“I know. I’m not asking to be naïve and seventeen again; I just want to be able to look at myself and feel proud, happy, so others can feel the same. I can’t think of any other way of getting rid of the shame.”

She heard the leaves crinkle as Faye shuddered.

“Are you cold?” asked Clare.

“No. No. Not at all. I just, well, have you ever asked your dad if he’s ashamed of you? In so many words, I mean.”

“I don’t have to. It’s obvious. Also, Derek told me.”

There was louder scrunching sound as Faye shifted her weight. “Derek? What would Derek know about how your father feels about you?”

“He said my mother told him.”

“Your mother told Derek your father was ashamed of you?” Faye spoke slowly.

“Apparently.”

“That doesn’t sound right. I mean, why?”

“Why? Because it’s how people feel about anorexia—when someone they know is anorexic.”

“No, I mean why would Michelle, your mom, tell Derek?”

“I don’t know. Because they’ve been friends forever and talk every day about everything? That’s what he said, anyway.”

Faye was quiet. Clare wondered again why she’d opened up to Faye. Mark was the only other person she’d ever spoken so freely to about her condition. Even then she’d been more guarded. It had been a weird day. Perhaps the shock and the painkillers were to blame.

“I think I’m going to sleep now.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. Yes. I hope you sleep well. Wake me, Clare, if you need me. Please,” said Faye.

Clare eventually drifted off and slept deeply for several hours. When she woke up, her body stiff from guarding against the tiniest movement, it was still dark. The pain though, was worse than the stiffness. Every joint, muscle and nerve seemed connected to her rib cage, where the agony was channelled and then radiated back out like the talons of a bolt of lightning, clenching and burning. Even turning her head hurt.