Her chair is empty, but as I cast my eyes down to type I can almost imagine her sitting there - her skinny little knees tucked under her chin, immersed in her teenage world. That selfish phase we all went through where you felt the world was against you and that nobody understood you. Internally you were shouting 'it's my life - stop telling me what to do'.
Despite this, my 15-year-old daughter Martha was still tactile, loving and sharply witty. We had an open and honest relationship and talked about anything and everything - which is why she felt able to tell me that she had taken ecstasy.
My main worry was that, whilst I was terrified, there was no fear within her. I asked her why she would do such a thing and she said very simply "it makes me feel happy". "Aren't you happy anyway?" I barked, and she said "yes, but it makes me feel even happier". That floored me - the matter-of-factness of her response, as though I had asked her if she wanted a cup of tea.
I didn't know where to turn. I took her into her school in the hope that somebody would help her to see sense. And I did what I could to scare her out of it: "those tablets could have anything in them - they could contain rat poison", I said.
My words now haunt me, because what happened next showed me that she had actually listened to some of my advice.
On the 20th of July last year, at 1.15pm, an unrecognised number appeared on my mobile phone. I picked it up and a stranger's voice said: "your daughter is gravely ill and we're trying to save her life".
Martha had been kayaking as usual that Saturday morning with a club in Oxford. Afterwards, at 11.30am, she swallowed half a gram of white powder. We now know that it was MDMA – more widely known as ecstasy – that was 91% pure. She had done her research and gone for the more pure version, rather than a tablet, trying to keep within the realms of safety. But it was clear she had no idea what she was doing.
She collapsed at the lakeside at 1.15pm, banging her head as she went down and cutting it badly. She was with a handful of her 15-year-old friends, who witnessed her getting high. There were signs that she was in distress early on, but they were too scared to call the ambulance until her lips turned dark blue and she stopped breathing. Of course, what they were doing was illegal, and they didn't want Martha to get into trouble.
I waited 40 minutes at the hospital for her to arrive as an emergency team at the lakeside gave her life-saving treatment. I pleaded with the universe to save my girl, rocking myself as I sat alone in the family room. It was cold and grey, and my world was collapsing around me.
Two nurses glided beside me and softly whispered that she'd arrived. I hoped she'd be recovering, that I could go in and tell her off for being so stupid, but as I entered the crash room I knew Martha was gone. She was grey. I shouted: "she's dead, she's dead already", as the crash team did what they could to bring her back. Martha didn't get a second chance. I
never got to tell her off.
The loss I feel is equivalent to the love I have for her – an unquantifiable loss, a loss that left my ribcage stripped empty and open to the elements. If my love for her was any less, my loss wouldn't be so great – so I embrace it.
What has become clear to me since Martha's death is that prohibition does not work. It's outdated and idealistic, and does not prevent people taking drugs. All it does is push them under the table, making everything unquantifiable and increasing the dangers. Many people fear that legal regulation means a free-for-all, that it's the same as saying 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' - but actually it's the smart option. More than four decades-worth of prohibition has only increased access, and even the government's research now shows it has done nothing to limit levels of usage.
I wish 'just saying no' was enough of a deterrent, but it's not. As parents, we have to accept that and think about what our teens really need to know - how much is too much? Martha died of an accidental overdose. She wanted to get high, not die.
Drugs education will always fall short until there's a label on that bottle. All drugs need to be treated as pharmaceuticals - labelled, with the ingredients listed, the necessary dosage information, and how to minimise the risks involved. It would mean that there was a duty of care; a line of responsibility, and information about where stock is held. Legal regulation means controlled, not increased, availability - if under-18s did get hold of drugs intended for adults, they would be better protected and the levels of harm would be reduced. If drugs packaging had the right information on it, and had I been able to talk to Martha about what she was doing and how to keep herself safer, things might have been different. She'd probably have come out of her dabbling phase unharmed, and I would still have her with me.
I feel helpless as I talk to MPs, and see how reluctant most of them are to disclose their true views and feelings on anything to do with drugs. Very few are brave enough. The argument that moving away from prohibition would endanger children is potent and emotive – and politicians play on it. They're more worried about losing votes than listening to people like me. I feel like saying to them, "come and stand by Martha's grave and tell me that prohibition works". Despite the recent Home Office report, which showed that there is no obvious link between tough laws and levels of illegal drug use, David Cameron maintains that legalising drugs would 'send out the wrong message'. But the current approach hasn't worked, and it never will. My daughter died under the current legislation, and many more have died since - 2,000 people in England and Wales last year alone. Isn't this loss of precious lives an indicator that the law is way past its sell-by date and in need of urgent reform?
We can all agree that our drug laws should be based on evidence of what will keep our children as healthy and safe as possible. Thanks to an e-petition led by Caroline Lucas MP, a parliamentary debate was held a couple of weeks ago, asking whether the 1971 Misuse of Drugs Act should be reviewed. On the day, there was a unanimous cross-party yes; this fills me with hope that we can finally start to have a grown-up discussion about how best to safeguard future generations. Until we do this, there will always be another Martha.
Anne-Marie has helped launched a new project, 'Anyone's child: Families for Safer Drug Control' - you can find out more and donate if you wish, here.