‘Come and join us,’ my mum said, holding her hand out. It was the first time she’d noticed me and my knees locked so I couldn’t bob any more. She went and forgot about me. I was gonna fall over because my legs couldn’t move from pulling in different directions, and I wasn’t strong enough to keep my balance. Connor called out from the sofa, ‘He can’t dance.’ My dad came over and picked me up. I hung on to his neck and buried my face in his shoulder while he swayed. ‘What’s the matter?’ my mum said, putting her hand on my back, but it was too late, the music ended and Maggie took the record off. I clung on to my dad. He was still swaying, and she said, ‘Give him to me.’ I wouldn’t let go as he tried to take my arm off his neck. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘This one’s for you, Gerry,’ Maggie laughed. He was collapsed in a heap on the floor, his back against the wall by the windows. ‘The British Army,’ she said. ‘Oh no, not that!’ my mum said. Maggie giggled and put it on. It was The Dubliners, and it went straight into singing about monkeys up in the zoo. Gerry sprang up and did a madder dance with his knees up, stomping round like he was gonna break the floorboards. My dad got out the way and gave me to my mum, and everyone pulled their legs up on to the sofa. Maggie was bobbing her head by the radiogram and my dad stuck his knees up in the air and ducked down and went mad as well. He was stomping round, linking arms with Gerry so the two of them were turning in the room like giants smashing everything in the way. ‘Ouch,’ my mum said, because I was grabbing her too tight, ‘Mind those bottles, you’ll knock the table over!’ Busola and Eileen stuck their heads round the door, with the needle scratching and jumping on the record, pushing each other to go in. ‘Go on, now, the two of you,’ my mum said, ‘out the way.’ She carried me out and into the bedroom, closing the door as the music ended with a big crash like everyone had jumped on the floor at once and sent the bottles flying.

There were scurries outside as my dad sent Busola for the dustpan and brush, and the next song came on like it was spreading ripples softly over everything and letting you breathe. My mum was listening as she sat down with me on Manus’s bed and gave me a hug. She smelt like the fat roses up by the houses on Kennington Lane.

‘Mum,’ I said.

‘Yes?’