Laurel agreed. Though she’d been easing herself back into life in Middledip, she’d also been reading about helping a loved one with agoraphobia. Showing Rea she was her ally was her priority but her first step would be a behind-the-scenes one: to stop the bullying of Daisy. That should end the truanting and make the flow of school emails to Rea dry up, which would be one anxiety gone. Encouraging Rea through the barrier of fear that locked her into her home was a longer-term goal.

It was nearly eight-thirty when, bundled up against a frosty evening, Laurel and Daisy crossed the village, their breath like clouds and Daisy sliding on frozen puddles. They passed The Three Fishes, which was looking splendidly festive in a network of fairy lights that twinkled from the roof and every wall, with blinking, winking Christmas trees standing sentinel either side of the door. Once they reached Port Road Laurel saw Daisy up the long front path to number 148, and waited for Niall to answer the door before turning away. She retraced her steps as far as Ladies Lane, where Mistletoe Cottage sat diagonally on the corner. It was a part-stone, part-brick cottage, its tiled roof sagging at the ridge. A canopy porch sheltered a front door ornamented by a little window. Laurel gave the brass door knocker two raps.

Grady opened the door. His dark hair looked, as her mum would have said, as if he’d been pulled through a hedge backwards. His expression was set and pale. ‘Thanks for coming.’ He ushered her in. In the hall, a green lamp with a cream shade cast light on a quarry tiled floor.

‘I’m really putting on you,’ he said as she hung up her coat and scarf and followed him through a doorway to a sitting room. He plumped down on the edge of a black leather chair. A half-drunk bottle of Malbec stood on a small table, a part-filled glass beside it and a clean glass standing ready. He indicated the wine distractedly. ‘Want some?’

His manner was so tense that Laurel thought she’d better say, ‘Yes, please.’ She took a seat on the sofa, a big corner unit that took up all the space.

He sloshed a measure into the glass and handed it to her. ‘I don’t know if I’m being a diva. Someone’s asked me something and I’ve taken it so badly, I feel like running round smashing things.’ He broke off this opaque explanation to take a quick, nervous swig of wine.