I’d already spotted from the racecard, as Dad always called it, what was next, but nothing could prepare me for the horror of what was about to unfold. Amanda slid past us, and didn’t just stand at the front like Ned, but made her way to the pulpit, ascending the spiral stone staircase to the top. It took her ages, her head bowed in a sombre manner. As she turned to face us, though, and as her eyes roved around the congregation, it was in a much less misty fashion. There were no damp eyes, no swallowing either. And when those bright eyes finally came to rest, they were firmly on me. It was a look I knew. It was challenging. Triumphant, even. I took a deep breath and held it. It seemed to me the rest of my family did the same. This was her moment.

It started predictably enough. In a high but reasonably calm voice, she detailed her and Michael’s happy childhood. The loving parents they’d shared, the delightful house in the country – Esher wasn’t mentioned. She told us about the rambling garden, and the games they’d played. The rural idyll they’d enjoyed. And then, tragedy befell the family. Everyone looked and felt, I’m sure, very sad. It was a dreadful story. Amanda told us, however, that one good thing did come out of the tragedy: she and Michael bonded over their loss, became inseparable. To give their grandparents a rest, every summer they stayed with the Taylors in Norfolk, sailing every day and living a Swallows and Amazons existence. I saw Millie and Simon glance at each other. It was the first I’d heard of Michael’s enthusiasm for sailing; he’d told me he hated it and stayed behind to read books, but who’s to say. Anyway, so far so bland. I almost began to relax.

But then she got going. She told us how, after Michael married, everything changed. How, bit by bit, that bond had weakened. Disintegrated. I felt Imo stiffen beside me. How, despite the best efforts of both siblings, something was lost forever. Something was keeping them apart. Some force, beyond the control of these two lost children, these babes in the wood, was stronger than even their most desperate efforts, and was determined to drive them apart. A glance told me Ned’s face was white, Imo’s purple. I put a hand on her arm. She was trembling.