The Hoakes' farm loomed well before the bus had stopped. It stood, isolated, between two big oak trees and, from where I was, I could even see an orchard behind the house, a shed, a barn, a children's swing and two rows of petunias and gladioli. They all looked modest but functioning, flowers included. Mr Hoakes was a talented carpenter, but ever since his mental breakdowns, which had resulted in him being committed several times, all the hard work had fallen on the shoulders of Mother ...