Once at the foot of the steps there was an unspoken agreement that I should go first because most things were my fault, and also because of the fourth-favourite situation. We all kept our heads down as we passed Mum into the kitchen, knowing we were in for a clip around the ears, and that it seemed to hurt less if you had your head down. Also, Ruthy said it looked as though we were more contrite, which she explained meant sorry, so it seemed like the best plan. Mum had her hands on her hips and was looking scowly, which I thought was a good word, but which my teacher Miss Thompson said wasn’t a word at all.

As expected, I got a clip, but she also pushed me into the kitchen as I passed her, and she yelled at me to stop pouting or the wind might change and I’d look sulky forever. She gave Ruthy just a little smack on the back as she passed, and she just touched Caleb on the head, so he got away with it as usual.

‘How many times do I have to tell you children there’s to be no playing until your jobs are done?’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter what I say; I just waste my breath.’

She tried to stomp out of the kitchen across the worn green and cream checkerboard lino tiles, but Dad’s big floppy slippers slowed her down and softened the thuds. I let out a little giggle, but Ruthy grabbed my arm to warn me this was not a good idea, and I gulped the laugh down and hiccupped instead, just in time because Mum had turned to look at me. She left us to it, which was a relief because she usually stayed and yelled at us for a while, telling us we were going too slow or weren’t drying the dishes properly.

On bad days she would tell us she would take us to the children’s home in Klemzig. I had nightmares about it sometimes, even though when we passed the scary fenced perimeter of the home on the way to Sunday school one week, Dad laughed when I asked him if he’d been there. He told me it was the Peter’s ice-cream factory, not a children’s home, and not to worry.

Mum swung around the doorway for a last instruction. ‘And don’t use too much Sunlight in the dishwater, Dorcas, or I’ll take it out of your pocket money.’

It was my job to fill the sink ready to do the dishes. Caleb’s job was to take the dishes from the table to the sink, and to put away the cornflakes packet, sugar bowl and milk jug. Ruthy had the job of washing the dishes, which she did atop a little step Dad had made for her so she could reach. I liked washing, but Mum said there was more water on the floor than in the sink by the time I’d finished. My other jobs were to dry the dishes and put them away, and to sweep the floor and use the dustpan to put all the bits of fluff and flakes and dirt into the outside bin ‘without stopping to examine ever dirty particle, Dorcas’.