As Stephanie pins on a smile to welcome her client, I go next door to the florist. The shop is filled with the scent of eucalyptus as I peruse the buckets of spring flowers, my spirits already lifting as I gather bunches of tulips, ranunculi and tiny white narcissi, in my indulgent attempt to bring beauty into our toxic house – not that anyone else will notice.

But as I drive home, I’m thinking about what Stephanie said. None of our lives are perfect, are they? I imagine the unspoken message beneath her words. You have enough problems of your own, Elise. Does she know what Andrew’s up to, and if so, how?

But then everyone knows hairdressers are privy to all kinds of secrets. Stephanie probably knows better than anyone about what goes on around here. I feel myself frown. Except, apparently, when it comes to Hollie.

Niamh

Hollie was friends with Dylan first. But now he’s gone, she only has me.

‘People are so horrible, Niamh …’ She couldn’t stop sobbing after my parents had gone to the pub last night. It took ages for me to get the truth out of her, that one of her teachers had phoned her father because the school is worried about her.

‘The teacher said I wasn’t eating. They think I’m anorexic. But I don’t eat because I can’t.’ She spoke theatrically through the river of tears pouring down her face.

I could understand her being upset about a teacher poking her nose in, but her hysteria left me mystified.

But it’s always the same. Like her clothes, Hollie’s defences are paper-thin, every barbed word piercing her skin. She has no armour against a world she believes is set against her.

*

The following day, when I come back from school, I see Hollie from the bus window. She’s sitting on the wall, stroking the cat as she waits for me, and her eyes are red, as though she’s been crying. As the bus slows and I get off, she jumps down and falls into step beside me. Even before she speaks, I feel her restlessness. ‘I hate this place,’ she tells me, meaning the village. ‘Is your mum home?’

‘I don’t know.’ I lose track of when she’s flying. Every week, my mother’s roster is different. ‘You can come in, if you like.’

Hollie looks wary.

I frown at her. Hollie doesn’t usually mind my mum. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I just don’t want to see anyone. OK?’ Her voice is fierce.

At the bottom of the drive, I glance towards the house. My father’s car is there, which is odd. ‘She’s out. That’s my dad’s car but he won’t be home.’ I look at Hollie. ‘Are you coming in?’

But she doesn’t budge. ‘How do you know he’s not there?’