I looked for her in every face I passed, on every pavement, in every crowd but always it turned out to be just her chin walking around on someone else, or the way she’d shyly look away, or the back of her long, straight hair worn by a less attractive woman. Sometimes, I thought I’d caught sight of her back disappearing down a side street or in a crowd and I’d have to change direction and follow, walking for ages out of my way. It was exhausting, the constant looking, and the willing, wanting her to be alive and back again. People go missing every day, often because they want to get away. I took my camera and snapped away at the overflowing bins and relatively empty Sunday streets. Perhaps I’d capture something, a clue, and not even realise till later when I looked over the images on my computer. Six hundred people disappear every day. It’s not unusual. My housemates wanted to help. They asked what Jenny was like and I zipped through the images on my mobile, determined to find a photo.
