Karen Comer

Collecting Stories

Devotion by Hannah Kent – book review

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Hannah Kent’s Devotion is one of my favourite reads for this year. It’s historical fiction, beginning in Prussia in 1836 and continuing with an ocean journey to South Australia.

It’s the story of Hanne, a fifteen-year-old girl who feels she is a disappointment to her mother as she’s not quite ready to think about marriage, and she’s not like the other girls her age who are already planning their married futures.

When she meets Thea, she no longer feels so alone. She’s grateful Thea and her family, like the rest of their Old Lutheran community, have made the decision to leave Prussia for Australia in order to practise their faith without fear of persecution.

I was halfway through reading Devotion one night when I read a few pages and decided that what I was reading was too impossible to comprehend. Clearly, I was exhausted and I should put the book down and go to sleep.

When I continued reading the following night, I realised that I had not misread the previous chapter. No spoilers here but goodness, that section was breathtaking!

Kent’s writing is lyrical and evocative –

Now. years later, sitting on the lip of this valley, I can make prayer beads of the trees that crown me, the small living things glimpsed if I am still and silent. Red gum, blue gum, quandong, stringy bark. And the birds, ever here, ever singing, a liturgy to govern the hours towards gods of cry and shriek and call.

Devotion was my suggestion for our bookclub – I’m sure other bookclubs would enjoy reading it, too. It is also a beautiful-looking book with a textured, linen-like cover and an embossed design, like the whitework Hanne’s mother teaches her. It’ll be a book I’ll read again in a couple of years.

And the winners from last week’s giveaway are:

  • Vanessa – How to bee
  • Kathy – The beast’s garden
  • Kristine – Elsewhere girls

Congratulations to all the winners – I’ll be in touch!

Girl, woman, other – book review

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When a friend told me that she was reading a book that didn’t use fullstops, quotation marks or capital letters at the beginning of sentences and it sounded like a poem, I knew I had to read it. Bernadine Evaristo’s book Girl, woman, other was published in 2019 and won the Booker Prize that year.

It’s about 12 girls/women/others centred around Britain, each with their own section so we are instantly taken into the minds, hearts and lives of all of them. The 12 characters have lives which intersect each other’s, sometimes in familial ways, sometimes through friendship or work relationships. The last chapter brings it all together.

I loved the sense of floating through the book, feeling as if I were on a meandering river which flowed its way through the different stories. The lack of ‘proper’ punctuation certainly added to that effect.

The stories, connecting past, present and future, connecting women of all different sexualities, class, education, financial means, are compelling. The characters are sad, humorous, tender, angry, passionate, invisible, loud, scared, defiant, shocking, desperate, creative – and so much more.

So now I am following my friend’s lead, and telling you, my friends, about this book that doesn’t use conventional punctuation and reads like a poem. I hope you feel like you need to read it, too!

The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo – book review

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Such a fabulous book title – The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid! Miss 15 and one of her friends both enjoyed this adult novel, and I did, too.

Loosely based on Elizabeth Taylor’s husbands, the book begins with glamorous Hollywood actor Evelyn Hugo, ready to share her life story with an unknown magazine writer, Monique Grant.

Evelyn recounts her Hollywood career, and her choices to marry and leave her seven husbands. Monique’s story is woven in between Evelyn’s tale. As a reader, you just know that there must be more of a connection between Evelyn and Monique, and the big reveal is absolutely surprising.

Miss 15 warned me I’d never guess the plot twist, and she was right! It was the perfect ending – both surprising and inevitable.

This would be a fabulous summer read – engaging characters, a compelling plot and a fabulous Hollywood background from the 1950s to 2017.

Lincoln in the Bardo – book review

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I was almost about to apologise for taking so long to read this much-discussed book, winner of the Man Booker Prize in 2017. But I will not, because I have read many other wonderful books in that time! But I’m so glad I’ve now read Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, both for the story and the structure.

The story is about President Lincoln’s eleven-year-old son, Willie, who dies and is buried. Lincoln returns a few times to the graveyard to hold his son’s body. This is all based on historical documents.

Saunders has taken these facts and woven a story told by the multiple ghosts in the graveyard, as well as using a few historical sources.

At first the effect of these multiple voices, sometimes one liners, sometimes a few pages, is jarring. Who are all these voices, how to keep track of them? But once you’re a little way in, you start to recognise the voices without even needing to flick to the name of the voice beneath the extract.

Fun fact – 166 actors were needed to record the audio book!

To have all these voices, quite distinctive, gradually revealing parts of their own story while they watch the President embrace his dead son makes for compelling reading.

And if you think that ghosts are static characters who can’t change, think again!

