‘It’s nothing.’

He wraps his arms around me. I let myself soften into him.

‘Abby?’ He lifts my head off his chest. ‘Tell me.’

Before I can speak, Dad is at the back door, calling to the children.

‘John,’ Mark says. ‘What –?’

My father cuts off the question. ‘Only the kids. I don’t want a bar of you two.’

Mark screws his face into a frown. ‘Maybe open a bag of chips for them.’

I am mortified. How can it be that this is how I have to tell Mark?

‘I’ve called a taxi to take me to the bus station. Kids, come inside. Pop has to leave. I want to say goodbye.’

‘Why?’ Sarah says.

‘Do it, Sarah,’ I say.

‘John, it’s the night before New Year’s Eve,’ Mark says. ‘Loads of people go out tonight. Getting a cab will be impossible. Why don’t you come out here and tell me what –’

‘Then I’ll bloody well walk.’

‘I’m hungry,’ Petey whines.

‘Woof weed on me,’ Joanne says, holding her hand up as evidence.

‘Why are you going?’ Mark asks. ‘And why now?’

‘Come inside, kids,’ Dad repeats. ‘I’ll give you chips.’

Dad pats each of the children on the head as they file past him to go inside. ‘Wash your hands.’ He stays on the porch, closes the sliding door behind him. ‘You should be ashamed.’

‘Of what?’ Mark says. And then he slaps his thighs. ‘Okay, one of you needs to tell me what you’re fighting about. Why are you leaving? And why are you crying?’

‘You weren’t there!’ I shout, though I’m not sure who I’m speaking to. Both of them, everyone. ‘You weren’t there so you don’t know. I’m sick of having to cover for something I didn’t do. Well, I didn’t – Not all of it. I tried. I tried to get her to the car and I tried to get Charlie to the farm and I tried to pretend I wanted to go to the farm and I tried to act like juggling three kids and Christmas and Charlie and Dad and getting ready for dinner and cleaning the house and – bloody hell, do either of you know how exhausted I am?’

‘Wait a minute.’ Mark holds his hand up to stop me. ‘What do you mean you tried to get her to the car?’

‘You are never home,’ I say.

‘How is this about me? Are you saying you were involved in Skye’s accident?’

‘Yes, Mark,’ Dad says. ‘But somehow she’s feeling sorry for herself.’

I slump back onto the bench. ‘No, Dad, I’m not. I don’t know how to explain. I didn’t see the car. I was asleep. We both were.’

‘Skye was asleep?’ Mark asks.

‘No. She pressed her horn. She was awake. Charlie and I were asleep.’

My father is standing with his arms taut by his sides, his mouth a straight line. ‘Who was driving?’

‘Does it matter? We were both in the car.’

‘Who?’ Mark echoes.