She's an hour-and-a-half late - not like her - what should I do? Don't panic. Take it easy, my sane, sensible voice says. There are a hundred logical explanations.

Panic? Of course I'm panicking, my irrational, "been hit in the gut" voice screams. Forget playing Jeckyl and Hyde, you idiot - grab the phone! A flurry of phone calls ensures panic is spreading exponentially among friends . . .

"Don't panic, everything will be fine!"

Among casual acquaintances . . .

"Well it's been lovely to talk to you, but I can't imagine why she'd call in here. You know maybe we're too strict, but we always insist on time and places."

And finally relatives.

"You know kids today, so irresponsible, probably wandering around a shopping centre. Nothing to worry about," I hear myself saying to aged aunt on verge of heart attack. "I just thought she might have popped in to see you. Of course I'll ring you. No don't stand by the phone in that draughty hall." Is it too soon to ring the gardai? A girl was assaulted around here lately, lucky to escape with her life. Yes, but it's daylight and she knows not to take shortcuts - we've warned her - she's a sensible 14-year-old. Fourteen? We're letting a mere 14-year-old cross town by bus every day just so she can go to the right school? Oh my God.

Ring school - good idea. No answer. Where the hell are they? How dare they have homes to go to? Can't think for the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. Real panic setting in - she's nearly two hours late now. Now it's the hopelessness and the helplessness. Should I get out, look around or wait in the house for a call? Her Dad is on the way home, driving blindly through the traffic. Where will we start to look? Suddenly a few streets, let alone a big city, seem strange and secretive. So many blind alleys.

One question goes around and around in my head like one of those neon signs in a hospital waiting room: Where could she be? I know in my heart if she had stopped off anywhere she would have rung. Whatever is keeping her from home is outside her control. Two hours, 10 minutes - keys rattle in the lock. "Hiya. I'm knackered. Stupid bus never turned up and the next one was full. Lucky I had Jane to keep me company or I'd have gone out of my mind. Hey, look Mum, Dad's home early . . ."