‘You’re up early. Why haven’t you got your glasses on? The light isn’t very good for reading. Did I hear Daddy go out? I had an odd dream. My nose was a button mushroom. And there was a house, and smoke was going in through the windows instead of out, like a fire in reverse, and before he starts, tell Fin that I’m getting the last of the Cheerios because he ate those two Bourbon biscuits last night after I went to sleep and I don’t really think that’s fair as I had my eye on them and was going to hide them behind the microwave and I don’t think I should be blamed for forgetting …’

‘Lilah, you’re doing that thing. Dad spoke to you about this. It’s great to talk and we love hearing your enthusiasm, but ask yourself whether some of the things you say might work better as thoughts.’

Lilah punches Fin in the kidney and plods, heavy-footed, into the living room. She plonks herself down by her mum and leans against her, demanding cuddles.

Fin takes an extra moment, hanging back in the doorway lest his presence be unwelcome. He has a self-doubt that his sister does not suffer from. He’s every bit as shy as their father; a big, pink-skinned lad with flame-red hair. There’s a fleshiness to him that makes him appear soft, and despite being head and shoulders above his peers, it makes him a target for bullies. His soft brown eyes make him look as though he is incapable of causing harm, or fighting back. They pick on him at school. Pick on the lad with the Pikey mum, who does his homework on time, gets top marks in everything, and who has been told to ‘just do some reading’ in a lot of his classes, having already completed the primary school curriculum.

‘Close the door, babes,’ says Roisin, raising an arm to indicate her son is very welcome at her side. He does as instructed and she pulls him close. He smells like his dad: warm and clean and laced with some tang of outdoor air. She feels her heart clench.

‘Did he go out?’ asks Lilah. ‘I heard the car start.’

‘Yes,’ says Roisin, softly. ‘A lady’s been hurt.’

‘Hurt as in dead?’ asks Lilah. She is a stranger to the unpleasantness of the world. She knows bad things happen to good people. Her only wish is that it doesn’t happen to her daddy.

‘I think so,’ says Roisin. ‘I tried to call him but maybe he hasn’t got a signal.’

‘Is Auntie Trish with him?’ asks Lilah, nosing through the papers in the tin.

Roisin nods. ‘He picked her up on the way.’

Lilah sucks her lip. She seems noticeably less worried about her father’s welfare when she knows that Pharaoh is with him. She is of the opinion that her Auntie Trish is indestructible. Her father, whom she has seen in too many hospital beds, strikes her as immortal but not invulnerable. She sometimes traces her fingers over his scars, as if able to take them away through sheer force of love.