Mr Driver walked a few feet behind us, and when I looked back at him to check he was okay and wouldn’t get lost in the crowds, he had the saddest look on his face. When we stepped out of the airport into the scorching sunlight, he asked if I would go in his car to keep him company on the way home. I wanted to be with my family, but Daniel said he’d come with us too, and that I could sit in the front. I didn’t argue. This wasn’t an arguing day. And, in fact, I didn’t seem to have any words available at that point in time. I felt a bit dizzy and as though I was somehow watching myself from a few feet away. It was like watching the old Super 8 movies Dad used to make of birthdays and Christmas. You knew they were real, and you knew you were in them, but somehow they seemed made up.

When we got home, I started to follow Daniel into the house, but he stopped me and he and Mr Driver gave each other a grown-up sort of look. He asked me to go with him for a minute into Mr Driver’s house and the three of us walked down the side drive to Mr Driver’s back door, and into the kitchen. Daniel took me over to Mr Driver’s chair and pulled me to sit on his knee. He hugged me and kissed my hair and stroked my cheek and when I looked up at him, his tears plonked on my face, and I wiped them away with my sleeve. I put my head on his chest and I felt him take a very deep breath.

‘Dorcas. You know this is a sad time for everyone, and especially for Mum because she … didn’t see Caleb before … before … well … and she’s a bit mixed-up and unhappy at the moment. And so she … we … she … thinks it would be a good idea if you stayed here with Mr Driver, just for a few days, until she gets over all her travelling tiredness.’

‘But I want to be home in my own room with Ruthy and my things and the wee patch and Mum and Dad and you,’ I said. ‘I really, really badly want that, Daniel. I’ve been away for so long. Is it because … because it’s my fault … about Caleb?’ I asked in a whisper. This was the question I knew had been hanging around in my head ever since the fire. It was like a blowfly in my brain. I could sort of hear it, and it came and went, and it was upsetting, but it would fly away from my thinking when I tried to catch it or swat it. It was definitely a blowfly not a butterfly, and I would quite like to catch it and squash it.

‘It’s not your fault!’ said Mr Driver. ‘None of this is your fault. You are a wonderful, wonderful girl and anyone who knows you knows that for sure. It’s not your fault your mum is very upset. But I would consider it a great favour to me if you would take my spare room, Dorcas, and just keep me company for a few days. Daniel and Ruthy and your dad are welcome in this house whenever they want to be, and in no time we’ll have you back in your room.’