This is such a memorable read – one of my favourites for the year. I only finished it last night and am looking forward to discussing it with someone who has read it! So if you’ve read it, let me know in the comments.

Fleishman is in trouble – book review

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Fleishman is in trouble by debut novelist Taffy Brodesser-Akner is the sort of book you want to discuss with someone – as you’re reading it, as soon as you’ve finished reading it – perfect bookclub material.

Toby Fleishman is a New York hepatologist with a recently separated wife and two children. The story begins with a newfound sense of sexual freedom for Fleishman – he’s free to indulge in all sorts of sexual encounters – online, in person, dates that work, dates that don’t work. He’s almost giddy with it – as a five-foot-five Jewish man who was overweight as a child, all of a sudden there are women who want him.

But his ex-wife Rachael goes missing. She’s dropped the kids off a day earlier than expected without telling him, gone off to a yoga weekend retreat and hasn’t come back.

Fleishman navigates the difficult world of his medical work, his two children (thank goodness for summer camps), his missing ex-wife and his forays into dating.

Brodesser-Aknew explores relationships not only through Fleishman’s marriage but through the stories of the women he dates, as well as his two best friends, Libby (going through her own existential crisis in her marriage to a perfectly nice man) and Seth (never committed, constantly dating, recently engaged). Fleishman becomes ‘the wife’, as his divorce lawyer tells him – he earns less money than Rachael and he has more responsibilities with the kids.

it was interesting to observe the gradual decline of Fleishman’s interest in online dating apps, once his twelve-year-old daughter received her phone. There’s a small incident with her and a photo, which shocks Fleishman and makes him question his own obsession with the photos women on dating apps have sent him.

The narrator is Libby, Fleishman’s friend from college days. She appears and disappears, leaving the reader a tad bemused that she pops up out of nowhere to insert herself in the story. I did wonder how Libby could possibly know so intimately Fleishman’s thoughts and feelings, let alone the nuanced and detailed encounters with Rachael, his kids, his co-workers?

And yet her invisibility in parts of the novel echo not only Rachael’s disappearance but also the general theme of women’s invisibility throughout the novel.

…whatever kind of woman you are, even when you’re a lot of kinds of women, you’re still always just a woman, which is to say you’re always a little bit less than a man…

Rachael is only seen through Fleishman’s eyes for the majority of the novel – it is only towards the end that we catch a glimpse through Libby of Rachael. While Fleishman is an empathetic character, a doctor who ‘sees’ his patients, an involved and tender dad, we realise at the end of the novel that perhaps his view of his marriage (and his friendship with Libby) was not entirely accurate.

See – so much to discuss!

Cate Kennedy – workshop

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During Melbourne’s last lockdown of five days, I was supposed to attend a writing workshop with Australian short story writer and poet Cate Kennedy at the Wheeler Centre in the city. She kindly offered to run the workshop online. So that Saturday I spent the day in my study looking at a screen of the unknown faces of my fellow participants as well as Cate’s fabulously detailed slides.

I have long been a fan of Cate’s short stories and poems. Her poems about the miscarriage of her son and the birth of her daughter are heartbreaking. Her two short story collections, Dark Roots and Like a house on fire, have stayed with me long after I finished reading them. Cate focuses on ordinary people, and she shines a light on them to show both their vulnerability and strength.

Her characters are us – a woman organising herself and her family before she goes to a doctor’s appointment to have a lump checked, a man making poor decisions after his partner has left him, a woman struggling at work on her first day back after maternity leave, a young girl rebelling against her mother’s family Christmas photo, a young cleaner befriending an elderly man in hospital. But it’s never about just these events – there’s a subtext of anger or loss or relationship concerns which adds a quiet background hum that sometimes rises to a roar of frustration or despair. Cate discussed the idea that conflict, even though small, brings the inner life of characters to the surface.

Cate was generous with sharing her knowledge and experience with a set of slides which whizzed us through the different elements of creating stories. ‘Emerging writers always have wonderful ideas,’ she told us, ‘it’s about the execution.’ Too true.

Cate’s latest short story collection, Like a house on fire, is on the Yr 12 VCE English curriculum. My Yr 12 son’s first SAC (School Assessed Coursework) was to write an addition or adaption of one of Cate’s stories. It’s such a wonderful opportunity for students to try to understand another human being, through reading about ordinary people’s circumstances and choices and then writing a response. Cate’s stories can be so subtle, that students are encouraged to look at her characters and empathise with them while they imagine different possibilities for them.

What does that elderly man need at the end of his life? What sort of person will that young girl, rebelling against her mother, grow up to be? Cate told us,

The story is the transformation of the narrator.”

So how does that elderly man change the young cleaner’s life? How will that young girl grow up to parent her own children?

