‘That were grand,’ Mr Lawrence said, breaking his habitual teatime silence, but only to rescue Alison, whose distress was palpable. ‘Right tasty, and if there’s any more, Marion, I’ll take another spoonful.’ Suddenly there was movement and busyness, Mrs Lawrence fetching the pie dish from the stove and offering seconds. Alison looked up for Daniel, and found him gazing at her, trying to convey without the help of words that it was all right, there was no harm done.

‘There’s nothing wrong with not working,’ Claire blundered on. ‘Dad doesn’t work either, do you, Dad?’

‘Claire,’ Bill said quietly, and Claire said, ‘What?’ and then Alison stood up, her food only half eaten. She excused herself, blaming homework and a headache, brushing off all the inevitable concern and kindness, and left the kitchen in a rush. In the hallway, by the front door, she struggled into her coat, grabbed her bag, burst out into the cold February evening, but Daniel was right behind her so she turned and clung on to him for a few moments, her face wet in the warmth of his neck. He held her while she steadied herself.

‘Alison,’ he said, after a while.

‘I’m sorry.’ She drew away. ‘I’m really sorry. Tell your mum I’m sorry.’

‘But what’s happened?’ Her distress caused him pain, actual pain. He wanted to take her sorrow and own it, deal with it, annihilate it. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, now,’ Alison said, although this was patently not the case. She tried to recover, sniffing like a small child and wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. Daniel reached for his coat from the peg inside the doorway, because obviously she was in no state to go anywhere alone, but Alison shook her head at him, furious in her distress. ‘No!’ she said, much louder than she’d intended, and she saw the alarm in Daniel’s face. For a few seconds she breathed slowly and deliberately, facing down the rising panic. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I’ll be fine, I just need to get going.’

Daniel said, ‘You know what, Alison, I’m getting on your bus with you tonight. I’m seeing you home. I’m worried about you.’

‘No!’ she said, backing away towards the gate. ‘No, please,’ but he had his coat on now, and he’d closed the front door behind him and followed her down the path, so she started to run, and he jogged after her, saying her name, trying not to shout. When she ran straight past her own bus stop as if she meant to flee on foot all the way to Attercliffe, he slowed to a walk, ended the chase, and called out to her.

‘OK, Alison, I’m not coming with you,’ he shouted. She ignored him, though, flying down the pavement with her coat sailing open and her school bag thumping against her hip.

‘Alison, please stop!’