She returned to Lydia’s bedroom and retrieved the tray from her bed. Lydia was now sitting at her desk, her back to Helen, and said nothing as she picked up the tray and left. Her phone was tossed on the bed, face down. Lydia had eaten at least and Helen took that as a small victory. She paused outside Matt’s door again on the way past. She leaned towards it just as the door flew open and she almost toppled into the room. The bowl slid dangerously towards the edge of the tray.

“Are you listening in on us?” Matt said in anger.

“No! I… er… came to collect the tray from Lydia’s room. She wasn’t well earlier and I made her some soup.” She was rambling at him in embarrassment.

“You were! You were listening in!” Now he sounded amused. “Hey, Diana, maybe we should give my delightful stepmother a bit of a show, what do you say? She’s so sad that she has to listen in on us to get her thrills.”

“Wow, that is sad,” Diana said, a sickening grin on her face.

“No, that’s not what—”

“That is exactly what it looks like.”

“Matt, this is my house and I think you should show some more respect, don’t you?” Helen said, but her voice lacked conviction.

He smirked and said, “Come on, Diana, let’s give the landlord what she wants.”

He leaned into Diana, but Diana stopped him with a firm hand on his chest and said, “Don’t be childish, Matt. I am not a toy.”

Diana flopped back onto the bed and flicked casually through a magazine, but Matt remained rooted to the spot, hurt paling his cheeks, mortified at being called out in front of Helen of all people.

Helen wanted to smile, but instead she turned her back on him and walked with a calm she didn’t feel back down the corridor.

She fled downstairs and slammed the tray on the kitchen table. She reached into the cupboard for another bag of crisps, her chest heaving as she stuffed handful after handful into her mouth, not tasting the salty vinegar, only swallowing in order to make room for more while feeling the acidic sting of tears on her cheeks. When the bag was empty, she thrust it into the bottom of the bin and opened the cupboard again, but heard the front door slam before she could pull anything else out. She paused, her hand still in the cupboard, and took a breath, trying to slow the pulse in her throat and settle her heaving chest.

Mills can’t see me like this.

She rushed over to the sink, splashed water on her face hurriedly and dried her hands just as Mills came in.

“Hey, Mum,” Mills said behind Helen.

Helen spun around, feigning cheerfulness. “Hi, how was your day?”