Writing is about imagining different scenarios, putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes, daydreaming about different possibilities for ourselves, reinventing ourselves as characters. Cate urged us to go into the ‘vortex of doom’, to face any resistance we have on the page, to allow the secrets of our characters and their inner worlds to float up to the surface, to be examined in the light. Therein lies transformation.

The wonderful thing about students studying these short stories is that hopefully, hopefully, hopefully, they gain insight into their own lives. That in writing their additions or adaptions, they look beneath the surface of Cate’s characters and see what they really want, how they strive to reach it, and how they transform when often they don’t get what they want but instead what they need. In fiction – and life.

Thank you very much for your kind comments last week – I’m glad to be back too in such wonderful company!

Dear readers, it’s been a while

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Dear readers, it’s been a while since I last posted. My website updated itself in December and there were problems that seemed insurmountable because it was December and there were work deadlines and Christmas deadlines and general December busyness.

Thank you to the lovely Nic from Planning with Kids who helped me with the technical side of my blog as well as giving me a big pep talk for continuing on!

There is news to catch up on!

Reading

I’ve been reading a lovely pile of books – my usual mix of fiction, non-fiction, children, young adult and poetry. Standout books include Seth Godin’s The practice (non-fiction), Cate Kennedy’s The taste of river water (poetry), The forty rules of love by Elif Shafak (novel) and The girl who became a tree by Joseph Coelho (young adult). Reviews for some of these books coming!

Editing

I have a mix of projects at the moment which makes my editing life varied and exciting. I’ve almost finished editing a fabulously detailed family history of six generations dating back to Scotland in the 1850s, I’ve proofread a book about wills which has prompted me to have conversations with family members, I’m about to start reading an exciting crime novel for a general reader’s report and I edited a wonderfully lyrical essay on nature.

Writing

My first middle-grade verse novel is under submission so I’ve been researching for my young adult verse novel. I’ve almost finished this now, so I’m ready to look at the structure of the first draft. Are my key scenes in the right places? Do they match up with my research? Do my two main characters meet up at the right moment?

Facilitating

I’m now the facilitator for the online Springfield writers’ group. This is a talented, oh so talented group of women who are writing poems, essays, novels, short stories, memoirs, non-fiction. We meet once a week to discuss two writers’ work and the creative collaboration in this group is a tangible thing.

Creating

Apart from creating a weekly menu of lunches and dinners and snacks which lately have NOT been as creative as my other pursuits, I’ve been teaching myself to weave. Last year during the lockdowns, I found quilting and sewing to be an antidote to the news cycle. I have a beautiful weaving kit and I am making a random, unplanned small weaving in soft dusky pinks, creams and burgundies.

Tutoring

I am constantly telling my children how lucky they are to have me as a mother but it’s only when I cook their favourite meal or help them with an English essay that they truly appreciate me! Mr 17 is in year 12 this year and we have already spent some time together talking through his first SAC. I also read through a few of his mates’ pieces – one of them named a character Karen. I am not sure whether to take it as a compliment or an insult – the character was rather annoying!

Your news …

Please tell me what you have been reading, writing or creating – I’d love to know.

The Dutch house by Ann Patchett – book review

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Ann Patchett is one of my favourite American novelists. I’m immediately drawn into her books, whether her book is set in the Amazon (State of wonder), about a group of terrorists who befriend their captives (Bel Canto) or her collection of essays (This is the story of a happy marriage).

Her latest novel is The Dutch House, set in Pennsylvania. There are no terrorists, no lost characters in the Amazon. In fact, this is a relatively quiet book with considerably less tension than her previous novels. The only thing at stake is a house, not someone’s life.

But as in all of Patchett’s novels, readers are immediately drawn into the lives of her characters. The Dutch House is told from Danny’s point of view, and follows the story of Danny and his older sister Maeve growing up in the Dutch house and their eventual dismissal from it. (I’m not spoiling anything – this is all revealed in pieces within the first chapter).

And perhaps that’s Patchett’s skill – as a reader you know what’s coming but you’re still going to turn each page for the sheer pleasure of reading her words.

Patchett is also a bookshop owner, and she has a passionate commitment to ensuring her hometown, Nashville, is well supplied with books.

There’s a great conversation between Patchett and Elizabeth Gilbert through the New York Library conversations and an interview with Patchett in The Guardian where she talks about the modern-day fairy tale qualities of The Dutch House and its theme of grief and loss.

This is definitely one of my favourite books for the year!

Sea Hearts – book review

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I’m always happy to crawl into bed at the end of the day and read my book but I found myself thinking about bedtime at 4pm, just because I was looking forward to reading my book! This was a library book called Sea Hearts by Margo Lanagan. I reviewed Lanagan’s short stories, Singing my sister down and other stories, here – and was in awe of the way she uses language to paint pictures.

