I thought about pretending what I had done was preventative. It was Sunday and we shouldn’t fight on Sunday and Ruthy was baiting me and I thought it was better to leave than to have an argument, because that would have been disrespectful to Jesus. It was thin – very thin – but it was all I had. And I knew from all our family games of Snap and Canasta that you have to play the cards in your hand.

I walked up the back steps quietly and peered through the screen door into the kitchen. There was no one in that room, so I quietly opened the door and let myself in. I crept into our bedroom, where Ruthy was sitting crying on her bed hugging Milly Molly Mandy. She was doing that irritating kind of crying that was more like a continuous moan. Her mouth was all out of shape and she looked ugly. I thought of telling her that, but luckily stopped myself.

‘Mum! She’s here!’ screamed Ruthy, despite my hushing noises and flapping arms trying to communicate the need for stealth.

‘Dorcas. What on earth do you think you were up to?’ asked Dad at the bedroom door, in a much angrier voice than he usually used. ‘Didn’t I tell you to stay in the house until we got home? Was that so much to ask when your brother was so sick?’ he hollered.

‘Is he all right, Dad?’ I asked, suddenly frightened. There was something going on here that was bigger than my unauthorised absence.

‘No, he’s not all right but he will be fine, no thanks to you. Now explain yourself.’ By this stage, Mum was standing next to him with her arms crossed and her chin stuck out and thunder on her features.

‘I … I … Ruthy was annoying me so I thought it was better to go for a walk than to have a big fight on the Lord’s day … and …’

‘Don’t try that nonsense on me. I’m not in the mood, Dorcas. And don’t blame your sister. She’s already told us about bouncing on the beds and watching TV and the lipstick on your mother’s blouse. I am so disappointed in you both. And all this when Caleb was sick in hospital and had to have another adrenaline injection. I just don’t know what to say to you.’

My head snapped to look in amazement at Ruthy, even though I would have told it not to because it was definitely going to make things worse.

‘And don’t look at your sister like that. We came in and found the tellie on. At least she told us the truth when we asked what had happened. Imagine a grown-up girl like you leaving her in the house all on her own, and with all the mess to clean up. Really, Dorcas, this is the living end. The living end,’ said Dad.

He hadn’t struck me yet. Dad preferred not to hit us. But when Mum was really upset she handed him the wooden spoon and insisted he give us a good smack across the back of the legs. When he walked out of the room, I presumed I was about to get the spoon, and stayed stock-still on the bed in fearful anticipation. Instead, I heard the back door slam and the car pull out of the drive.