Clare recalled the incident and how she’d used her pocket money to buy her little sister some chocolate in the next village. She said nothing. The family laughed and the conversation went on without her.

They weren’t always equally long-suffering. Angus, in particular, continued to find Clare’s behaviour difficult to stomach, perhaps because, up until she became anorexic, he was her greatest admirer. She was his big sister. The fair one. The fun one. The one who always knew what Mom and Dad would want for Christmas. The one who helped him with school projects and taught him how alike girls and boys actually were.

One evening, on her way to her room after a run, Clare bumped into Angus as he came out of the bathroom. He stepped back and looked her up and down.

“Please tell me you didn’t run near the sports grounds again today,” he said, his top lip twisted upwards.

“Huh? Why?” she asked.

“Geez, Clare, the guys are training there. I can’t deal with their comments.”

She looked down and walked on. Angus followed her.

“You know, you think this is all about you, but it’s not,” he said, blocking her from entering her room. “Your craziness affects this whole family. We have to tiptoe around and pretend it’s all okay and not say anything that might upset you. We can’t live normally. My friends treat me like you’ve died or have leprosy. Did you know that? It’s not all about you, Clare. It’s about us, too. But I guess you are too selfish to notice that.”

She pushed past him and closed the door. From then on, she took her meals to her room.

Angus’s outburst made her think about what an unpleasant person she had become. She was obsessive, grumpy, mean, worn out and critical. Above all, as he’d said, she was selfish and self-obsessed. Everything she did and thought about concerned her, what she ate and when she ran and studied. There was no place in her thoughts for anyone else. The reality, though, was that even knowing that and acknowledging it, wasn’t enough to make her accept that she might need help. She hated hurting Angus almost as much as she hated hurting her dad, but she couldn’t change it. The only way she imagined inflicting less pain on them was by withdrawing even more.

Eventually, Clare grew accustomed to the solitude. Sometimes she even congratulated herself for having achieved another goal: self-rule. On the odd occasion, usually when she was trying to fall asleep, that Clare felt the emptiness of her existence and doubted she could continue fighting alone, she resolved to run further and faster the next day. Physical exhaustion, she’d learned, was a great deterrent of doubt and an excellent proponent of sleep.