I am hollow inside, like I am made of air and might float away. That’s how life without my mum would feel. Flimsy. Insubstantial. Think straight, Tulsi! I scold myself. Feel the earth beneath you.

I sink to my knees in front of Dad, and take his hand. ‘Dad, listen. I don’t think I could live knowing that I might have gone back to get her but that I didn’t even try. That I just left her there …’ My whole face feels thick with tears, as if they might press their way out of my skin. ‘If I don’t go, I think it would break my heart. Like really break it.’

He meets my eyes. His are teary too.

Please, Dad. I send a silent plea. Please. I have to try.

He looks down and cups my hand in his. ‘I see so much of your mother in you,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re just as determined. And strong.’ He looks up at Sylvie. ‘So you definitely couldn’t follow Tulsi and get her if there’s a problem?’

‘No,’ she says.

Dad pulls me into a hug. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he says into my ear. ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t go.’

My chest feels like it might burst with the sadness swelling inside me. My anger at Sylvie and Mum has gone. All I have is this choking sadness at the thought of a life without my mum.

Dad and I hold each other tight, and it’s as if Sylvie is not there, as if all our circus family are not waiting. Nothing exists but me and Dad, and – far away, but still connected – Mum.

Sylvie goes to get Dad more ice for his shoulder, and Dad and I sit on his bed and talk. We talk about trust and about being honest with each other. He says he’s been keeping himself busy with work to avoid thinking about Mum, and he blames himself for not checking up on me more often; I apologise for learning magic behind his back.

‘But really, Dad,’ I say tearfully, ‘I only did it to get Mum back. I don’t want a life without her. She’s there on her own, and you know how desperate she’d be to come home. I just couldn’t bear it if I didn’t even try to get her back.’

He looks right into my eyes, and I hold his gaze, my heart fluttering hard.

Finally, he says, ‘Okay. You can go. But only because you will be with your mum.’

Relief heaves through me, followed fast by fear. Can I really do this?

‘And if the worst happens …’ says Dad. He swallows loudly. ‘… and you are somehow stuck there, at least she’ll have you and you will have her.’ I’m glad he doesn’t say the rest: that he won’t have either of us.