But Rea was already shaking her head. ‘Not right at the moment, thanks.’

Laurel cursed herself for such an obvious, clumsy attempt to coax Rea out. Her eyes dropped to the laptop screen again, searching for alternatives. ‘It says here you can refer yourself to an NHS psychological therapies service. The guided self-help programme can be delivered by phone or online, so probably counselling or CBT could be, too.’ She looked up at her sister, taking in the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes.

Gently, she asked, ‘How many times have you seen your GP about this?’ She hated to think that any GP would leave a patient feeling as unsupported as Rea seemed: agitated because she couldn’t go out; unable to go out because she was agitated.

It took Rea several seconds to answer. ‘Once,’ she finally admitted.

Laurel smothered an exclamation. Getting impatient would only cement Rea’s conviction that she was ‘so crap’. She kept her voice even. ‘Why only once?’ She closed the laptop and focused on Rea.

Rea’s eyes brimmed. ‘Just feeling overwhelmed. Long wait in the waiting room. People. Noise. Smells.’

‘And the only thing offered was counselling outside the home?’ Laurel pressed.

A hesitation. Then, ‘He signposted me to information and offered pills. He did tell me I was welcome to return,’ she admitted, making Laurel aware that, in her anxiety, Ria was rearranging events in her mind to justify not looking for the right kind of help.

‘But you didn’t?’ Laurel prompted, gently holding Rea to account.

Rea’s chest heaved. ‘Loads of companies are happy for you to work at home. I went out if I really needed to and just about controlled my anxiety with deep breathing. Then, a few months ago it just … got worse.’ She dropped her gaze.

Then, in the foyer, she had a panic attack, clutching her chest and gasping. Laurel could remember Daisy’s own trembling anxiety as she recounted the ‘bad smell’. Maybe Rea had been aware of the girls behind her laughing, knowing she was embarrassing Daisy. Running for home.

Rea gave a laugh that sounded like a sob. ‘I don’t think you can understand if you don’t experience it. A panic attack is like a band tightening round my chest so that I can’t breathe. My stomach knots up. Once it’s happened a few times – and it can be triggered by really ordinary things, like being in a crowd or not being able to find a parking space – you get anxious about it happening again.’ She sucked in several long, slow breaths. ‘Agoraphobia is a really powerful feeling that something is going to go wrong.’

‘Except in the house?’ Laurel murmured, sympathetic tears pricking her eyes.

Rea nodded. ‘Exactly.’