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their return.
    The train from Scotland, shrieking and steaming, drew in to the platform as dusk fell. Carriage windows glowed yellow and welcoming in a long string, like the amber necklace my great-grandmother had given me. We wobbled on tiptoe at the gate, craning to see the boys get off. The last passengers, the very old and the very young, were wheeled past us in their chairs and still the boys didn’t come. Daddy walked down the platform sticking his head into every door of the train. He disappeared into a distant carriage and came out carrying Flook.
    Mummy thrust Poppy at me. ‘Wait here.’ She ran towards Daddy. Dan clutched my leg, Poppy slipped in my arms andI was afraid. Mummy was running fast down the platform but dread made it seem as if she was moving in slow motion. Brodie was behind Daddy now, they were coming slowly, so slowly. Brodie dragged the suitcase, straining with the effort. All I could see of Flook was his pale face framed by tousled hair and still far away. He was so white I thought his head was covered by a handkerchief.
    Tears spilt from Dan’s eyes and trickled down his cheeks. ‘Is Flook dead?’ he whispered.
    I gripped his hand tightly. ‘I don’t know.’
    Flook, looking no heavier than a curved leaf in Daddy’s arms, and Mummy with Brodie, reached us. Flook groaned.
    â€˜He’s not dead. Hooray!’ Dan jumped rhythmically in his red wellingtons.
    â€˜He’s very ill,’ said Mummy. ‘We have to take him to hospital now.’ Brodie hid his face in Mummy’s collar. His long arms were doubled around her shoulders but he was too big for her to carry. In the car I held his hand. ‘We were playing cards on the train and eating the sandwiches Aunt Fanny made us. Then Flook started screaming about his tummy hurting. The guard came and he couldn’t stop him crying. I think we were near Norwich because the guard sent a lady to sit with us and then we were here. Flook has been crying all the time and Mummy says it’s his appendix. He didn’t even know who I was.’
    Brodie’s face was grey, his eyes twitched with tiredness as he spoke. He shuddered, gripping my hand. ‘I thought he was dying. I was so scared.’ His voice was tiny now. ‘I knew it was my fault he was dying. He must have had a bad sandwich and I should have eaten it. I’m the eldest when you aren’t there.’
    I hugged him, tears smarting. ‘No, Brodie. Appendixes don’t come from bad sandwiches, they come from germs or something. He will be fine in hospital and it’s not your fault at all.’ Brodie sniffed. He was not convinced.
    At the hospital Mummy went in with Flook, Daddy spun the car out of the car park and roared home with us. He ran into the house leaving the headlights on and the door open. The engine gurgled and stopped. We followed slowly. Daddy was on the phone.
    â€˜It is damnable. The poor child is in agony. I must go back.’ He stopped speaking and hugged Brodie. ‘Louise is coming down to look after you all. I must go back to your Mummy and Flook.’ He paced around the rush matting of the room, a cigarette cupped in his hand; we watched in a doleful row.
    â€˜Louise will be here in a minute,’ I said to him. ‘Go now.’ He looked doubtful.
    â€˜Go on, Daddy.’ Brodie dropped on to his knees by the fire, leaning his face against Honey, the lissom blonde labrador we had found as an unspectacular replacement for Dobe. And Daddy was gone.
    Louise lived opposite the church at the top of the hill in the village. Her house had once been a blacksmith’s forge and we hid in the mouth of an ancient hearth when we played there with Louise’s sons. If we stayed to tea, Louise made chips in a thick grey saucepan full of foaming oil. We clamoured for more, stuffing ourselves because we never had chips at home.
    Louise arrived as the headlights of Daddy’s car swept up