Suzi was smiling, though, and Amy laughed. Then they were both laughing. Until Amy’s dad put his hand on her arm.

“Amy …” said Peter. “We still need to talk about … this.” He indicated the broken bits of TurboChaser.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” said Amy, disentangling herself from her mum. “I’m sorry I put you through all this. I hope all your cars are OK. I’m sorry I—”

“You’re amazing.”

“… took all the other children and … Pardon?”

Peter shook his head in wonder. His eyes had that new way of looking at her that Amy had noticed earlier, the one that she couldn’t think of the word for.

“I mean, absolutely,” he said. “You shouldn’t have done ANY of this – shouldn’t have done all this to your wheelchair, shouldn’t have put your mum through all this worry, but … we’ll talk about all that afterwards. Because –” he shook his head and smiled – “you’re totally amazing! What an incredible driver you are. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re a natural.”

Amy smiled and blushed. She wanted to say, “Well, you have seen something like it, a long time ago, on a dodgem car by the sea.” But instead she just let the words “you’re a natural” fire up the memory of that moment again, and said, “Thank you, Dad.”

“And, as your dad,” he said, “let me give you a hug.” Which he did, lifting her up off the chair and into his arms. He gave her the tightest hug.

“But also,” he said, once he’d put her back into the chair, “as a fellow driver, let me shake your hand.” He held out his. Amy took it. They shook hands. He looked at her and smiled.

“Respect,” said Amy’s dad. Which was the word that described, Amy realised, what was contained in her father’s new way of looking at her.