‘Her boots!’ Iris said, watching in dismay as Olive’s muddy boots got dirt all over Archer’s shirt. But when she looked up, Olive and Archer were grinning at her with matching dimples and the boots didn’t matter, the shirt didn’t matter, her own doubts didn’t matter. Maybe it was time. Maybe she was ready for this. ‘Dad, hold Iris’s hand again so she doesn’t get lost,’ Olive instructed. He looked at her, the question clear on his face, so Iris nodded and grabbed his hand and they marched off to the puppet show. Together. As a family.
