My father was a medical officer in the British Army. This was long before Tim and I were born, when he was married to our mum, Marianne. He has served in a lot of places but the one he remembers most is the first Gulf War in 1991. He left the army when we were born because he wanted to be with us all and that's when he got a job as a GP in Poplar, working alongside the Midwives of St Raymond Nonnatus (which is how he met Shelagh!). In the first few years after he left the army, everything seemed fine. He was a doting dad and a compassionate GP.

The first sign my birth mother had an inkling that something was wrong was shortly before her death in 2001. Dad had become withdrawn and quiet. (I asked Sister Julienne about this). He was struggling to cope with his workload and he kept having flashbacks to when he was in the army. When he finally broke down, it was so bad that mum had to have him admitted to a mental health hospital. Sister Julienne told me that when he was released, everyone had been sworn to secrecy. His patients were told that he had been posted to another surgery to cover for a friend. It was then that we realised that my father was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

Sister Julienne is convinced that this episode contributed to my mother's death. She died in July 2001 when Tim and I were 3. She suffered a heart attack that led her to being put in a coma and she never woke up. The convent took us in and kept us safe as the nuns feared for my father's mental health. During this time, Shelagh (or Sister Bernadette as she was then) was the nun in charge of my father's well-being. When I asked her how he was, she said he just looked lost and didn't know what to do apart from work. We spent Christmas with the Nuns that year and moved back home in the New Year. Dad hired a housekeeper to take care of us during term time and we were at the surgery or parish hall during school holidays.

Dad didn't have another breakdown for some years and growing up Tim and I knew that it could happen again, so we were always vigilant. Dad married Sister Bernadette when Tim and I were 7, after Tim's battle with Polio. He couldn't have been happier! We were a family again and Dad's mental health was improving greatly- although I didn't understand then.

Dad took a huge risk when we were 8. He decided to move away from Poplar. He argued that he had too many memories of Marianne there and that he couldn't really be happy there. He wanted a new life with Shelagh and us and he wanted us to grow up outside of the city. So, we moved up north. To Thirsk, a town in Yorkshire. This way, we were closer to Shelagh's family and most of Dad's who had settled in Liverpool. For a few years, life was normal. Dad was the local GP and mum worked at the hospital part time as a midwife. Then mum was diagnosed with Tuberculosis and she was sent to the country to convalesce. The TB affected her ability to be able to have children and devastated their hopes of having a child together.

When mum and dad decided to adopt, the woman from the agency wanted to know what happened to dad during the period he was in the institute. Dad hadn't told mum what had happened because he was ashamed of it (my dad is a very proud man). For a while this drove a wedge between them, but they came back together and adopted a little girl whom they called Angela Bernadette.

Angela was a light in our world and everyone forgot that Dad had been in a mental institute for a while. Then a woman in our village went into labour. She had a healthy baby boy whom she named Raymond. But it wasn't so nice after the birth. Poor baby Raymond wouldn't stop crying. His parents weren't getting any sleep. So, Mam went round to do some post-natal care. She gave Marie a check-up and then looked at baby Raymond. On first looks, Raymond looked like a healthy new born, apart from the fact that he was shrieking his head off. On further inspection, she found that Raymond potentially had a fracture to his collarbone. She told Marie that this was nothing to worry about, that it was likely to be a birth fracture. It's rare but more common than people think. Raymond had his bone set and we all went about our business and didn't worry about it anymore.

During half-term, Tim and I usually work down at the surgery with dad, cleaning and sorting things for him. It keeps us entertained and out of trouble. Marie came in one day to collect milk tokens and orange juice and Baby Raymond was shrieking again. Mam- who is Dad's receptionist- came out to meet them.

"Oh, hello Mrs Turner." She said tiredly.

"Hello, Marie. How's baby doing?"

"He's still crying, but nothing prayer and patience can't handle."

"Have you been dosing him up with Calpol?" asked Mam. "That usually helps to sooth him."

Marie didn't say anything.

"You have been giving him the medicine, haven't you Mrs Prendergast?"

"I'm Christian Science, Mrs Turner. We allow for the bone setting, but we believe the way out of pain is prayer."

Mam looked a little disturbed, seeing as this was a 14-day old baby. But then she had an idea.

"How about I give Raymond the medicine? That way, you aren't interfering, and we can relieve Raymond's pain a bit."

Mam went round to the Prendergast's house every day to make sure that Raymond had painkillers. But then Marie shocked us all by bringing him back to the clinic a week later. I saw her come in and welcomed her.

