The next morning, I get up early and sit at the breakfast bar, surrounded by my scattered paperwork.

My laptop displays numerous tabs indicating all the additional documents that I need to read and digest ready for an important meeting after the weekend with our client, a weight-loss company who are dealing with a civil law suit over misleading advertising.

Head down, I scan through the paperwork first, making notes. Through the fog of my absorption in work, I’m vaguely aware of Maisie padding into the kitchen and walking over to the sink.

Just as I get to the end of the page I’m reading, I’m startled out of my focus by a glass shattering on the floor.

Maisie screams and jumps back.

I jump up, shove my feet into my flip-flops and rush over to her. ‘Are you OK? Have you cut yourself?’

‘Sorry… I just wanted a glass of water,’ she whispers as I slide my arm gently around her shoulders and guide her backwards, away from the broken glass.

My fingers connect with what feels like pure bone on her shoulder, no padding of flesh.

I look at her and swallow hard. When was the last time I really looked at my daughter? She is gaunt. Her skin is pale, emphasised by dark circles under both eyes, through lack of sleep, I’d guess.

She’s wearing a big baggy sweatshirt, one of Shaun’s old ones she sometimes used to throw on at night, instead of fussing with a blanket, while we watched television.

She raises a hand to push back a strand of hair that’s escaped its bobble, and I see that it’s shaking. Then I notice her nails are bitten to the quick.

‘Come and sit down.’ I lead her to the comfy seats near the television and sit next to her. ‘You haven’t had any breakfast. How about a slice of toast and a nice glass of fresh juice?’

Her beautiful blue eyes stare back at me just the same as they’ve always done, but it’s as if Maisie isn’t behind them this time. They look dull and lifeless.

‘I’m not hungry,’ she whispers, and stares out of the window into the garden.

It’s a windy day, strong enough that the bare branches of the blossom tree and the skeletal hedge wave in the blustery air.

‘You know you can talk to me, sweetie?’ I cup my fingers under her chin and turn her face to look at me. ‘You can tell me anything that’s worrying you.’

‘I know, Mum,’ she says, her voice rising an octave with irritation. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She turns away again and her fingers pinch and pull at the sweatshirt.

It’s hard to tell how much weight she’s lost in her nightwear and the baggy clothes she’s taken to wearing. I don’t know why I’ve not noticed how her dress sense has changed recently, the way she wears oversized sweatshirts and cardigans over her school uniform.

I glance at the pile of paperwork on the kitchen top and bite my lip. My focus has been elsewhere for a while now. Work has become a refuge.

Feeling sorry for myself after Shaun’s desertion, and with my dad’s critical voice constantly echoing in my ears, somehow I’ve allowed my concern for my daughter to slip down the list.

‘Let me get you some food.’ I make to stand up and she glares at me, eyes flashing.

‘I told you, I’m not hungry,’ she snaps.

I’m seized with a sudden fearful feeling.

‘If someone is upsetting you, Maisie, I want to know about it.’

‘What?’ She looks at me, eyes wide. ‘What do you mean?’

She must know I mean Joanne and Piper, but I’m not going to put words into her mouth.

‘Look, I know it’s been difficult for you, going to see your dad and trying to fit in with a different family, but—’

‘I told you,’ she says, standing up. Her cheeks flush pink. ‘Nothing is wrong!’

Then she turns on her heel and stomps back upstairs. I feel instinctively that it’s best not to follow and bombard her with questions. I think I’ll speak to Mum about it, see what she thinks.

The house is quiet for a couple of hours. I work and Maisie stays in her bedroom.

Later, I hear the rumble of the boiler kicking in. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and listen.

Maisie is in the shower.

Upstairs on the landing, I pull out a warm, fluffy bath sheet from the airing cupboard and stand outside the bathroom door.

For once, I’m thankful that Shaun never got around to putting a lock on it, despite my repeated requests when we first moved in. It’s not really been that much of an issue. We’ve always respected each other’s privacy and knocked first to see if the room is free.

I crook my index finger and tap the knuckle on the wood, so lightly even I can barely hear it. Just to satisfy myself that I did it.

Then I open the door and walk into the bathroom.

The small window is closed, the extractor fan hasn’t been turned on and the room is full of steam. The shower curtain is pulled across the full width of the bath, a plethora of brightly coloured fish and sparkles bobbing around inside it, affording my daughter an almost opaque screen.

‘Only me,’ I call, striding across the room. ‘I brought you a fresh towel.’

I hear a sharp intake of breath, and her hand shoots out to grab the shower curtain to cover her at the open end of the bath.

But she’s too late. I’m already there, peering around the waterproof fabric to catch a glimpse of her, and what I see makes me catch my breath.

‘I’ll just leave the towel here,’ I say, fighting to keep my voice level. I fold it double and place it on the small wooden stool at the end of the bath that I use for my glass of wine and my current paperback.

Then I rush out of the room and close the door behind me.

Back on the landing, I allow myself to sink against the wall to draw in breath and squeeze my eyes against the shocking vision.

I can’t believe the change in her is happening as quickly. To lose weight this fast she must literally be starving herself.

The shower is off now and I imagine Maisie drying her newly thin body and bony shoulders.

It’s all I can do not to rush up and gather her into my arms, tell her everything will be OK and that I’m sorry that me and her dad did this to her, wrapped up in our petty squabbles and desperate to make our own lives perfect again.

But I don’t rush back in. I know it will do more harm than good at this point because Maisie is closed to any suggestion that something is wrong. For some reason, she won’t talk about what happens when she visits her father.

I pad quietly back downstairs.

First thing tomorrow morning, I have to get Maisie an urgent doctor’s appointment. I could kick myself I haven’t done so before now.

I also know I need a long, frank conversation soon with Shaun, whether Maisie approves or not.