Her mum’s car had been parked in front of the granite-built mas and unusually Belinda didn’t have to struggle to open the blue wrought-iron gates at the entrance to the smallholding as they were propped open. Belinda saw her parents standing by the car, her mum making angry gesticulations at her father, her father raising his arms in a useless protest. Butch, the sheepdog, was barking frantically at them both. Something terrible must have happened. She’d never known her parents to behave like this. Belinda remembered quickening her steps until she was running towards them.

By the time she’d reached her parents and yelled, ‘What’s happened?’ her dad had started running his hands through his hair, a sure sign that he was upset. Her mum was trying to push a suitcase into an already full car. Neither of them had noticed Belinda’s arrival.

‘Mum? Dad? What’s going on?’ Belinda remembered staring in astonishment at the car, the inside stuffed with boxes, several small suitcases and a jumble of coats and boots all flung in on top.

‘Get in the car, Belinda,’ her mum had said, finally registering that she was there. ‘We’re leaving.’

‘Jean, we need to talk. All of us. You can’t leave like this. Belinda might not want to come with you.’

‘She’s coming, whether she wants to or not. One thing she’s not doing is staying here with you and your… your… Get in the car, Belinda.’

‘Not until one of you tells me what the hell is going on.’

‘Don’t swear,’ her mother had answered automatically. ‘I’m leaving your father and you’re coming with me.’

‘What if I don’t want to – which I don’t.’ Bewildered Belinda looked from her mum to her dad. The last thing she needed was to have to choose between them but if she had to she knew which it would be. She loved her mum but there was no way she wanted to leave either her dad or the smallholding.

‘You don’t have a choice, you’re under age.’ Her mother had pushed another bag of things into the back of the already stuffed car and slammed the boot shut.

Belinda hadn’t moved. ‘Why are you leaving Dad?’ she demanded.

Her mother’s shoulders sagged. ‘Because he lied to me and I won’t stay around to be the laughing stock of the village. I’ve packed up most of your stuff – clothes and things. Dad will pack the rest up and send it on. Please just get in the car and we can leave.’