I knew I was probably coming across as heartless, but it was safer for me to retreat. It always had been.

The other truth was, I was in such freefall with my own mess and had been for months. It was hard to get headspace to think about anything.

But after she’d gone, and once I’d finished my morning classes, I had a bit of space to reflect. I’ll call her later, I thought. Get her round for a drink, a proper chat to clear the air. Laugh at the woman Jan’s poisonous blog.

I’d seen one incident with my own eyes: that silly girl Lola taunting that dolt of a friend of Zach’s, out in Nella’s posh garden, goading him until he got annoyed. It had been something and nothing; Zach’s mate had looked sheepish. Later, it happened again.

But it wasn’t just this Zach and Willow stuff – it was also my stuff.

My hitting the skids stuff. My hopelessness.

And I knew Ruby knew, and in a way, it was a comfort: I was terrible at turning to people for help – but maybe this was the moment to do it.

Except I hadn’t factored in the furious call from Rex on my way home from work – and that sent me running to quieten my woes.

And that, of course, made everything much harder to deal with when I got home, late, to find Cecilia in pieces.

Nella

Willow had started the morning by calling me a silly cow when I asked her to pick up her dirty clothes and put them in the wash basket.

Normally it was Birgitte’s job to chase the laundry, but she’d met some girl at the street party and had barely been home since.

By God though, I thought, watching Willow sulk her way round her room, my daughter was a mucky little minx. Not like Beau, who could be relied on to put too much into the wash. There were definite up sides to him being a little socially challenged.

Willow denied using such a choice epithet obviously.

‘I didn’t say anything, Mum,’ she said and widened her eyes in amazement when I’d gasped, ‘What was that, young lady?’

I stood with folded arms at the door, feeling for all the world like my own mother. Feeling old and ridiculous and just goddamn annoyed.

‘Nothing,’ Willow said again, and I retorted, uselessly, ‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’

Though right now, I pretty much felt like I had been.

When did it get like this between us? Me and my little girl.

Honestly, I thought I was supporting Willow by taking her to see Cecilia; by going to the police. I thought, no, I hoped she’d be grateful.

She’d point-blank insisted, despite Marcus telling us we could sort it out ourselves, between us all. He didn’t want to draw attention to the family, it was a key time in his campaign, he begged me not to go to the police – but that just irritated me beyond all else. As if a girl’s rights – his daughter’s rights at that – were not to be listened to, just in case it muddied the waters for him.