Normally any reason to go the airport was exciting, but it was Caleb in particular who would beg and beg and beg to go to see the planes, so the day we went to get Mum just felt heavy and sad. The Roystons picked up Ruthy and took us both to the airport, and handed us over to Dad. Mr Driver was there. Daniel had travelled in his car with him. There were crowds of people waiting to see people they loved come down the stairs from the front and back of the plane, and across the tarmac, which shimmered in the sun as though there was magic in the air.

Mr Driver stayed a step away from us, to give us family privacy. I took his hand to bring him with us, but he just shook his head no very sadly and gently pushed me forward. We waited and waited. She seemed to be almost the last person to come through the chute. Ruthy and I saw her first and screamed, ‘Mum, Mum.’ Most people looked so happy to see friends and family when they came out of the tunnel from the plane, but Mum didn’t rush to where we stood. She just walked over carefully and elegantly on her high-heeled shoes, looking as though she’d just come fresh from the beauty parlour. She seemed taller and thinner and was wearing a dress I’d never seen before. It was baby blue with an empire line and no sleeves. Her sandals were the same shade of blue, and her bag was white leather with a shiny silver clasp and blue piping. Her hair was a different colour red than usual, and she had changed her eyeliner and mascara. She looked like our mum, but she also didn’t look like her.

She walked over to us at a usual kind of walking speed, handed Dad her flight bag and let him give her a peck on the cheek. She dropped to her knees to give Ruthy a cuddle, and then stood up to hug Daniel. Mum wouldn’t look at me and ignored me when I tugged at her arm to say hello. I was pretty sure my heart was going to break into pieces and come out of my mouth. I felt sick and confused and embarrassed and left out and ashamed all at the same time. I felt like running and running and running, but at the same time, I could hardly move. Dad pulled me to him and put his arm around my neck, and pushed my face into his shirt, which smelled like ironing aid and sweat and a bit of aftershave I didn’t recognise. So part of Mum didn’t seem the same, and part of Dad didn’t smell the same, and this felt wrong rather than interesting. I was very glad though that he didn’t let go until we were walking to the cars. I tried to stop the tears but they just kept falling and falling and I didn’t make a noise but I gave up the struggle and let them splash wherever they wanted.