Laurel wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a bit disorientating. It’ll be better when I get the studio set up.’

‘We could help you,’ Rea offered. She closed her magazine. ‘If I wasn’t being so stupid you wouldn’t have to be here.’ Rea was five years older than Laurel but, even at forty, there was something waif-like about her.

Laurel dusted croissant crumbs off her hand to pat Rea’s arm. ‘You’re not being stupid, you’re suffering from agoraphobia.’ With Rea living like a recluse, Daisy had been skipping lessons at school. When the electronic register was called, Daisy would not be present and might later be found loitering in an empty classroom. Or, after the register was taken, she’d complain of period pains or nausea and spend the lesson in the loo. Sometimes she told teachers she was late for school because she’d been collecting prescriptions or shopping for her mum. When the pastoral team contacted Rea, Rea admitted she had those things delivered.

The truancy worried Rea, which made her anxiety worse and discouraged her still more from leaving the safety of home. Her inability to face the world had risen sharply in the early summer, which was why Laurel had volunteered to return.

Daisy looked up from her phone. ‘There are so many women living here now we should change the name of the house from The Nookery to The Knickery.’ She considered her mum and aunt thoughtfully. ‘Nobody would think we’re even related. Mum’s got fair hair and hazel eyes and is thin, Auntie Laurel’s auburn with blue eyes, my hair and eyes are both dark, and we’re both curvy.’

Like Laurel, Daisy had developed those ‘curves’ early. Laurel remembered feeling conspicuous to have thirty-six double-Ds in her mid-teens and wondered if that was why Daisy so often wore oversized hoodies. Some girls might have relished the eye-catching boobs but Laurel had found the ogling and lewd remarks unwanted and unnerving, particularly as she’d struggled with the nightmarish aftermath of her mum’s death.

Daisy went on, putting down her phone. ‘And Laurel and me have names that sound like addresses. Daisy Grove and Laurel Hill.’

Laurel smiled. ‘I was already known as Laurel Hill in the art world when I married Alex so I didn’t take Lasienko. You’ll have to blame your father for Grove.’

Daisy snorted. ‘If I ever saw him, maybe I would.’ Rea had shared The Nookery with Ewan Grove during their brief marriage. Daisy was the only good thing Ewan had given Rea and he was no longer in his daughter’s life. Daisy frowned. ‘Aunt Terri’s not a Hill, is she?’