I looked at her, fighting back the feeling of being pushed away by my dad. She looked worn out, there were wrinkles under her eyes and in the corners. ‘Where have you been?’ I said.

‘With your brothers to the hospital. I’m back now. Have you eaten?’

I nodded, and clung on to her.

‘So what’s the matter?’ she said.

‘Why do they all get the money? Why’s it always about them?’

‘Hasn’t Daddy told you?’

I stopped to think about it, and shook my head against her arm.

‘Look at me.’ She put her tongue up on her top lip which she did when it was going to be difficult. ‘They’ve – it’s their big day. It’s an operation, they’ve had. Down there –’ and she pointed to my willy.

‘Why only them?’ I asked when really I didn’t like the sound of that and wasn’t sure it was worth the money.

‘Because God already blessed yours, and he hadn’t blessed theirs.’

I wondered for a moment if she was fobbing me off. How could God bless your willy? Wouldn’t an operation leave a scar? I must have looked like I didn’t believe it because she said, ‘You were a baby, you wouldn’t remember.’

I had a feeling something had happened to me and I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know if other people could see. I didn’t know what it meant.

‘Am I scarred?’ I said.

‘You are,’ she said, ‘and blessed. Something has been taken away.’

That was too much. No one had told me. It was loss and anger and sadness at the same time, and I couldn’t handle it.

‘Do you know about Daddy’s other children?’ I said.

‘I’ll know when he tells me.’ And she stood up from the bed with her face turned away.

Busola looked in the door, ‘Daddy wants you to come, the Oba wants to see you.’

‘I’m coming,’ my mum said. ‘Close the door.’

Busola just stood there and looked at me.

‘What d’you want?’ I said.

And she waved a pound note at me.

Wilf had his finger in his ear with his shoulders crooked, he was moving his jaw from side to side and knocking his knees together. Connor was saying he wasn’t coming out for football because they’d chopped his willy off and he couldn’t run.

‘Why d’you tell him that?’ I said.

‘Why not?’

‘Sorry about the other day,’ Wilf said, patting me on the back. ‘But look what goes on in your house,’ and he burst out laughing.

‘What d’you mean?’ said Connor. ‘What goes on in our house?’

Wilf looked down at the pavement in case he was gonna have to make a run for it, and shrugged.

‘He didn’t want to come in because of Daddy’s scars,’ I said.

‘What scars?’ said Connor.