However, even though she looked so dreadful, Pip felt different. She wasn’t well, or anything that came close to feeling like she had done before the accident, but she definitely felt less hollow than she had the day before. This was good, she thought. Maybe she was finally making some progress. She didn’t want to shrug off all the pain she was carrying – that was her burden, and it was only right she should bear at least part of it until her dying day – but allowing a little of its weight to slip from her shoulders? Surely no harm could come of that.

The second her mother caught sight of her it was obvious she could see the change, too. Pip saw her take in the pinched and swollen eyes, and then saw the relief crossing her face as she began to understand what had happened. How often had she urged Pip to cry over the previous months, assuring her that it would be cathartic to let some of the hurt and pain out? Now it was obvious Pip had done exactly that, she must have been a little reassured.

But she said nothing.

‘Are you going into the shop today?’ she asked instead.

Pip nodded as she poured herself a bowl of cornflakes and then buried them with three spoonfuls of sugar. Her mother didn’t even tut.

‘Mum?’ said Pip when the bowl was empty.

‘Yes, love,’ her mother replied. Pip noticed that she stopped what she was doing so she could give Pip her full attention, understanding instinctively that this was an important moment. ‘Thank you. You know, for having me back here. I’m sure it’s not been, well . . . I just wanted you to know that I am grateful.’

Her mother gave a tight little smile, and Pip could tell that she was fighting to hold her own emotions back.

‘You can always come home,’ she said softly.

After a pause, during which each of them clearly wanted to move on but didn’t know quite which way to go, her mother tapped her forehead and said, ‘Oh, I forgot. I asked some people about Evelyn Mountcastle. There’s quite a story there. Remind me, why were you interested in her?’

There seemed little point in hiding the fact that she had taken the diary. It was more important to find out as much as she could about Evelyn.

‘An old diary turned up at the shop,’ Pip explained.

Her mother raised an eyebrow.

‘It was in a box of things to throw away,’ Pip replied defensively. ‘So. Who is she?’