We checked each layer as we passed down through it. Dad said to try to keep in our heads a picture of what was once there and how things had once been. But the picture I kept getting was the diagram of moles’ burrows from my Learning magazine.
“It’s no trouble coming out to help in a time of need.”
It was the lady typist who had held my hand.
“And how are you doing at school? What’s your favourite subject? And do they still teach you manners? And have you got a big family? And what are you hoping to get for Christmas?”
Dad gave me a ‘don’t let me down’ stare.
“It’s OK, thanks. History. Yes, but it is called something else now. No, only me and Mum and Ben, but he’s naughty now so he’s not part of our family, o, and Great Great Auntie Beryl and Great Great Uncle Tony, and Nanna and Gram
