We were hurtling along an African highway in our red Combi van. It was the summer of 1985. We were on our way to the Eastern Cape for our annual Christmas holiday. Dad driving. Mum co-driver. Five kids in the back.

I was on the far back seat with my little brother Freddie. It had only been five hours out of ten but it felt like longer. My body ached, there was a sickening heaviness in my legs and stiffness in my joints no amount of wriggling could fix. I hung my head out the window, letting the air dry my sweaty face.

The vinyl seat was slippery and the blanket felt furry and unbearably hot. There was a stale smell of farts and banana skin.

Freddie was kicking the back of the seat. I threw him a look. “Stop it”, I hissed. But he kept doing it, every few seconds, just when I thought he had given up, another thwack.

“Are we nearly there Dad?” my sister Janine yelled from the seat in front of me. I groaned inwardly. I couldn’t believe she was asking again. Dad would be furious.

Freddie was flicking bits of sweet wrapper at my face now. “Stop it”, I yelled and grabbed his arm. He lashed out, kicking me.

Suddenly the van veered off the road and skidded to a halt. We all lurched forward bracing ourselves.

“Get out!” my mother swung round to glare at us, her face red, her eyes flashing. She was looking at me. “Mandy and Freddie! Out! Now!”

Freddie was crying already and resistant but we knew Mum meant it.

Freddie and I stood on the side of the dusty hot road and watched the van drive off.

My heart thudded, my throat dry and tight. I could taste bitter hatred in my mouth. Tears stung my eyes.

Freddie was sobbing, running after the van.

“Come back Freddie. Let them go.” I was beckoning furiously to him. “It will serve them right. We’ll run away. They’ll be so sorry.”

But he was too babyish and too scared. The sun beat down on my head. I looked around at the dry, rocky landscape, up at the big blue sky and far horizon and started running towards Freddie.

The van was reversing, its wheels throwing up stones and dust. The sliding door thundered open and we were clambering back in, shamefaced and silent.

My heart felt like a stone, hard and heavy. My eyes were dry and stinging. My stomach tight. I promised myself I would find a way to make them pay.