‘I see. Now do you think you might be better off at home, just for today? Until the period calms itself down a mite, eh.’ She was gratified to see the girl’s obvious relief at the outcome.

Ten minutes later Donna and her mother drove home from the school in silence. Inside the house Donna was tucked into bed, given a hot water bottle and a copy of Black Beauty to read.

Then Monica Fenland sat on the side of the bed and smiled at her daughter before saying, ‘You did well today, Donna. Your monthly visitor is private - Mrs Dowson had no right bringing it into the open like that. She should have popped you in a cab . . . But there, it’s done now. I was called from work, I had to travel to your school, and now I have to return to my work. Not that Mrs Dowson would understand that, I suspect. So you just lie back and relax, and if you’re feeling better later on, you can peel a few potatoes for me, eh?’ Standing up, she smoothed out the creases in her plaid skirt.

‘What happens now, Mum? Will it be like this every month?’ But Monica Fenland was already walking from the bedroom, Donna’s words falling on deaf ears.

As she started up her car, Monica glanced at the neat detached house, at her daughter’s bedroom window, and sighed heavily. Not a natural mother, she cared for her daughter but knew she failed her. Monica had never experienced the rush of love other mothers talked about on first seeing their child after the delivery.

The birth of Hamish had been difficult and humiliating. It was an act she had refused to repeat. Then, just as she was convinced her childbearing days were over, along had come a baby girl. The embarrassment of her late pregnancy still made her face go hot fourteen years later.

Pregnant at forty-three.

Leaning on the cool leather covering of her steering wheel she felt the tears, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t really love her daughter.

And she knew that Donna Fenland was a child who needed a great deal of love.

Pulling out of the drive, she felt the familiar urge for a drink.

‘Donna, you’re so bloody boring! Come on, girl.’

Donna followed Jackie’s lead and together they looked through the motley collection of shoes displayed on the market stall.

‘Your mum can’t stop you doing anything now . . .’ Jackie’s voice trailed off. ‘Oh, Donna, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that how it came out.’

Donna looked into the honest blue eyes of her best friend and nodded.