I smile, but then I notice that, even though Dad’s joking around like normal, his eyes aren’t smiling. Coldness creeps into my blood once more.

‘Dad,’ I say softly. ‘You’ve told me the good news. But is there any …’ I swallow. ‘… any bad news?’

‘Oh, the bad news?’ Dad blinks, hesitating. ‘The bad news is that little brothers are really annoying. You’ll come to realise this, Charlie; they break all your stuff, thump you and they eat a lot.’

I smile weakly. ‘Seriously, Dad, tell me the real bad news. I want to know.’

PROMISE

Dad looks at me long and hard, like he’s seeing me for the first time. He sighs.

‘It’s not going to be easy, Charlie. Dara’s still in intensive care and he’s going to be in hospital for a while. He may have problems with his heart his whole life. He’ll need more operations when he’s bigger. And Mum …’ Dad’s voice trails away.

He picks up the photo on my bedside table – the three of us, when I was just born. I look at it too; Dad’s grinning really goofily and Mum’s laughing, cuddling me tight.

Real Dad, now Dad, sighs. ‘Our lives are going to be a bit different, Charlie. Mum’s really shaken up. We all are.’ Dad’s talking to me properly. Like I’m a grown-up. Like we’re in this together.

‘Maybe we’re all a little bit different, Dad,’ I say quietly. ‘And a bit the same. Things happen, bad things sometimes, and sometimes people get a bit broken, don’t they?’ Dad nods. ‘But we’ll look after each other, won’t we? That’s what we do.’

I look into Dad’s eyes; he understands.

Dad reaches out and strokes my hair. He pulls out a bit of twig and raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Wild thing!’ he says. ‘I’ll go and run you that bath.’

‘I’ll have a shower,’ I say. ‘Then let’s go and see Mum and Dara.’

‘OK,’ says Dad. ‘Dara’s got a birthday present waiting in the hospital for you actually.’

I laugh.

Dad trots downstairs. ‘What do you want for lunch, Charlie?’

‘Everything!’ I call back down.

Standing beneath the steaming water, I watch the mud and leaves and blood swirl down the plughole. The past doesn’t all wash away that easily; some things get lost or forgotten or left behind, but they’re always there, buried deep, waiting to be found. Just like I found Harby’s deertooth. With my finger I draw an invisible circle on my throat, right where a make-safe-deertooth would lie. But maybe it’s not just a deertooth that makes safe, maybe it’s people, maybe it’s us.

In my room, I put on a fresh T-shirt, another blue one. I hear a blackbird calling from outside my open window. I kneel on my bed and look out over the garden into Mandel Forest. A wood pigeon perches on the flickering beech tree; his feathers are the colours of early morning sky, grey and pink and silver.