I stumble over my words because so many thoughts collide at once. Tyler’s back? Olivia’s gone? Is she in danger?

‘Did you hear me?’ Ellie asks.

‘Yeah… I… when did she leave?’

‘About a minute before I called you the first time.’

That was a good fifteen minutes ago, when I was busy with Declan. I should’ve answered the damn phone.

‘Where did she go?’

‘Well that’s the weird part?’

‘What is?’

Ellie sounds unsure of herself. ‘She said she was going to the watermill.’

‘The mill? Why?’

‘I don’t know. She was speaking really quickly. I was trying to keep up. I offered her a lift but she was already half out the door. She didn’t look like she was thinking straight. I think she was going to call a taxi. I don’t know.’

Ellie doesn’t have anything else to add but that’s not surprising considering it sounds like everything happened in a matter of seconds.

I hang up and try calling Olivia. There’s no reply, so I leave a message asking her to call, and then phone her again. Still no answer, so I text, telling her to please call.

If she was getting a taxi, she’d be at the mill in a matter of minutes. If only I’d answered my phone.

I think about calling Dan – she is his daughter too – but he’ll be at school and, besides, I don’t trust him.

Who do I trust? When the confusion and obfuscation is shunted away, is there anyone I have faith in? Maybe.

I race away from the trading estate, trying to think if there’s a quicker way to get to the mill. The very fact it’s on a river means there isn’t. There are bridges a few miles up and downstream on either side – and then one road in and out. The only way to get there is the long way.

The alleged voice assistant on my phone seems to have had a meltdown because, whenever I say ‘Call Olivia’, the voice chirps back ‘Did you say, “All you live here”?’. I give up after the third attempt and try something else.

It takes me almost forty minutes until I bump across the dried mud on the road and pull into the empty weed-ridden expanse of tarmac that was once a car park. A taxi might have dropped Olivia off, but there are no vehicles parked here now.

The breeze has whipped up a light mix of dust and dirt that flits across the crumbling lot at ankle-height. I try calling Olivia once more, without the useless voice assistant this time, but there’s no answer. I try Ellie to let her know where I am but she isn’t answering either.

I follow the once familiar trail into the woods, heading towards the rush of the river and then tracing the route towards the mill. When we were young, this route had been walked bare. It was dry and dusty in the summer, like walking on concrete. Ellie, Wayne, Jason and I didn’t visit as much in winter, partly because the mud could reach knee-height in places but also because the mill itself was so cold. There was never any heating and a lot of the joy was lost when we’d have to traipse out here in coats, scarves and wellington boots. That’s not to say we never came. If ever it snowed, we’d meet on the street and then race here to build snowmen, hurl snowballs, and try to walk across the semi-frozen river. This area felt like more of a home than our respective houses ever did. We grew up here as a foursome. Sometimes we’d allow others into our circle but they never lasted long. It was always us four against the world.

Then there were three and then two.

I get to the fence surrounding the mill and stop, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I’m not sure what I was expecting but there is no sign of Olivia or Tyler. The fence is taller than me and much of it is covered with the bright ‘keep out’ signs that only ever serve as an invitation to see what’s beyond. The rest of the fence is made up of tight rings of thick metal, which makes it easy enough to see what’s on the other side – not that there’s much. The mill is a run-down shell of its former self. Weeds and plants have started to grow around the base and the window frames, climbing and entwining into the rotting wood and brickwork.

‘Liv?’

Her name echoes around the empty space, bouncing from the trees and mill until it sounds like there are half a dozen people calling her name.

There’s no reply.

I phone Ellie again, wanting to double-check she was definitely right about the mill. Could Olivia have said something else that sounds like it? She was off to a hill, or something like that?

No answer.

I try Olivia’s number next, not really expecting her to pick up. She doesn’t and I’m about to hang up when I realise the ringing I can hear through my phone’s speaker isn’t the only sound. There’s a gentle distant-sounding chirp of a tinny rock song. I muffle my own phone, leaving it to ring as I walk closer to the fence, trying to figure out where the music is coming from.

