‘She pushed me into the wee patch,’ hollered Ruthy.

‘But Mum, it was fair enough because …’ And then I realised I couldn’t justify myself because I had promised Dad not to tell Mum about the plan to bring Sixpence home.

‘I don’t care why you did it, you dreadful child. I am sick to death of having to come into this room after I’ve put you to bed because of your nonsense.’ She pulled back the covers of my bed and smacked me hard twice on the legs. I flinched but didn’t say a word. ‘No chocolate for you on Friday night, my girl,’ she said, and slammed the door shut behind her as she left.

‘Well, that’s not going to help you get Sixpence, is it?’ said Ruthy. ‘See what I mean, Dorcas? There’s just no way.’ She said it in a kindly explaining voice, not a mean hurting voice, but it made me furious anyway. I wished I had a sister who took my side. My friend Venita at school had an older sister who always looked out for her, and I dreamt about having one who would always be kind to me and help me with projects and somehow stop Mum from getting so cross with me. But Ruthy said she had to call it as she saw it, which was what my Aunty Maisie used to say, particularly if she was being critical. Any time Ruthy quoted the dreaded Aunty Maisie, it made me doubly mad, so I crept over and pretended to smother her with my pillow.

I remained angry with Ruthy, so it wasn’t surprising we had another fight that Saturday morning, and that she took Caleb away to play with the others. She didn’t understand that I needed a pet. It didn’t seem fair because she loved her notebooks and got to have them, and Caleb loved bugs and got kits where you could catch them and kill them and stick pins in them to put them on a board, but I didn’t get to have a dog or even a Cavia porcellus.

Caleb got the bug and science kits he wanted because of the light-of-Mum’s-life situation, and because he suffered badly with asthma and was often pretty sick but wasn’t allergic to bugs. It’s not fun when you can’t breathe, and it’s not much fun watching your brother struggle for breath either. But Mum was pretty sure he was allergic to lots of things and was always fussing about what he might eat or play with and whether it would give him an attack.

So now that I had rushed out of the olive grove in a temper, Mrs Johnson’s was the obvious place to go. She didn’t answer when I knocked on the front door but I was pretty sure she was home because I saw Mr Johnson’s car in the drive. I squeezed down the side path, walking sideways because of how thick the grevilleas had grown, and called out at the back door. Again no one answered, and I decided to let myself into Sixpence’s pen for a visit.