Since Ida Rose’s letter, I really had been trying to do nice things for people like Dorcas in the Bible. I had done Maudie’s turn of drying the dishes three times without being asked. I had taken the hoover out and vacuumed the lounge and our bedroom. I’d shined up the kitchen sink with Vim the way I’d seen Aunty Jean do it, and I’d tidied up all the newspapers in the laundry into a neat pile and tied them up with string ready for the rag and bone man.

Aunty Jean realised I was standing watching them, and tapped Uncle Paul on the shoulder. He turned around and looked at me. At that very moment, I heard a car pull up in the driveway, and I just knew it was my Dad.

‘Who is it?’ I cried out. ‘Who is it? Is it Ruthy? Is it Caleb? Is it Mr Driver? Is it Mum? Has something happened to Mum?’

They just stared at me, and there was no colour in Uncle Paul’s white face.

I ran to the front flywire door, and wrestled with the snib that kept it closed. It seemed to me that it was deliberately getting in my way so I couldn’t get to Dad, who seemed to be just sitting in the car.

Finally I got through the door and ran across the dead grass. I was in my socks, and a bindi stuck into my foot, but I just hopped the last few yards to the car door. I pulled at the door, but Dad still had the little black rubber stopper down, and it wouldn’t open. I leaned down to look at him through the glass, and I felt I saw the end of the world on his darling face.

Ruthy gave me an account of what happened, explained to her by Dad after a visit from the police.

She took a lot of notes after he spoke to her so she could tell me as much as possible, seeing as I wasn’t allowed to go home straight away. We went over and over the story together. For a while I just couldn’t get enough of it, and needed to talk about every sentence, every thought, every idea, so I could get a feeling for what Caleb had been through. After she told me, I found some paper and made notes of questions I thought she might be able to answer, or at least discuss together. As a result, the story I ran over and over in my head is now quite detailed. On several occasions Ruthy went to Lincoln Waterford’s house to ask him what she called supplementary questions. He was very sad and very happy to talk about it and to try to help. He hadn’t been to school since, and his parents were making him talk to a priest every day for a while to help him get over what happened.