She sat and shook for twenty minutes before she said, ‘My earliest memory of my brother is of him trying to choke me with my pillows. My next memory is of him kicking me all the way to school and all the way back home again. If he found me in the playground he would pull my hair and tear up my books. At weekends he stole my pocket money. He also threw my violin out of the window and poisoned my fish. I have a bruise on my back today where he hit me with his cricket bat. When I got a little older he charged his friends a penny each to spy on me in the bath. Though as soon as I started my periods he let them watch me free. The drop in my value was related entirely to his psychology. My periods sickened him. He complained that I smelt. He wouldn’t let me touch him; he plastered himself against walls when I passed. He invented a nickname for me – the Camel. When I brought my first boy friend home he told him that my underwear wasn’t clean. Tell me what kind of sisterly regard I ought to show him.’

I shook my head. I didn’t know. Christian families were a mystery to me. ‘Why didn’t your parents restrain him?’ was the best I could think of saying.

‘My mother was too busy trying to work out what had gone wrong with her own life to notice.’

‘And your father?’

Camilla looked at me wearily. ‘On whose behalf do you think my brother was acting?’

I wasn’t having that. ‘Come off it, Camilla. You’re not saying your brother was your father’s psychic emissary?’

‘I’m saying my father set a tone in our household that was conducive to such behaviour as my brother’s. My father was contemptuous of both of us, but especially of me. I was a “no-hoper” every time I lifted a finger; I was a “bloody idiot” every time I opened my mouth. That was until I won an essay prize, a violin award, a swimming race, and my breasts shot out – all in one day. Suddenly there was this thing called paternal pride in the house. I was appalled by it. I caught him looking me over one morning, his eyes glistening with love and admiration. I shot him a glance that was so witheringly disdainful that he has never dared to look at me since.’

I sighed. Partly for Camilla. Partly for her father.

‘What are you making that noise for? Do you think I should be more affectionate? Tell me how affectionate you feel towards yours.’

‘I haven’t seen any of my family for some time,’ I reminded her. ‘I’m a bit far from home.’

‘Aren’t you ever! And why do you suppose that is?’

I sighed again. Entirely for myself.