He looked down and shook his head.

“I know.” She felt her throat thicken. “I’ve hurt him terribly. I hate myself for that. I’m sorry. He’s the last person I’d want to hurt. But I’m getting better. I’m going to make it up to my father.”

“Well—”

“He’s ashamed of me, isn’t he? Did he say that? Or was it my mother?”

“Mich—”

“I knew it. My poor dad. I’ll make it up to him.”

Derek was staring at her. “No, that’s not . . . he’s not—”

He was interrupted by the waitress who placed their food on the table. When she left, Derek leaned back in his chair and placed a serviette on his lap.

“I just wanted to check that you’re okay,” he said. “That—um—that whatever happened to you hasn’t happened again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever happened to make you stop eating. If someone hurt you—or something.”

“No one hurt me. That’s not how it works. Not for me anyway.”

He stared at her, eyes darting. For a moment, Clare thought he was going to challenge her. Did he want her to have been hurt by someone? Would it make it easier for him to understand why she was anorexic? But why did he need an explanation? He and her mother had known one another their entire lives. He, Faye and her parents moved in the same circles, but that didn’t explain his visit, the uneasy lunch and his . . . his prying.

“If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about this,” she said, picking up her knife and fork.

“Do you talk to Geoff, I mean, your father about it?”

She shook her head. He gave the faintest trace of a smile and began eating.

They didn’t discuss her parents or her problem again, self-consciously navigating their way through the lunch by chatting about her studies and how Zach was doing. Derek seemed to have accepted his son’s decision or, if he didn’t, made no comment on his disapproval. The conversation was stilted, and when Clare said she had to rush, Derek didn’t try to delay her. She was relieved when they said their goodbyes, additionally so when he didn’t suggest they do it again.

She’d never mentioned Derek’s visit to her parents. Neither did she and Derek ever speak of it. However, she never forgot how she managed to almost finish her chicken salad with its unidentifiable and therefore unknown caloric-value dressing. It was a victory and, she knew, a tiny turning point in her recovery. She thought of how the information would baffle Derek if she ever told him about the significance of their lunch.