"Is Dr Turner in? He's been crying all night long and I think there's something wrong with his leg." Marie explained, panic evident in her voice.

"Surgery's not open for another half hour." Mum explained, "Let me have a look at him."

Mum examined baby Raymond and then said, "I'd like Doctor to have a look at him, but I think it's another fracture."

So, dad had a look at the baby and agreed that he had another fracture. An ambulance was telephoned for and baby Raymond was whisked down the paediatrics unit in Sheffield as it is a specialist's children's hospital. Dad never told us exactly what happened at the hospital, but he told us in part.

"It's a nasty fracture," He told us over dinner, "Very strange for a child of Raymond's age."

"What do you think it is Dad?" asked Tim, swallowing a mouthful of food.

"That's the thing, I don't know." He paused, "The doctor at Sheffield thought that this couldn't be caused by an accident like slipping with him in the bath or knocking him in the pram."

"Macey at school, her dad works with Mr Prendergast. Says he has an awful temper sometimes." I chipped in.

"That's right." Added Tim.

"One time, when I went to give Raymond his paracetamol, I heard an argument in their flat and heard him throw a bottle of milk at the wall." Said mum looking at dad.

Dad sighed. "That was what I was thinking. That it was an abuse case. But they seemed so sure that it wasn't."

"Patrick, do you really think that parents are likely to own up to abusing their own baby?"

Dad shook his head.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, taking a drink of my squash.

"I don't know. I suppose I'll have to phone the NSPCC and report a case of suspected abuse, but I don't want to, not without ruling everything out first."

Mum took Dad's hand. "I know but sometimes you have to do what needs doing and if removing baby Raymond from his parent's care whilst you work out what's going on is the best thing, well then you have to do that. Plus, if you take him out of their care and he gets another fracture you can rule abuse out."

Dad smiled, "My Shelagh, you always have an answer for everything." And he kissed her.

Tim and I looked at each other and simultaneously said "Yuck!" sending mum and dad into fits of laughter.

So, Dad phoned the NSPCC that night when we were in bed and had to face the Prendergast's the next day. He never did tell us what happened, but it was evident that something had. I felt so sorry for him that day. Mum always said that the hardest thing she's ever had to do is separate mother and child, even if it was the mother's wish. But to have to do it against the wishes of the family must have been soul wrenching.

Tim and I didn't speak as we walked home from school that afternoon. We didn't know what was going to greet us when we got home from school. We hoped that dad would be ok, but you never knew.

When we got home, Dad was sat with his feet up on the sofa watching the cricket.

So far, so normal.

I left my bag in the porch and walked over to the sofa. I knelt down in front of my dad and put my head on his chest. He looked down at me.

"Hello, Kate." He said, smiling.

"Are you ok Dad?" I asked looking up at him.

"I am. The NSPCC have taken custody of Raymond; he'll be in a foster home tonight."

"Do you know it was the parents then?"

He shook his head. "No, they are currently under investigation."

The next few weeks were achingly normal. Tim and I were in our final few weeks of primary school, our last few weeks in education together as in September, Tim was off to the grammar school in York. I would be staying in Thirsk and going to the local convent school. I was perfectly used to nuns, so I wasn't worried. I would miss Tim but as mum says we have to get used to not always going to be together. There was no news of baby Raymond and we took that as a good thing.

But then it all went wrong.

A few weeks after baby Raymond was taken off of his family, his foster mother brought him back in. She told dad that something was wrong with him and that he had a lump on his back. She said that she had been ever so careful especially because of his injuries.

Then Dad had a "lightbulb moment".

He went to the bookshelf in his examination room and got a book. And then he found it.

"Osteogenesis Imperfecta." He said, "Raymond has Osteogenesis Imperfecta. Why didn't I see it before?"

"What's Osteogenesis Imperfecta?" I asked. (Tim and I help out at the surgery in the school holidays).

"You may know it as Brittle Bone Disease. Basically, the bones in Raymond's body are not strong at all and they break easily. In certain cases, it can be suspected as abuse."

Dad looked suddenly downcast.

"Hey!" Dad looked at me. "Do not do this to yourself. You did everything you could at the time. Like you said, it can look like abuse. You have done nothing wrong."

But he just looked straight through me, like I wasn't there.

"Elizabeth, can you phone for an ambulance please. Tell him I have a baby of 11 weeks with Osteogenesis Imperfecta and I need to go to Sheffield Children's Hospital." Then he turned to mum.

