One day, the sun was out, and Mummy Joy asked Daddy Ivan if I could peel the spuds out in the yard. The sunshine would do me good, she said, to get the warmth of it into my bones. I said nothing, but I hoped he’d say yes. And here, he did, and he carried a bucket of water and a stool out the back door for me, and I brought a bag of spuds and a knife, and I sat there in the sunshine peeling and singing to myself while the chickens pecked at the scraps.

After a while, I saw Daddy George come in through the back gate. I suppose he was done with his work for the day. He came slopping across the yard, his boots all mucked. I sat there, still peeling away, while he scraped his boots by the door. I could feel him looking at me. He stood there a lock of minutes, watching me work. A couple of times, he took a breath, like you would before you spake up, like he wanted to tell me something. But he never did. After a wee while, he went on inside.

I thought about it after. I wondered if he didn’t know what to say, if he didn’t have the words in his head. Then I realised, even if he knew what to say, maybe he just didn’t know how to say it. How does a man like him, reared in a house like that, know how to talk to a child?

I took my time over them spuds because it was good to be out in the sun. By the time I’d dropped the last one into the bucket, the flesh of it all white and soapy, the sun had gotten low over the house. I dropped the knife into the water with the spuds, picked up the bucket and the stool, and carried them inside. The bucket was awful heavy, but I managed all right.

Daddy George was taking a cup of tea at the table in the kitchen. Mummy Joy must have made it for him, for she was fussing around the stove and the kettle when I set the bucket down next to her, the water splashing over the sides. I put the stool in the corner and waited a moment for one of them to tell me what to do. Neither of them did, so I went out into the hall, sat on the stairs for a wee while, to see how long I could get away with that.

From the kitchen, I heard Mummy Joy’s voice, and it shocked me, for she never would talk free to the Daddies, not even Daddy George.

Says she, Imagine having a place of your own. With a family.

Daddy George said nothing.