There is a clock on the wall which oversees the room. It chimes on the hour to remind us of jobs to do.

5am and the Aga needs lit. My father bent over scrapes the coal loudly until the fire submits to his will.

I listen from high up in my single bed. I thumb the cream blanket and close my eyes again. It's too cold yet to get up. Maybe the fairy's are still at the tree. Don't look. They'll see you.