‘The problem with baby birds is that they don’t know how to use a toilet,’ I said, sounding very wise. ‘So Dora will probably continue to poo all over the toys, which isn’t very hygienic. At least we can just replace leaves and twigs every time she goes to the bathroom.’

‘Let’s go now and get some,’ Gaia said eagerly.

I glanced over at Coco, who was pulling herself to her feet on the playroom table and using the chairs to steady herself as she took careful sidesteps, babbling happily to herself. It wouldn’t be long until she started walking. ‘We can’t go now, Gaia.’

‘Why not?’

I consulted the laminated schedule pinned to the board opposite. ‘Because it’s almost time for spellings … I mean, phonograms.’

Gaia rolled her eyes. ‘Show me the card,’ she deadpanned.

We were on ‘ir’. Gaia looked at it.

‘Girl fir stir dirt first skirt bird – ha!’ she said. ‘Can we go now?’

‘You have to be able to write them, too,’ I said. Another eye roll. She marched over to a chair, plonked down, and started writing. A few moments later she held up a sheet with all the words written correctly.

‘Now can we go?’

‘OK,’ I said, quite astonished that she’d managed to get all the spellings correct. I was no expert on childhood development but I’d have put good money on Gaia being some kind of miniature genius.

I put the girls in their rain suits and wellies – it had rained for three days solid – and we headed outside with a bucket to gather ‘forest treasure’ with which to re-furnish Dora’s bedroom. The ravens were back, an army of black sails circling the house and piercing the air with their angry cawing.

Outside we kept to the thickest part of the forest, where the dense branches of fir trees funnelled the sheeting rain to a drizzle. Gaia jumped in every puddle she could find, holding tightly on to my hands as she stomped in the muddy water with a squeal of glee. Far from gathering up whatever foliage she could find, Gaia selected her items carefully, inspecting each twig and tossing whatever specimen failed to live up to her requirements. When I finally begged her to let us return to the house – a good hour later – her basket contained only a few sticks, a handful of pine needles and some pretty red leaves.