Amid the chaos—their bunk bed in the middle of the room, mouldering suppers among their stationery—Franny had told her. She confided what she had been doing in crumbs: scraps of information that had scared Piglet. When Piglet had told her she should at least tell Mum, Franny had cried. When Piglet had told her she couldn’t keep doing this, Franny had begun to shake, her breathing jagged. So, Piglet had bargained: “Promise me you’ll eat at least a quarter at teatime, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
