Fur gloves in the sun-room.
Certain years the sun-room, which was no more than an enclosed balcony attached to the back of the house, was used to store some of the winter clothes.
Breavman, Krantz and Philip came into this room for no particular reason. They looked out of the windows at the park and the tennis players.
There was the regular sound of balls hit back and forth and the hysterical sound of a house fly battering a window pane.
Breavman’s father was dead, Krantz’s was away most of the time, but Philip’s was strict. He did not let Philip wear his hair with a big pompadour in front. He had to slick it down to his scalp with some nineteenth-century hair tonic.
That historic afternoon Philip looked around and what did he spy but a pair of fur gloves.
He pulled on one of them, sat himself down on a pile of blankets.
Breavman and Krantz, who were perceptive children, understood that the fur glove was not an integral part of the practice.
They all agreed it smelt like Javel water. Philip washed it down the sink.
“Catholics think it’s a sin,” he instructed.