"Shelagh, can you phone Mr and Mrs Prendergast and tell them to meet me there. Say it's about Raymond."

And then he was gone. In the back of the ambulance with little Raymond in his arms.

"Katie, can you go and pick up Angela from Day-Care and take her home. Take Tim with you." She didn't take her eyes off the spot where dad had left in the ambulance.

I nodded in silent agreement, grabbed Tim by the arm and left. I knew that mum knew that something was up, so I didn't question her. She ran the surgery until closing time at 5pm. Then she came home. She looked shattered. Tim and I were playing cars with Angela on the floor when she came in and sat in an armchair.

"Hey Mum." Said Tim, making a plastic police car drive up Angie's leg.

"Hello." She said, sleepily.

"Busy afternoon?" I asked, heading over to sit by her.

"Quite." She replied, taking my hand in hers.

"Did Daddy come back?"

"No. I think he's still down in the hospital."

I nodded. "Makes sense."

"Mum?" asked Tim.

She looked at him.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

Mum and I laughed. Tim just looked confused.

"I'll make you a chicken pie. Just give me a minute to sit down."

Tim nodded and went back to playing with Angie.

An hour later, we all sat round the table and began to eat. Dad still wasn't home but then there were some nights where he'd stay in the office for a few hours and do paper work. Mum didn't seem to be worried. We bathed Angie after dinner and watched In The Night Garden whilst she had her milk. Then mum carried her upstairs to bed. Tim and I sat in silence again for a few minutes.

"I'm going to run a bath." I said, standing up.

Tim didn't react.

"What's the matter, Tim?" I asked sitting back down.

"Do you think Dad's going to be ok?" He asked quietly.

I sighed. We were both very close to our dad. After all, we were all he had left of our mother.

"He'll be fine. He should be."

"But what if he's like before mum died?" He asked looking at me.

"Then we'll deal with it, like a family. But he shouldn't be."

"But…" Tim began.

"Timothy! He'll be ok." And I gave him a hug. "Now, I'm going to run a bath."

As I look back on this event, I was incredibly naïve. But what choice did I have? I had no concept of mental health, I just knew dads wasn't always perfect. But still, we had to continue on.

I went to bed around 8pm that night and I was asleep within 5 minutes. (having a 1-year old sibling can be very exhausting. Dad still wasn't back when I went to bed but that was quite ordinary. I woke up at 11ish and went downstairs to get a glass of water. Rubbing my eyes, I plodded down the stairs and was surprised to see a light on in the living room. Mum was sat in the armchair by the window, looking out into the deserted, dark street.

"Mam?" She jumped when she heard my voice. "Is everything ok?"

"Katie? Whatever are you doing up at this time?"

"I was thirsty. Why are you looking out of the window?"

Mum sighed. "I'm waiting for your father."

"Is he still not back?" I asked sitting by her.

She shook her head and tears began to form in her eyes. "I should have told him to take a week off. He's been over-working for weeks because he's been covering for another Doctor. He's tired and when you're tired, you are more susceptible to mistakes."

"Mum, it's not your fault. Its no-one's fault. It's a busy time of year and there aren't enough GPs in the area anyway."

Mum squeezed my hand. "You really are a blessing, Katie Turner. You never give up."

I just shrugged. "He's my dad. I'd do anything to help him."

"Let's get you that glass of water and back into bed. I think I'll go to bed now too."

So, Mam got me a glass of water and tucked me into bed. Then she went off to bed too. I woke again- but only briefly this time- to the sound of gravel crunching under foot and a car door shutting. I looked at my clock. The time blinking back at me was 03:34. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

By the time I woke up in the morning, sunlight was streaming through my curtains. I got up, put my dressing gown on and walked downstairs. Mum wasn't there, and Tim was watching television with Angela. I went into the kitchen and put some bread in the toaster. While I was making my breakfast, Tim came into the kitchen.

"Katie…" He began.

"Hmm?" I replied, getting marmalade out of the fridge.

"Something's up."

I looked at him.

"It's Dad. Mum said he came home in the early hours of the morning and he's just staring at the ceiling. He's not gone to work or anything."

"That doesn't sound like him."

"No. And what's more is, he isn't speaking to her or interacting with her. She tried to kiss him goodbye this morning and he just rolled over."

"I'll take him a cup of tea."

So, I made Dad a cup of tea and took it upstairs.

