Although she doubted others would believe her—if she dared tell them—Clare felt sure that she had turned a corner in her illness. While she had moments of weakness, like when she snapped at Faye yesterday and only just managed to restrain herself from doing sit-ups on the first night of the hike, they were fewer and far between. She believed that she was resuming control. That was the plan. The only way she’d fully recover would be to prove to herself she was stronger than the illness.

The solution had come to her when she returned home from varsity for the first time and saw the effect of her illness on her father and mother. It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t known she had lost weight since leaving home. The news had reached them months previously when one of Michelle’s colleagues, whose daughter was a student at the university too, mentioned it.

“Sweetheart, I believe you’re terribly thin,” said Michelle, when she called Clare that evening. “So thin, people are talking about it. What’s that about?”

It hadn’t been difficult to reassure Michelle over the phone. Her mother, a runner, was delighted Clare had become serious about the sport and, yes, of course runners were on the thin side. Michelle dismissed the information as ill-informed gossip, probably instigated by someone who wished that they themselves had the kind of drive required to get leaner so they could run faster and farther. She said as much to Geoffrey. It was he who discovered they’d been wrong not to ask more questions.

When a bony girl with long hair listlessly dragged two bags towards him at the airport, Geoffrey stared beyond her, looking for his daughter among the other passengers appearing between the automatic sliding doors. Even when the girl planted herself in front of him and said, “Dad! Hello!” it took several seconds before Geoffrey recognised Clare.

That night, as she was about to tap on her parents’ bedroom door to say good night, she heard weeping. It was her father.

“I don’t understand,” he said between sniffs. “What happened to her? What happened to our girl?”

Clare didn’t hear her mother’s muted response. She turned and ran down the passage. She’d never seen or heard her father cry. He was her rock. The man with a solution for every problem and a disposition strong enough to shoulder any troubles. She had broken her father. She’d shattered the strongest person she knew. She felt faint with shame and self-loathing.

“You need to see someone, sweetheart,” said her mother the next day. Geoffrey had left home early. “A doctor. A specialist.”

“No,” replied Clare.

Michelle blinked, frustrated. “You know you’re unwell, ill, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“So you need someone to treat you, to help you get well. It’s that simple.”

“No. I have to do this myself, Mom.”