In one swift movement, Martin takes the last step to the landing and lunges for Belinda and the letter opener in her hand.

The next moment is a cannonball of shouting, of screaming, and of hands and arms outstretched. We are, all of us, reaching out in all directions for different reasons, and I am stunned for a second by the overwhelming remembrance of a moment very much like this one, when arms had been extended, and hands and fingers had been stretched open like sea stars. I am suddenly back in Donaghadee and time seems to stand still for a second. I hear a whack-whack-whacking sound, but at the same time, I smell the tang of sea air and I feel the cold mist of evening fog.

And then in the next moment, I am back on the landing with Belinda and Kat beside me, and our arms and hands are back at our sides. The three of us are staring at Martin lying at the bottom of the staircase.

There is silence where there had been a rush of noise only seconds earlier. Martin is not moving. A knee is bent at an awkward angle, and blood smears a marble stair where his head smacked it on his tumble down.

Belinda is the first to speak. The letter opener is still tight in her hand.

“Is he . . . is he all right?” she whispers, dread thick in her voice.

For a second I cannot answer. Kat is standing next to me, looking down at her father’s crumpled form.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I say quickly, turning to face Belinda. “He just took a nasty spill because he wasn’t being very nice. You take Kat into her room and I’ll go down and help him on his way.”

“What?” Belinda says, as if I am mad.

I fix my gaze on her. “I said, I’ll go down and help him on his way. I’m sure he is fine. He just got knocked out when he fell. That’s all.”

Belinda stares at me, slowly comprehending what I am, without words, trying to tell her.

“Take Kat into her room and see that she is dressed,” I say, injecting my voice with an ease I do not feel. “We’re still leaving. Just like we said.” Then I bend to Kat’s height and turn her toward me. She stares at me, glassy-eyed. “It’s his own fault that he fell. Do you understand? He fell down the stairs because he was angry and he wasn’t watching what he was doing. But he’s been mean to us and we don’t want to see him right now. We want to go see your mama and we want him to leave. So I am going to help him on his way. All right?”

Kat just stares at me.

“All right, Kat?” I say, in the most authoritative tone I can muster that still rings gentle.

She nods slightly.

“Don’t leave Kat’s room until I call for you,” I murmur to Belinda.