‘Yes. It was very pleasant. Are you sitting outside to eat?’

There’s something in her tone that makes me think it’s a request, rather than a question.

‘Yes. I thought I’d wrap this in cling film and wander down to the lake to enjoy it. I’d love some company.’

She looks pleased. ‘Okay. That would be great.’

Minutes later we begin our stroll and for once I don’t really have to focus on keeping the conversation flowing. Kellie seems happy to chat away about how pleased she is to be staying on and that her mother is on her side. I wait until she’s finished to ask a question.

‘Your father isn’t happy that you’re here?’

Kellie shakes her head. ‘I’m always in the middle of them. Out of sheer principle, they never agree on anything. Mum usually takes my side, so Dad does the opposite. He says if Mum hadn’t cosseted me—’ She pauses, mid-sentence, and a look of anxiety passes over her face. ‘Well, he thinks my problems are because I’m spoilt,’ she finishes. But I can tell that wasn’t what she was going to say in the first place because her unease is very evident.

When we reach the bench, we unwrap our lunch plates and I pass her a napkin. She asks how the painting is going. I tell Kellie how nervous I was the first time my brush touched the canvas and how vulnerable it made me feel.

‘It was both thrilling and scary, creating something visual and having to accept that not everyone is going to like what you do. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say.’

‘I should imagine it’s a bit like being told you have an ugly baby,’ Kellie replies, giving me a sympathetic smile.

‘I Skyped my neighbour this morning and showed it to her. Of course, I’ve only just made a start on it, but she didn’t look at all impressed.’

‘It’s hard to be brave when that’s not how you feel inside,’ she admits.

I nod.

We eat in silence for a while, but I notice that Kellie is only toying with her food. She keeps playing with her bracelets, and they softly jangle as she eases them back and forth.

‘I like Taylor,’ she says, quietly.

‘I know.’

‘He likes me, too. But he said he’s not ready to get close to someone.’

A part of me is relieved, although I can see she is upset about it.

‘Do you know the story behind his scar?’ she asks.

I shake my head.