Pearl glances at Father: his eyes flicking beneath their closed lids. She thinks he’s just as brave as any soldier – more so, in fact. Surely it would be easier to be shot down by a cannon than to waste away like this?

‘We’re not in a mess,’ she says quietly. ‘Are we? I thought the séances were going really well.’

Myrtle makes a harsh guffaw. ‘You don’t know the half of it, do you? You just sit there and close your eyes and it all happens for you.’

‘I’m trying, Myrtle—’

‘D’you know, I’ve envied you every day of your life?’

Pearl stares. Myrtle, the astonishing Myrtle, is jealous of her? What for?

‘You don’t have to do anything, Pearl. Plan for what we’re going to eat, or beat out carpets, or fetch coal and haggle over it, or keep a book of everything that goes out to the laundry, or cook, or charm the landlord into giving you a few more days, or bloody anything except the séances, and I arrange those too!’ Myrtle’s angry voice pinches out, strained by the effort of trying to keep it at a low volume.

Pearl stands there, stunned. She didn’t even notice that Myrtle did all those things. Wouldn’t know that they needed to be done.

Father tosses his head on the pillow but he doesn’t wake up.

Myrtle glares daggers at him. ‘Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you just inherited it from him. He’s not helping me either.’

‘He’s so ill—’

‘He’s resisting me. The Mesmerism. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had it up to here, Pearl, I can’t feel sorry for him any more. He doesn’t want to get better. It’s too much effort for him.’

Even in her weakened state, Pearl manages to snap at her sister, ‘You take that back.’

‘I can’t. He lost his wife, but I lost my ma. And he went all to pieces. Didn’t take charge of the house, the funeral, even the wet nurse for you. He expected a nine-year-old girl to do it all. And I did. I’ve been doing everything, ever since.’

Myrtle’s always been capable. Pearl assumed that was her character. But now she imagines Myrtle at nine, two years younger than she is now: grieving, looking after a sickly baby, running a house and working in a match factory.

Myrtle has done her duty ten times over. It’s Pearl’s responsibility to fix Father. She’s his flesh and blood. She can’t just leave it to Myrtle, like she has done everything else in her life.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, fighting for some strength. Just an inch of it will do. She feels utterly, utterly useless.