the time.
And this is the one I cannot put down.
For eleven months I told our eight-year-old that Daddy was out saving people tonight.
I said it at bedtime. I said it in that warm voice you use.
While her father was in a hi-vis vest in a warehouse at Brackley Cross, so that the mortgage went out on the first and nobody had to know anything.
I taught that child to be proud of a story. He never asked me to.
Two more things about those months, because leaving them out makes him better than he was.
He kept paying his professional subscription. Two hundred and forty pounds, in the September, out of warehouse wages, for a registration that was suspended.
And in the November he came home at half six in the morning, showered, changed, and drove our daughter to a swimming gala, and stood at the
