‘No, she’s Terri Chapman,’ Laurel explained. ‘She was the sister of our mum – Isla – but didn’t marry. When I lived with her while I went to art college in Peterborough, instead of sixth form, she went out with a few men but never seemed to get serious.’ Wanting to attend college in Peterborough wasn’t the reason she’d gone to live with Terri – it was just the reason she’d always given.

Laurel tapped a glossy image in Rea’s magazine depicting exposed beams and a brick-built fireplace just like The Nookery. ‘Your mum’s got this place looking like a magazine feature now, but our mum bought it as a wreck. Plaster dust and the smell of paint was a theme in our childhood. One Christmas we twined tinsel round the legs of the wallpaper table rather than fold it up and put it away.’

Rea nodded. ‘Dad made buying The Nookery possible – unfortunately. When he was killed, there was life insurance, but also compensation from his employer. He was a sports journalist and the accident happened when he was out on a job for his paper. He was messing about on a trials bike, which shouldn’t have been allowed. A lot of that money went towards buying and doing up this place, which meant we could stay here when Mum died.’

Laurel looked at Rea. ‘You’re underplaying. We couldn’t have stayed here if not for you working hard at a job you hated because it paid well.’

Daisy’s eyes were like saucers. ‘What? Like lap-dancing?’

Laurel grinned. ‘Well, no, not that.’

‘Telesales for an industrial flooring company, selling epoxy resin floors,’ Rea said repressively. ‘Bigger the floor, bigger the bonus. It was in a call-centre. And,’ she added, ‘I wouldn’t say I hated it.’

Raising her eyebrows, Laurel told Daisy firmly, ‘She hated it.’ The urge to grin deserted her. ‘Aunt Terri offered us a home with her but Rea getting that job convinced the authorities she could look after me, which she did until I, in a total about-face, went to live with Aunt Terri two years later, leaving her stuck here.’

The laugh Rea gave sounded forced. ‘Being “stuck here” is perfect for an agoraphobic.’ She leaned over to embrace Laurel. ‘You went to art school. It was fine.’

Laurel returned the hug but they both knew ‘art school’ had actually been a school in Peterborough with ‘Community Arts College’ in its title. Laurel could have travelled to the school from The Nookery daily and her conscience had known Rea had felt abandoned rather than relieved of the responsibility of a teenage sister.