Artists Town-a FREE TO READ coming of age tale (SAMPLE ONLY)

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They were meant to go to France on holiday—or at least Spain, which was Daisy's preference. For as far back as she could remember, she and her family had holidayed in France or Spain.

Tony, Daisy's dad, loved France and always used the holidays to practice his French. He insisted the children spoke it too. Daisy hated that part. She could sense the French wincing as she mangled their language. On the other hand, she spoke French much better than most of her schoolmates.

This year, though, a foreign holiday was out of the question. "I just couldn't, Tony," her mum had said. "I'd be so worried. I mean, what if..." She looked at Daisy.

Debbie meant what if something happened to Daisy. Nine months ago, Daisy's life turned upside down. She had lost a stone in weeks, which was fantastic, but she'd felt tired and thirsty all the time. Not so fantastic.

Her mum attributed it to anorexia initially—rife among Daisy's school friends, competitive under-eaters all—and began closely watching her daughter as she ate. Satisfied that Daisy was eating enough and not throwing it up or shitting it out afterwards, she took her to their GP.

He made her pee on a stick, announced she had type 1 diabetes and needed to be admitted to hospital as soon as possible.

Her mum started to cry. Daisy was none the wiser. "What is that?" she asked. Didn't her nanna sometimes talk about her friend, Dot, who had diabetes and ate cakes even though her doctor told her not to?

"It's a chronic health condition," the doctor replied. "Your pancreas has stopped working. It's not producing insulin. You need insulin to break down carbohydrates in food."

Daisy still didn't feel enlightened. "What's the cure for it?"

The doctor sat back in his seat. The look he gave her was one of pity. "There's no cure, I'm afraid."

She spent a week in the hospital, a week where doctors, nurses and dieticians bombarded her with information. These are carbohydrates; this is an exchange. One exchange is an apple, one slice of bread or one scoop of mashed potatoes. These are syringes. This is insulin. You need to give yourself injections in the morning and at night.

One very scary doctor told her in detail what would happen if she didn't take care of herself.

"You will lose your eyesight. Your kidneys will pack up, and you will need dialysis. You will get liver disease. Your nerves will stop working properly, and you will live with pain. Your blood pressure will increase too much, and you will be at risk of a stroke or a heart attack."

Eventually, Debbie told him to stop. Daisy was white-faced, recovering from the shock of yet another blood sample taken from her arm.

Life became a constant round of injections, measuring out food and always carrying glucose tablets with her. All the activities she'd previously taken for granted—going to school, walking there and back, meeting up with friends, going to McDonald's with those friends, hanging out in other people's houses, doing PE—they weren't the same anymore.

Anything that involved being away from the house was now fraught with danger, as far as her mum was concerned. In Debbie's ideal world, Daisy reckoned she'd make sure her daughter never left the house, schooling and Vitamin D exposure be damned.

Hence, the holiday in Kirkinwall. Tony chose the place at the last minute. Years ago, before his children had been born, he and Debbie had visited the area and loved its peace and quiet. It was the opposite of London, he said, and after the year they'd had, a marvellous place for the annual Walker holiday.

Marvellous, it was not, Daisy reflected. As they'd booked so late, places to stay were limited. Their only option had been the grottily grim Braemar B&B instead of the bijou cottage with its open-plan rooms and garden backdropped by valley views and blue skies they usually stayed in when they went to France.