Dad said he was going over to the Johnsons in the morning to have it out with Athol Johnson. What kind of man kills a guinea pig and puts it in a box to frighten and punish a child? He thought he just might ring the police in the morning too. If he can do something like that, what else might he do? And he should have reported him for forcing Dorcas to look at that photo in any case.

Mum’s voice changed somehow. It went soft and coaxing. She said it was better to just let sleeping dogs lie, and the main thing was the guinea pig couldn’t make Caleb sick now, and nothing else mattered. Dad said it also mattered that I had had a nasty experience – two of them now – and what kind of mother didn’t want to protect her oldest girl? Mum said what if Athol Johnson just denied that he’d killed the rat? Dad said not to call it a rat and that Mr Driver would testify to what had happened and the police would believe him given his reputation and his war record.

Mum started to beg Dad to leave the matter alone. It would all blow over. I would get over the disappointment and life would go on. It would teach me not to go to the Johnsons’ when I’d been forbidden to go over there. Perhaps there would finally be some peace for a while.

Dad said, ‘Give the girl a break, Agnes, for goodness’ sake.’ Mum didn’t say anything but she went into Caleb’s room and I think she slept there with him.

The next morning I decided to see if there was anything in Dad’s shed I could take to Mr Driver to help build a memorial for Sixpence. I wasn’t really meant to go into the shed without permission, but I had an idea when I woke up that I might try to make a little house to sit on her grave if I wasn’t allowed to have a cross or an angel. I pulled the chord to switch on the light and started to poke around to see what I could find. There wasn’t much that would be of any use, and I was just about to leave when I saw something pushed behind Dad’s workbench near the far corner. I pulled at it and out came a small cage. I had seen that cage before. It belonged to Mrs Johnson and she used it when she had to take one of the animals to the vet. I pulled it right out and looked at it. It had some straw bedding in it, a little water tank made from a plastic bottle tied to the bars and a small dish of food. I didn’t understand why it was in our shed. I took it in to the kitchen.

Dad was making his toast.

‘Dad, why is this cage in your shed?’ I asked.