Mark’s eyes narrowed.

‘It could suggest a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder.’

‘Autism? I thought that meant you were either a genius or lying in a corner banging your head on the floor. That doesn’t sound like Daisy at all.’

‘It’s a spectrum, Mark. That means there’s a range of behaviour. After the teacher had gone I looked it up online. There’s lots of stuff you can read about it. I’ll send you some links.’

‘But this isn’t definite, is it? You said it could suggest that’s what she’s got. It might not be that. It might be something completely different. Maybe it’s nothing at all.’

‘From what I’ve read up so far, it seems to fit…’

‘Oh, so you’re diagnosing her now, are you? I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so quick to write off our daughter.’

‘I’m not writing her off. I just looked it up.’

‘Yeah, well, everyone’s an armchair doctor now, aren’t they? All you need to do is type in a couple of symptoms and bingo, you’ve got a syndrome. You know it drives real doctors crazy, don’t you?’

‘I know you’re worried,’ I said, ‘but you don’t need to take it out on me.’

‘Oh, spare me the entry-level psychotherapy. This is bullshit, Paula. All of it. They haven’t got a clue what’s wrong with her and neither have you.’

‘The teacher’s going to write up an official report. I’ll give you a copy when I get it.’

‘Can’t wait,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Will you bring me in a coffee when it’s ready?’

With that he stomped off to his office.

I carried on standing in the kitchen, listening to ‘Greensleeves’, trying to take deep breaths, willing myself not to go in there and pour the coffee over his head.

How could he be so insufferable? So arrogant? Even if he didn’t care for me any more… how could he be like this about his child?

After a while I went upstairs to run Daisy’s bath. I could hear someone talking, and at first I thought it was Mark watching TV in his office. Then I realised it was him, on the phone to someone.

He came to bed late, and I didn’t get the chance to ask him who he’d been talking to till the following morning, when he was about to leave for work.

‘I rang my mother,’ he said. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

He slammed the front door on the way out. It was actually a relief to be alone with Daisy.

The report came home in Daisy’s bookbag a couple of days later, in a sealed brown envelope. After I’d read it, I set it aside to present to Mark after dinner. But when I gave it to him he yawned, protested, said how tired he was, and wondered if he really had to read it just then, since he had a lot of work to do that evening.

‘You can read it whenever suits you, but I would have thought you’d want to read it sooner rather than later.’