So a helmet had been duly purchased, in black, not pink, and Pip could now get herself into town and back without the humiliation of having to ask for a lift.

It had been a struggle at first; any encounter with a road made her heart rate soar. But gradually, she had got used to it, and now she could just about deal with the country lanes without too many panics, although she often got off and pushed when the traffic got heavy.

The Have a Heart charity shop sat on the main shopping street in the town, and was run like a military operation by a distant friend of the family. Volunteering there had been her mother’s idea to try and ‘take her out of herself’.

‘It’ll do you no end of good, Pip,’ she’d said. ‘Getting out of the house and meeting people is probably just what you need. And it’ll give some structure to your days, too.’

Pip was less sure. She had barely even been in a charity shop, let alone contemplated working in one. But her mother was right; she did need something to do, and it began to feel, to a small degree at least, like a way of giving something back. Of course, it went no way to appease her guilt, but she hoped it might send a message to anyone who was watching that she was trying to atone.

The shop work was remarkably unchallenging, which was exactly what she needed, and it kept her mind busy, so she didn’t spend all day thinking about the accident. Its main benefit, however, was that it got her away from the claustrophobic atmosphere at the farm.

As she approached the shop door, she saw the usual pile of abandoned black bin bags disgorging their contents across the doorstep. It was the same most days. Audrey had placed a laminated sign in the window kindly requesting that people deliver their donations when the shop was open, but nobody took any notice. Pip wondered whether this was a matter of simple convenience, or whether it was really just embarrassment at being associated with their cast-offs. Some of the items that people left were barely fit to be used as rags, let alone sold on for future wear.

Pip locked her bike to a drainpipe and dropped her helmet into the basket in full confidence that it would still be there when she returned at the end of the day. Then she went to sit on the bench opposite to wait for Audrey to open up. A couple of minutes later her boss came bustling down the pavement towards her. Head down, she walked fast, as if she were carrying out a vital but rather tiresome mission, sidestepping anyone in her path without raising her gaze. When she reached the shop, she stared at the pile of donations and shook her head vehemently, her grey perm barely stirring. Pip could see her lips moving with muttered curses.