I followed them both and took in the cosy scene. Mum had popped out from the kitchen to tell me that before I fussed, she’d been in bed all day, and could now be heard back in there singing along to the radio. My father and Dan repositioned themselves by the fire. They were nursing drinks and resumed their chat, happy and relaxed, and suddenly – suddenly I was so incredibly pleased to be here. I felt something drop from me, like a dead skin. This, surely, was real life? Cosy and safe. Not that horror story I’d been reliving out there, frozen to some dark past that refused to leave: that insisted on dragging me back, haunting me. Here, I knew I’d got nothing wrong. Knew I’d broken and hidden nothing. Had angered no one. Had only pleased people, which was all I ever wished to do. I looked into Dan’s hopeful, smiling eyes. I knew I’d be so safe with him. As I joined the pair of them by the fire, warming my hands but declining a drink, not sure how my head would cope with it, I watched him joking with Dad. Teasing him, about how he and Mum were clearly fitting up the cottage for themselves, on the pretext of giving it to me. He’d obviously been shown around.

‘It’s practically got your slippers under the bed, Henry! I’m surprised you’re not in there already!’

Dad threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘We’ve been rumbled!’ he told me, turning to me, his eyes damp with mirth. ‘Dan’s seen straight through our little ruse, I’m afraid – he’s said the unsayable.’ He peered closer at me. ‘You all right, love? You look awfully pale.’

‘Yes, fine. Well, I must say, Dad, the thought hadn’t escaped me either. Or Helena or Imo, for that matter. We were waiting for you to break cover.’ I was still in a state of upheaval, but my head began to feel a little less chaotic.

‘Really, darling?’ My mother appeared from the kitchen where she’d clearly been listening keenly. ‘And you wouldn’t mind?’ She looked anxious, but also excited as she came in.

‘Not a bit. It’s far more suitable for you than me. But what would you do with Pope’s Farm?’