A lesser woman would have ditched the cacti. She hated cacti.

She’d boxed them up and taken them halfway across London to a batty cactus lover she’d found on the internet.

Even Mike…He hadn’t had anywhere to stay, and he’d been such a promising artist. Had she mistaken sympathy for love?

So don’t you dare feel sorry for this family, she told herself. Leave. Now.

But Wendy was watching her, her small face closed. She wasn’t expecting help. And then she stopped looking at Shanni-decision made.

‘It doesn’t matter what Dad said,’ she told her little sister. ‘I’ll take you inside.’ She hugged her little sister in a gesture that was pure protection, turning her back on Shanni. ‘You’ve scraped your fingers. We’ll find a plaster.’

Oh, heck.

‘What did you say your names were?’ Shanni called.

‘Bryce,’ the oldest boy called. ‘Bryce and Wendy and Donald and Abby. And Bessy at the doctor.’

‘Okay, Bryce,’ Shanni said wearily. ‘Where do I park?’

‘Definitely chicken pox,’ the doctor told Pierce in a tone of deep disapproval. ‘That makes the whole family. The older children should have been immunized. We do standard immunization at twelve months. Bessy will be paying the price of your failure to get that done.’

If he was less tired he’d slug him, Pierce thought wearily, but slugging would involve energy, and energy was something that was in short supply.

‘Here’s a prescription,’ the doctor said, still cool. ‘Twice a day, just like the older children. Can I rely on you to give it?’

‘Yes,’ Pierce snapped. Maybe he did have enough energy. But Bessy was clinging to his neck. It was pretty difficult to slug when holding a whimpering baby.

‘The child welfare officer says you seem to be struggling,’ the doctor said. He peered at Pierce as if he wasn’t too sure. ‘I can call them in, if you want. I told you that when their mother died.’