Every time she brought a friend home it was almost as if we welcomed the prodigal son to the house. I made sure we had the best spread in for tea. I knew I was stupid playing a game to fit in when Laura had been happy enough to be her own person, but I didn’t want to give any of them even half a chance to cast aspersions about her.

We had branded treats – Coca-Cola, Tayto crisps, McVitie’s biscuits – even though times were tough and we normally stayed with supermarket own-brand goods or value-pack treats. I’d hire movies from the video shop, make big bowls of popcorn. I’d encourage them to listen to music as loudly as they wanted, but every time I heard some pop tune I knew that Laura didn’t like blast through the house my heart would sink.

Every now and again she’d try to fit in. She’d mould herself. And although I’d always been proud of her individuality, a part of me hoped that these changes would make the difference.

After a while she stopped bringing people home for tea. When I asked her about friends, she’d tell me that she had a few people she chatted to in class and at breaktime. She’d smile and then we’d go back to talking about our usual subjects. She seemed content.

It was only when my friend at work took me aside one day to ask if Laura was okay that I realised I’d been kidding myself all along. Even as I smiled and said my daughter was happy and settled with friends, I knew it didn’t ring true.

‘It’s just my Fiona says she wanders around the hockey pitch alone at breaktime. In all weathers. She looks a bit lost.’

Of course ‘her Fiona’ didn’t think to reach out a hand of friendship.

When I asked Laura about it, her face had burned red. Tears pooled in her eyes and then she’d stomped off defiantly, shouting that it was none of my business and I should ‘just keep my bloody nose out of things’.

I wanted to go to the school – see what they could do to help her – but she’d refused to allow me. ‘I don’t want people being friends with me out of pity,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’m happy enough on my own.’

She’d smiled so brightly when she’d said it that I’d believed her. I liked my own company; it stood to good reason that my daughter would, too. And there was always someone to talk to in the farmhouse, so it wasn’t like she was totally isolated. She’d smile and tell me that as she helped me cook the dinner. It was only after she died that I came to realise that Laura had been incredibly good at faking smiles.

Tuesday, 12 June

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rachel