Dad goes on, ‘And if you try to interfere with the running of the circus in any way, you will have to leave. People remember what you did last time.’

‘If you don’t want me here, David,’ says Sylvie briskly, ‘just say the word and I’ll go. There’s nothing in this for me.’

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ says Dad.

There’s a sudden burst of freezing air, and goosebumps spring from my arms and legs. Dad fumbles with the air-conditioner. ‘What have you done, Sylvie?’ he demands.

‘I haven’t done anything,’ Sylvie retorts. ‘It’s just a …’ She flaps a hand about and mutters a quick spell. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’ She turns to look at me just as the freezing air disappears. ‘You’re awake,’ she says, eyes narrowed.

Lingering in the air is the same grassy scent I noticed after Mum disappeared. There’s definitely some kind of big magic afoot.

As Dad pulls in beside our caravan, music blares from the brightly lit big top. It’s ‘Bolero’, which means Louie and the other poodles are galloping in a circle around Zanni and jumping through hoops, their purple, sequined jackets glinting in the lights.

When I open the Land Rover door, there are cheers and loud applause from the big top, and I’m hit by a great gust of longing to be in there with my mother.

In our caravan, I find Sylvie shaking her head. ‘Oh goddess,’ she says. ‘It’s even pokier than I remember …’

She calls to Dad as if he’s her servant. ‘I’ll have the blue suitcase, David. That’s all I need for now.’ She drags open a couple of drawers and rummages through them. They’re not your drawers anymore, I want to say.

As Dad heaves her suitcase through the door, she turns to me. ‘Don’t you ever wish you had more money, Tulsi? A bigger and better van?’ She eyes me up and down. ‘Nicer clothes? I bet those came from the op shop.’

I’m about to tell her that I love wearing secondhand clothes because they’re pre-softened, when she claps her hands. ‘We’ll start straight away on your training. I want to see what you can do.’

Yes! I think. At last! Magic!

Dad squeezes past us. ‘I’ll move our bedding so you can sleep in here, Sylvie,’ he says, and rolls up my mattress and sheets like a giant burrito. ‘Start the training tomorrow,’ he adds. ‘Tulsi needs a good night’s sleep. And by the way, we like our van and our clothes perfectly well.’

‘I slept in the car, Dad,’ I say. ‘I’m fully awake.’

Sylvie lifts her chin and narrows her eyes at him. ‘We start tonight, David. And actually, it’s my van.’