They fell silent, selecting what to keep, such as Isla’s paintings and the stash of pristine old newspapers. Daisy checked something on her phone then looked up, beaming. ‘They’re having the tree lighting outside the village hall tonight. Can I go?’

Seeing Rea assume her worried look, eyes wide and forehead wrinkling, Laurel asked casually, ‘Could I come?’

‘Yeah, great,’ Daisy agreed, tapping rapidly at her phone screen. She drifted away after a while, ostensibly to do homework.

Rea sighed as she wiped dust from the window and watched her daughter jog down the path, huddled into her hoodie. ‘I hope she goes to all of her lessons on Monday. I dread the school texting to say she’s been skipping again.’

Laurel paused to take in Rea’s lines of worry. ‘They’re onto it that quickly?’

‘The electronic registers at every lesson are transmitted to the office and someone checks it there,’ Rea explained. ‘What doesn’t make sense is that it’s art lessons Daisy often bunks off. She’s all about art! She loves the craft sessions at The Angel and you’ve heard how excited she is about the art show. Before the summer holidays it was English she skipped but that was always one of her favourites, too.’

‘If it’s not the subjects she’s avoiding then it must be someone in those classes.’ Laurel stretched over a box to give Rea a comforting hug.

But Rea was already shaking her head. ‘That’s the obvious conclusion but I’ve asked and asked and the school’s given her bags of opportunity to explain or to ask for help. She insists it’s not anyone or anything. She’s been such an easy kid till now but I’m at my wits’ end.’ Despair rang in Rea’s voice. ‘After detention and isolation last school year, she eventually returned to her lessons. Then we had the same cycle at the beginning of September term and now again after half-term. I can’t get a handle on what’s happening.’

Laurel frowned. ‘In some ways she seems engaged with school. She told me about dressing as Santa to help with a party for the younger kids.’ That made Laurel think of Mac having to wear Daisy’s Santa pants and her thoughts flew to the scene of some of her own teenaged problems. ‘She travels to school by bus, doesn’t she?’

Rea nodded. ‘Not much choice. She’d have to walk several miles between Bettsbrough and the village otherwise. That’s not acceptable.’

‘Of course not.’ Laurel returned to work but only half her mind was now on the studio. ‘I’ll take Daisy to and from school on Monday. I have stuff to do in Bettsbrough.’