Mum took my hand, squeezed hard and continued to hold it tightly as Dad led us down the concrete path with the clipped grass on one side and the manicured hedge on the other, to the shed at the rear of our narrow garden. I didn’t spend much time in our backyard as too often my brothers were out there; kicking the ball when they were allowed, doing their morning exercises (when Dad was home), lying about on the grass (when Dad was at work). If I tried to join them, they’d yell at me to get back inside where I belonged; to go and check on Mum; to go play with my girly toys. I wanted to lie on the grass with them, to join in with their conversations on football, or what their mates at school were up to. My brother, Will, was particularly fixated on the goings-on of his friends – the parties they went to, the girls they hooked up with, the freedom they had, when he felt like he lived in a prison. Will was the nicer of my two brothers. I think he knew I was lonely and sometimes he’d play cards with me or ask a question about school. Sometimes he’d offer to take Mum her afternoon cup of tea in my place and I always took him up on it. James never offered. In fact, he did his best either to ignore me or boss me around. Nothing in between.

Dad pushed open the shed door and stepped back.

“Happy birthday, Patricia.”

His voice was so loud in the still morning air, it made me jump.

Mum let go of my hand, leant down and kissed me on the cheek.

“It’s your favourite colour,” she said in her quiet, shaky voice.

I stared at my gift, tears immediately springing to my eyes as Mum stroked the top of my head. She hadn’t touched my hair in years.

It was a purple bike (which had ceased to be my favourite colour two years earlier – not that it mattered) with colourful streamers on the handlebars and a basket on the front. Too frilly and girly for a nine-year-old, but I didn’t care about that. My parents had given me a bike. They’d given me the one thing I’d asked for. They’d listened to me. It was the first time in my life I’d received a present from my parents that I’d requested. I’d given up hope of ever getting anything I actually wanted. And now this… this miracle had happened.

It was almost too much for me. I wanted to collapse wailing to the ground.

Instead, I smiled and said, “Thank you, Daddy,” before giving him a peck on his proffered cheek. Then, “Thank you, Mummy,” as I kissed her, too.