The room was dark- the curtains were still pulled shut. I could make out the outline of my dad, lying there in the dark. Carefully, I walked over to the edge of his bed. Feeling around in the dark, I found his bedside table.

"Dad, I've brought you a cup of tea." I said, placing it on the table. "And a bourbon biscuit because I know they're your favourites" I looked over at him. He just turned over and faced away from me. I sighed, placed one hand on his arm and left the room.

Dad remained like that for the rest of the day. Tim and I played with Angie and I even prepared dinner for mum, who was covering at the surgery for him. When mum came home, we had dinner together and mum took dad a plate of dinner to him in their room. After we'd put Angela to bed, we sat watching Sherlock on Netflix. People had heard that Dad was ill so all evening we were getting presents from his patients and residents of Thirsk. We had several cakes, flowers and drawing from the children. It was then that we all realised how important and loved Dad actually was by the community.

The days slowly passed and there was no improvement in Dad. A GP was called from the hospital in York to come and cover the cases that mum couldn't deal with.
One afternoon, when Tim had gone down to the park with his friends, I was left looking after Angela. I wrapped her in one of her blankets and carried her carefully upstairs and into Dad room. He was snoring softly but that didn't matter. I placed Angie in the middle of the bed and climbed on next to her. Da didn't wake up but tuned over to face Angela and me. It was like he knew we were there.

Mum came home during her lunch break. She usually did if she was posted to the surgery because it was a five-minute walk away.

"How is he?" she asked as I passed her a cup of tea through the hatch linking the kitchen and living room.

"He's sleeping." I replied.

"Is that good?" asked Tim.

"I think so." Replied mum. "Thanks for holding the fort, you two."

I smiled. "It's no problem."

Mum smiled back.

I rose early the next morning. It was still dark outside, but the sky was beginning to lighten. I went and opened my curtains a fraction so that I could watch the sun come up through the window. I had just gotten myself comfortable by the window when I heard a noise on the landing. I went to my door and opened it a fraction. It was Dad. He was walking down the stairs. Quietly, I slipped out of my door and silently followed him downstairs. He went into the kitchen. I hung back. He ran the tap and splashed water on his face. Then he turned around and looked through the hatch in the kitchen and he saw all the gifts and cards and flowers that people had been leaving all week. Slowly he walked around the living room looking at the various presents and reading the cards and looking at the pictures that children in the village school had done for him.

"The lilies are from Mrs Gray." I said coming into the room. Dad spun round to look at me. "She said she would have sent chocolates, but they wouldn't have made it out of the house. Mr Pole from the Grammar School sent a banana cake made by his wife, I'm afraid I had some of that. Mr and Mrs Cole sent flowers and a big fruit cake, the village school sent flowers and drawings by the pupils- there are more at the surgery…"

"The tin of Quality Street was sent up by the nuns in Poplar." Said Tim from the doorway. "Aunty Clare sent flowers and biscuits. Uncle John sent chocolates, Uncle Joe and Uncle Paul are on their way up here… let me get my notebook, I've got more written down."

"They shouldn't do this." Said Dad quietly. "Half of them can't afford it."

"They do it because they care." I said. "They do it because, whether you believe it or not, you are a good doctor."

"Yes, and if I'm half as good as you one day, I'll be proud." Said Tim, smiling.

Dad looked at Tim with a funny expression. It was a mix of surprise, sadness, love and kindness. Then he looked at me.

"Are Joe and Paul really coming here?" he asked.

"Yes. They worry about you Dad. And so do we."

It took a few more days until dad was fully ok. There was a crisis among the elderly population of Thirsk due to the heat and a woman that dad was fond of came to be very ill. One of the district nurses came round saying that she was asking for dad and if he would come and so dad did. And the rest as they say, is history.

We had a very nice couple of weeks with Uncle Paul and Uncle Joe. Then it turned out that they were both filming up here until the New Year so they stayed even longer and we had them and all their families and the nuns and other relatives up to us for Christmas. Dad had a renewed sense of purpose and it was brilliant to see him as himself for a while.

In the February half term of my first year at secondary school, I was sat in the living room playing with Angie. Tim was sat at the little table doing school work. Mum and Dad were in the kitchen. They were dancing around to Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade. I picked Angie up and poked Tim and stood in the kitchen doorway.

"Look, Angie. This is when they do their mushy stuff." I said, smiling widely as my parents broke apart from a kiss.

"You'd better get used to it." Added Tim. Mum and Dad laughed. "Because they do it…"

"A lot." I finished and we all laughed.

THE END