Each day he gave me an injection or two of a sickly-smelling substance which came in two brown phials and which he mixed in the syringe he rolled between his palms. He seemed to enjoy this and the homely kind of skill it took to flick the bubbles from the tops of the phials and place the needle on the syringe.

I was usually the last into the kitchen, the rest having gone about their vague business save for the odd straggler, the obsessive drinker perhaps, from whom Tom would snatch her glass of water and send her packing. After breakfast I was taken to a small gymnasium. Tom would lay rubber mats on the floor and begin a fanciful routine whereby he picked me up, hugging me from behind, as he rested my heels on his feet and began walking with me. In one corner was a long mirror where I would catch our comical reflection as we turned on each circuit of the room. Since I was taller, he had to bury his head in the small of my back to keep me upright as he groaned, struggling for air, rhythmically counting to four with each effort aimed at simulating the technique of walking. Sometimes Anna would come and watch, pacing the floor in her long boots, peering at us from odd angles, looking for knee flexions or any sign of voluntary movement by me, the thin scarecrow in the arms of a short, breathless old man.

In the afternoons Tom gave me hot baths and sometimes immersed my arms and ankles in a trough of melted wax before going through a series of passive movements with me, occasionally prompted by John or Anna who would come into the steamy bathroom to look at me, earnestly absorbed by the activity, pinching my skin, probing for any sign of new muscle or fat, often interrupting Tom to suggest new angles through which he might rotate my head or arms. This over, I was dressed and taken down for the evening meal, usually long before the arrival of the others to allow Tom time to start cooking and setting places.

This was a pleasant hour, the best of the day, spoilt only by the others coming in dribs and drabs, demanding, arguing, shoveling food down, and leaving to bang up the stairs, slamming doors, turning on radios. I tended to receive my meal of strong meaty extracts and syrupy sweet fluids only when time permitted between the serving and satisfying of the others. Later I would be taken to the lounge to watch television, often alone.

One evening one of the triplets wandered in, flicked through all the channels, sat for a few minutes, turned the volume up, then disappeared upstairs to change her clothes. Then the Major came in and asked, ‘Mind if I change the TV over, old chap?’ Tall, graceful, thin-limbed, he bent over the set, turned the sound down a little and switched over.

Tom and Jerry.