But the stories remained unfinished in the evening. The next day we started a new one because we had lost the book-mark or forgotten which story we were reading.

It didn’t bother Mum; she wasn’t interested in endings.

‘The endings are always the same,’ Mum said. ‘The prince and princess get married and the murderer goes to prison. The interesting stuff happens before that.’

Mum also added her own elements. Sometimes she skipped over the dull bits; sometimes she went off on inven-tive tangents. I never spotted the exact point at which Mum moved off the page of the book – it was only afterwards I’d realize: no way is this the actual story.

‘One day, a prince rode to the scene. He saw the dead maiden in the glass coffin, and his heart was filled with love for this unknown girl. The prince asked the dwarfs to open the coffin lid. “She’s started to smell,” the dwarfs warned him –’

‘Mum! It doesn’t say that.’

‘The prince bent over to kiss Snow White, and indeed, the maiden’s breath smelled quite foul, and the prince hesitated –’

‘Mum!’

‘ “Shame I didn’t bring a toothbrush and mouthwash for her to gargle,” the prince mused.’

I said I wanted her to put the book away if she didn’t feel like reading properly, and then she could make up whatever stories she wanted. But for some reason Mum preferred mashing up existing fairy tales. Maybe the pictures in the books gave her ideas. Or maybe she just liked winding me up.

When Mum died, there was a fairy tale we never got to finish. The tale went like this:

Once upon a time, there was a brother and a sister. An icy wizard came from the North. He snatched the sister and took her to his icy castle. The brother looked for his sister but instead met a wolf in the forest.

The wolf said, ‘I know a man who can help you. But you’ll have to pay him a golden egg.’

‘Where do I find a golden egg?’ the brother asked.

‘Jump on my back,’ the wolf answered.

The boy did so, and the wolf ran through the forest until they came to an old house.

The wolf said, ‘In that chicken shed there is a hen that lays a golden egg every night.’

The brother went outside and met an old woman.

‘Good day,’ he said. ‘May I have a golden egg from your chicken shed? I only have three coins.’

‘You may,’ replied the old woman, ‘but keep your coins. In exchange I want a horse with a white mane.’

‘Where do I find a horse with a white mane?’ the brother asked the wolf.

The wolf replied, ‘Jump on my back.’