I’m almost sure it’s emanating from the mill itself – but then it stops. The call has dropped, so I hang up and try again. Perhaps it’s because the wind changes or it might be because I’m listening for it properly, but I can hear the tune clearly now. There’s the grinding of guitar strings and then a thump-thump-thump of drums. I vaguely recognise the song but couldn’t place it.

It’s definitely coming from inside the mill.

‘Olivia?’

Her name bounces around the woods once more without reply. I follow the line of the fence from riverbank to riverbank as it loops around the outside of the mill. It’s too steep for me to climb – and the metal looks sharp and dangerous in any case. I could wade out into the river and walk around the fence to the other side – but the current is surging, the water smashing into the rocks, and that’s probably the least appealing option. It might be fine but there’s every chance I could be half a mile downstream before I know what’s happened.

‘Tyler?’

His name reverberates with no response, moments before the wind fizzes louder, stealing the word and sending it far away.

If Olivia’s phone is inside the mill, then she must have got through, over or around the fence somehow. I can’t believe she went around the outside, but she might have got a boost from Tyler to get over. That doesn’t explain how he’d have got in. If he’d tried climbing, his hands would have been scratched bare.

I follow the route once more, this time pushing on the fence every metre or so, hoping for give. I’ve not gone far when I spot a patch where the wire has been snipped neatly. From anywhere other than directly next to it, the fence looks intact, but with the merest of pushes, one section separates from the other and opens like a cat flap.

It seems simple but the sharp edges of the fence rake my forearms as soon I push inside. There’s blood instantly, thick and dark red, dripping onto the grass and my shoe. The pain stabs as if I’m still being gouged and it doesn’t help when I take a moment to prod and poke the skin. It’s opened me up like a burnt pasty and is a good millimetre or two deep. When I clench my fist, the blood oozes, trickling along my hand and again running onto the ground.

I swear under my breath, digging into a pocket for a tissue and clamping it onto my arm.

‘Liv?’

No answer.

I take a couple of steps towards the mill and then freeze as an overwhelming sense of trepidation hits. It’s almost as if I’ve walked into a wall. It’s there but it’s not. For a moment, it feels as if something has touched my shoulder but, when I spin, there’s nobody there. Only the wind. Only the woods. Only the rampaging rush of water.

I’m being watched.

I can’t know that for sure – the windows of the mill are boarded up and there’s no one visible around the treeline – but there’s a prickling at the base of my neck that’s almost overpowering.

‘Liv?’

I take a step forward and then another, moving slowly towards what used to be the front door. It’s boarded up – but then it always was. When we first came here, it was nailed into place but Jason and Wayne brought a pair of hammers to take care of that. We’d leave the board in place and then move it to one side when we needed. It would have been fixed in the decades since but this is always the type of place where no entry and keep out signs feel optional.

The board is thick wood but it’s only leaning against the door frame, with nothing holding it in place. Like the old days. I nudge it aside, sliding into the mill for the first time in more than twenty years. I can’t remember the last time I was here for sure but suspect it was before Wayne died.

The inside of the mill is almost entirely dark. The electrics never worked when we used to visit and certainly wouldn’t have been fixed since. Thin tendrils of light creep through gaps between boards and there’s one large spotlight in the middle of the floor beaming down through what must be a broken window high above.

‘Liv? Tyler?’

My voice echoes again but nobody moves, nobody answers. I take out my phone once more and the window of white almost blinds me against the shadows. I call Olivia one more time, waiting the second or two it takes to connect until something on the far side of the mill flashes to life. The almost familiar tune blares as Olivia’s phone screen blinks on and off.

I set off towards it, the worn soles of my shoes slaloming on the sawdust and dirt. Olivia’s phone has been abandoned on the floor. The screen is cracked like a spider’s web from numerous drops and accidents. She’s asked Dan and me to buy her a new one in the past but we always say that if she can’t look after this one, then how can we expect her to look after a brand-new one.

It seems so silly now.

As I crouch and reach for Olivia’s phone, there’s a scuffing scramble of feet from behind. I turn but it’s already too late. Something, someone, is upon me – and then it all goes black.