‘Bethany was Eleanor’s favourite. Your mum was incredibly hard on Amy. Expected her to be like a little adult, look after everyone, be the mother she herself was not. And Bethany was strong. She could shrug off criticism; Amy would have taken it to heart. I suspected, of course, that was what happened. I asked Bethany when you returned from hospital, and she told me not to tell anyone that I knew.’ He gives a chuckle. ‘Only nine years old and she was already protecting her big sister.’ He gives a sigh and starts his lurching walk down the final stretch of the garden path, his boots crunching in the gravel. ‘I wish…’ he says, but he doesn’t finish the sentence.

I stand there for a moment and feel as if something cold has rushed down my throat and expanded in my chest. I’m outraged. Have I been lied to by both my sisters for all these years? And – if they lied about this, for so long and so comprehensively, what else have they lied about? Then again, my father’s memory is shot to shit. Or at least, it is now.

I order the pie and chips, and a steak and salad for Dad; a glass of non-alcoholic beer for him and a pint of IPA for me. We sit near the fire and wait for our food. Dad starts talking to some of our neighbours and I take my pint and go and stand outside. I call Amy, taking advantage of the pocket of mobile-phone signal, since there’s none at The Pines.

She answers on the third ring. ‘Is Dad okay?’

‘Yeah, fine. We’re at the Railway Inn. I’m going to stay over.’

‘Oh, good.’ The tension eases from her voice. ‘And you haven’t forgotten…’

‘About the party? No. I thought I could hang on with Dad in the morning, see if he needs any jobs done, and then bring him over.’

‘Thanks, Nick, that would be helpful.’

It’s Lotte’s birthday party tomorrow; well, one of her parties. This one is only for our family. I’m not sure I could cope with a gang of seven-year-olds high on cake.

I take a sip of my beer. There’s a thick half-moon, a blunt thumbprint; and a skein of cloud drifts across it and glows briefly. I don’t know how to say it, so I blurt it out.

‘Dad says you were with me, when I fell off the top of the cottage and nearly died. Not Bethany.’

There’s a pause and I can feel Amy readjust; something in the way her breathing changes.

‘I’m sorry, Nick. I should have told you, but honestly I haven’t thought about it for years.’

‘So it’s true?’ I say, tilting my head back and letting my breath crystallize in front of me.