‘Dorcas,’ said Dad. ‘There are some things I want to tell you about.’ And when he said that, Mr Driver mumbled something about his shed needing a coat of paint and left us to it.

‘Dorcas, I think half of you thinks what’s happened is your fault, and the other half is my fault,’ he said.

‘No, Dad! I never thought it was any of your fault!’ I said, shocked.

‘Well, you should have, because it was all down to me. All of it. It’s my fault because your mum gets very down and, when she does, I just tell her to pull up her socks and get on with it. I’ve made the mistake of thinking depression is something you can choose not to have. I know now I have been very wrong about that. Dr Frayne has wanted her to take a tablet for her sadness for a long time, but I kept thinking the power of prayer should fix it up, and I refused to let her have the tablets.

‘When she was in Scotland, she went to a doctor who gave her medication and she started to feel better, but when she heard about Caleb, and thought about coming home to me, who would tell her off about the sadness thing, she got very down again and stopped taking them. I’ve thought a lot about it and decided these tablets for sadness are no different than Caleb’s inhaler for asthma, or a Bex for a headache, and I went with her a couple of weeks ago to see Dr Frayne. He recommended another special kind of doctor who is good at helping with feelings, and he gave her some pills. They have been a big help to her, and she is starting to feel like her old self again. Maybe even happier than that.’ Dad stopped for a moment and seemed to be making a close study of the hem of Mr Driver’s kitchen tablecloth. ‘I’m the reason she had to go to Scotland, and because she went home all you children were farmed out. None of this would have happened if I’d been a better dad and a better husband. I’m sorry, Dorcas. I really am.’

‘No, Dad,’ I said in the voice I get sometimes when I’m half talking and half crying. ‘If I hadn’t gone on and on about a guinea pig, and if I hadn’t got cross with Caleb for being chesty, he wouldn’t have believed you were going to be sacrificed. It’s my fault, Dad. It’s my fault.’ I squeezed my arms around him so tight he had to loosen them a bit to breathe.

‘No, my poor girl. No,’ was all he could say but he hugged me and rocked me for a long time until I felt almost sleepy with sadness and relief.

‘Your mum is missing you and she hopes to start being your proper mum again very soon. She knows that what happened was not your fault at all, but sometimes, even when you are a grown-up, you get very mixed up and put all your feelings onto one person so you can manage. And you were the person she put the feelings on because … well … you are both very alike in many ways, and the new doctor your mum is seeing says that parents often struggle with the child who is most like them,’ said Dad.