‘You never really wore them. Always kicked them off. You liked to have free feet. Happy birthday, darling.’

Maisie perches on the edge of the bed. ‘Thanks, Mum. Are you not now incredibly pissed off with me that I’m stoned?’

‘No. Just incredibly jealous. Did you have a nice time?’

‘I had a fine time. Seb is fine but, turns out, not all that.’

‘I love you,’ says Becky. Maisie jumps onto the bed and lays her head down on Becky’s stomach. That’s where you came from, thinks Becky, as she strokes her daughter’s hair. I was your first home.

Chapter 22

Becky wakes before Maisie. Her daughter is sixteen now, asleep in the adjoining double bed, looking like she did when she was a baby, her cheeks smooshed into the pillow, peaceful.

Becky runs her hands over the bedsheet beneath her own body, feeling for the small patch where the cotton hardens, as if glued. It did happen, after all. She did it with Adam. And today they are going to walk around Dungeness and get fish and chips for lunch. She is looking forward to seeing him. She is starving hungry. A bag of popcorn for dinner was not enough.

Daylight streams through the top of the curtains. She wonders how late they have slept. Have they missed breakfast already?

She reaches for her phone, charging on the bedside table, and discovers both that it is 10.15 a.m. and that Amber Heath has been taken to hospital following a suicide attempt. She is in intensive care. Her family have asked for privacy. None of her friends have gone on the record. Calls to her agent have not been returned.

Becky tries to read everything, but nobody has more information.

Twitter has anger – raging calls for Matthew to face justice, as well as plenty of comments along the lines of ‘she lied, she got busted’ – but no new information.

Maisie stirs and opens her eyes.

‘Are you OK?’ she asks. ‘You’re really white.’

‘No, I don’t feel great,’ says Becky. ‘I think I’ve got a bug or something.’

‘I’ll go and get Dad.’

‘No. Go and have breakfast with him. Have a nice time.’

‘What about Dungeness?’ says Maisie.

‘You and Adam might have to go without me.’ She is craving having the room to herself. So that she can pace, or throw up, or curl into a ball or cut, cut, cut at her legs.

Maisie leaves and, under the covers, Becky thinks of Amber wired up to machines, one that has pumped her stomach and another that helps her breathe.

Would Amber have ended up like this if Becky had spoken up about what she saw?