. There are no street lights, only a pair of skips and a line of overgrown trees that flail imposingly against the night sky. I’d rather go with her but don’t have much of a choice. She disappears into the shadows, heading in the vague direction of the tower and I know that I don’t approve of all this.

In essence, my daughter – my teenage daughter – hangs around with dodgy people in dodgy areas. Does that make me a bad mother for knowing about it and not stopping it; or would it make me a bad mother for trying to stop it and only succeeding in causing arguments that make Olivia want to move out? She could end up living somewhere like here. For now, at least there’s some degree of knowing she’s safe. She generally does let either Dan or me know if she’s staying out but, most times, she sleeps in her own bed anyway.

The block of flats is largely in darkness, with only a handful of lights glimmering through curtains or around the gaps in blinds. From the outside, it doesn’t look as if too many people live here. I’ve not been this close before – but it’s hard to miss the blight when driving through.

I wait in the dark for a little over ten minutes before Olivia hurries back from the shadows. She’s hugging her arms across her front, shivering from the chill as she slips back into the car and closes the door with a slam. A puff of breath disappears into the warming air.

There’s little point in asking if she found anything because her features are taut, her gaze distant.

‘Do you want me to take you somewhere else?’ I ask.

She replies breathlessly. It’s hard to know for certain, but I think she mentions someone named ‘Peggy’ – and then directs me through the roads of Bashington until asking me to stop outside a row of housing association apartments. It’s an improvement on the tower block but not by much. The long terrace is grubby with years of neglect. Moss is growing between the tiles that are attached to the facias around the upper windows and there are scorch marks on the muddied lawn at the front.

Olivia opens her door, mutters that she’ll be right back, and then disappears into a walkway between two terraced buildings.

A dog is barking somewhere in the distance and there is so much shadow that it’s hard to see much more than the outline of the buildings. It’s chilled enough that my knuckles are starting to stiffen without the heat from the vents.

Olivia returns after another ten minutes or so, her face grim. ‘There’s a play park round the corner,’ she says. ‘Can we check there?’

Her definition of ‘round the corner’ isn’t literal and she directs me another half-mile or so through the estate until we arrive at a small playground on a patch of green next to a pub. It’s a much nicer area of town, all yummy-mummies and 4x4s in the car park during the day. Olivia first checks the pub and then I spot her emerging from the door at the back. She traces the outline of the park and then sits on the swings, making a phone call before heading back into the pub and re-emerging from the front door. It’s clear she thinks I didn’t see her, so I don’t bring it up.

‘Where now?’ I ask, but I get a long, mournful sigh in response.

‘Can we go for food?’ Olivia replies.

It’s half past ten, past my bedtime, let alone time to eat – but this is the first thing we’ve done in a long time where it’s been only the two of us.

‘Where would you like to go?’

‘McDonald’s.’

A hint of a smile creeps onto Olivia’s face. She bites her lip as if trying to force it back but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it.

North Melbury is a relatively sleepy area – but there’s a service station a little further up the dual carriageway that’s open all day. Aside from The Cosmic, it’s one of the few places for miles that’s open late.

I set off without complaint and we have something approaching a normal conversation. It skirts all our issues, of course. Neither of us mention the impending separation and, for a few moments at least, Tyler is forgotten as well. We talk about her work and she tells me some funny stories about Rahul and her colleagues. She tells me what Ellie already has – that she’s looking at possible college courses for next year. It’s good to hear it from her. I don’t mention that Ellie had already said something.

There’s a small queue at the McDonald’s drive-thru but that only extends the time I get to spend talking to my daughter as an equal. It’s a glimpse of the relationship we could have. I miss her being that little girl I could smother with a blanket – but I look forward to the things she’s going to do in the future. They’re all parts of the same whole.

She orders two double cheeseburgers, large fries and a chocolate milkshake, plus asks for sweet chilli sauce on the side. I pay, obviously, and then any doubts she might be under-eating are shredded completely as she spends the journey home munching her way through the bag of food.

It’s nearing half past eleven when I pull into the garage and park. Olivia has finished her food and is busy cleaning her fingers on a wedge of napkins.

She touches my arm before I can get out of the car, gripping me firmly until I turn to her.

‘Thank you,’ she says.

‘You’re welcome.’

Olivia closes her eyes and, when she reopens them, there are tears clinging to her lower eyelashes. ‘Do you mind if I sit in here for a bit? Just to, y’know…’

She doesn’t finish – but I do know. To have some time alone. I pass her the keys and say I’ll see her in the morning.

I’m halfway up the stairs, on my way to bed, when I realise that, for the first time in a long time, I’ve actually enjoyed the evening. A couple of hours with my daughter that didn’t involve us arguing is all it took. Perhaps it’s that but, by the time my head hits the pillow, I’ve convinced myself that everything’s going to be all right after all.