‘I don’t want. And I have help coming.’

‘Excellent. I hope it’s somebody competent. These children have suffered enough.’ The doctor closed Bessy’s patient file with a snap. Consultation over. ‘Let me know if you change your mind. I can get Welfare in tomorrow.’

The house was a tip.

Shanni walked into the kitchen and nearly walked out again.

It was a vast farmhouse kitchen, one wall almost taken up by a huge green Aga. The cupboards and benches were made of a deep, rich wood, and the floor was planked with something that looked like oak. An enormous wooden table dominated the room-a table big enough to…

To hold every eating utensil in the house, Shanni thought incredulously. When had they ever washed up?

‘It’s…it’s a bit messy,’ Wendy said, following Shanni in. She hadn’t put Abby down. She was still staggering under her weight. ‘Bessy was really sick yesterday.’

The two little boys were bringing up the rear. They at least looked like brothers-curly black hair, matching freckles, matching expressions of distrust.

The kitchen was cold. It was a glorious spring day but the place felt damp.

‘We ran out of wood last night,’ Wendy admitted, as she touched the cold stove. ‘Dad ran out of time to chop it. But Dad said just as well, cos he wouldn’t have gone to the doctor’s and left the fire burning. We had cereal and orange juice for breakfast, so we didn’t need the stove.’

‘I see,’ Shanni said. She didn’t see.

Wendy staggered forward and plonked her little sister on a kitchen chair. ‘I’ll find a plaster.’

This at least was a place to start. Abby’s finger was grazed. ‘We need to clean it,’ she told Wendy. ‘Can you find me a face cloth and some soap?’

‘I think so,’ Wendy said cautiously. ‘Are you going to look after us?’

‘I have no idea,’ Shanni told her. ‘Or, not in the long term. But for now it looks like I need to look after you at least until your father gets home. Let’s start with one sore finger.’