For a moment, I couldn’t move. It felt like a relief, but it wasn’t. I got myself out the way, but it wasn’t going to end there – it was going to get worse. There was Manus and Connor and Busola standing, and me on the sofa facing them as my dad shook the wooden spoon in the air, ‘Which of you is stealing?’

Manus said he’d told everyone to bring back the change, but my dad said that was a lie and he was going to beat him twice, once for stealing and once for lying. Connor said he took the money and got himself something because he thought he deserved it for going to the shops, especially when it was heavy gallons of paraffin that made his arms ache. My dad shook his head, tapping the spoon on his palm with a thwack! It was the wrong answer, but he didn’t say anything and turned to Busola, ‘What have you got to say?’

She looked at me sitting on the sofa and pointed her finger, ‘He’s the thief. He’s the one who’s been stealing.’

My face started burning. I could see Manus and Connor hating me with their eyes because I’d been singled out to be safe, but I didn’t know how Busola could see I was stealing or if she was only guessing, so I looked back at her and said nothing.

‘Liar!’ he said, and told her how much she’d stolen, what she’d bought and when she’d done it. ‘You are the one stealing!’

‘That wasn’t stealing,’ she said. ‘Mummy told me I could have a shilling for helping her with the shopping.’

My dad looked round at my mum standing by the door. She put her hands up to the sides of her face and nodded. He threw out his arms like he couldn’t go on and I thought it might end there, but he whacked the wooden spoon down hard on his own hand.

‘Steal again and it’s you or me!’ he said. ‘If I catch you, you’ll wish you were never born!’

He put on his jacket, pushed past and went out, slamming the front door. My mum waited until it stopped shaking and left the room without speaking. The others turned and looked at me on the sofa.

I went to find my mum. She was bending over the bath with dirty clothes and the scrubbing board, wet strands of hair falling forward over her face. It was steamy and smelly, so I stayed by the door and let the clouds of air out into the backyard. She looked round at me and used her wrist to wipe the sweat and hair off her forehead.

‘What do you want?’ she said. ‘Close the door, it’s letting the cold air in.’