6

 

Good night, Mom.’

‘Good night, you two. Did you wash behind your ears?’

‘Yes, Mom. You always ask us that.’

‘I know, and your necks?’

‘Yes, Mom, you always ask us that too.’

‘You should see what your collars look like. Don’t worry, boys, I believe you. Come here . . . mm, you smell so nice.’ She has both of us in her arms, me on the right and Frankie on the left.

‘Say good night then, and run along. I’ll come and tuck you in later.’ We kiss her—left cheek, right cheek and then on the lips. When she lets go, I can feel her need to hold on.

‘Good night, Dad,’ we chorus.

‘I’ll tuck you in tonight,’ he says, and we leave the room, which is warm with the glow of the paraffin heater. Mom calls after us, ‘Remember your prayers, boys! Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

Our father follows and tucks us in.

‘Tight, Dad, please, tight.’

‘No, Nicholas, not too tight. Then you can’t kneel to say your prayers,’ Frankie says.

‘Tonight you can just lie on your backs and say your prayers. It’s OK, God will understand. Good night, boys.’

‘Good night, Dad,’ we say in unison.

‘How much do you love me, hey?’ he asks.

‘We love you as much as all the ships.’

‘And trains . . . and planes,’ Frankie adds.

‘And cars . . .’ Then we start naming them—Pontiac, Chev, Ford, Valiant, Volkswagen, Mercedes, Land Rover, Mini, Austin, Cit­roen, Renault . . . Uhm . . . Aston Martin, Ferrari, Jag . . .

‘OK, boys, that’s enough. Sleep tight now.’