Her novel, Sea Hearts, is worthy of the same praise. It’s the story of a small island called Rollrock Island, told through several characters’ viewpoints. One of the characters, Misskaella, a misfit of a small girl even in her own family, realises that she can use her hidden powers to draw a girl out of a seal. But not just any girl – these girls are bewitchingly beautiful, gentle, serene and become lovely mams to their boys. The young men of Rollrock Island use all their savings to buy a bride, and eventually, the original women of Rollrock leave, broken-hearted as their husbands and sons buy themselves a sea-wife.

The story is told over a few generations, so the changes to this small community are widespread and unforgiving. Regardless of what you think of a witch being able to draw girls out of the hearts of seals and men who are enchanted and cannot turn away from them, this story shows the way something can pervade a small village and change the lives of everyone, no matter who thinks they can stay strong to the old ways.

This quote comes from Dominic Mallet, when he first sees his sea-wife – as reluctant as he is to meet her and forget his fiancee.

‘Kitty Flaming, I told myself desperately, my wife-to-be. Kitty. But the words were nothing against Misskaella’s singing. Kitty was nothing, a frail flag blown to tatters by a magical wind. Her face blurred and faded in my memory, while the seal-girl’s grew clearer and clearer in the moonlight, serene, dark eyed, full lipped, a pale oval, her night-black hair moving around it, breathing of warm sea. She watched me soberly, fearlessly, unsmiling; she could no more look away than I could. No one, no woman or man, had ever regarded me so steadily, so trustingly.’

It all seemed so dreamlike, yet so realistic, to me. The island life, with its red-haired inhabitants living there together for so long, suddenly interrupted and disturbed by first one, then another, then another seal-girl with their enchanting faces and bodies so that any Rollrock woman with her round face and body and flaming red hair would look so much less than, so ordinary. The witch Misskaella became richer and richer as first the young men, then those men who were already husbands, begged and bribed her to create them a sea-wife. What happens a generation later is startling and surprising, yet also inevitable. The book is almost a poem with its language and the way Lanagan paints pictures, but it’s also an anthropological exercise in what happens to a small village and its people when change occurs.

I read it as an adult novel and later discovered it’s marketed towards young adults. Either way, it’s a great read.

Even though it’s only February, I can see this might be one of my top ten books for the year! Unless I like some of Lanagan’s other books better …

 

Naming – a short story

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Stringybark

A couple of years ago, I had an adult short story published by Stringybark Press in one of their anthologies. It’s part of the collection of modern fairy tales I’m working on. I thought I’d share it here for you to enjoy!

Naming

I watch them every morning from my bedroom window at the front of the house. I kneel on my bed and pull the blind up a little bit so I can see them. They stand between the two cars parked in their driveway. Rob wears a suit with a shirt and tie. Julie wears a pretty dress. Sometimes her hair is in a ponytail, sometimes she wears it loose. They reach towards each other, and he puts his hand on her back and she puts her hand around his neck and they kiss. Kiss, kiss, kiss, for a really long time. Sometimes they say goodbye in a slightly different spot and I can’t see them properly through the bushes between our house and theirs. But I always hear Rob’s car drive off first down the street, then I hear Julie’s car leave. Then I open my blind all the way.

They are so nice, our neighbours. Julie works at the office for a big bakery and always leaves a cardboard box full of bakery sweets, like jam donuts and apple scrolls and custard tarts at our front door on Friday evenings. So now Friday is dessert night. It used to be Saturday, but now it’s Friday.

Fridays are a good day now. They used to be a bad day, because we had sport at school. Well, I have sport at my school. My younger brother, Dan, has sport at his school on Monday and Wednesday. I go to a different school. The sign at the front of my school says it is a special school for children with special needs, so all children can reach their potential. I know this is not true. Because some of the children here have already reached their potential. Sam, for example, is never going to learn any more about maths. He knows some maths, but he’s never going to learn any more and he’s fourteen already. I am only twelve, but my potential for maths is still growing. I heard Mr Tallin tell Mum that I have great potential for maths, maybe up to Year 10. But my potential for sport is not good – I can only catch the ball three out of ten times, and not every sports day. Just a good sports day.

This Friday, when Julie comes over to give Dan and me the box of bakery treats, she tells us she has some news. Some exciting news. She and Rob are going to have a baby. Mum gives her a big hug and makes her come inside to sit at the table and tell us all about it. Dan goes outside to play basketball – he always practises after school until Mum tells him it is homework time – but I stay inside.

‘Is this Julie’s potential, Mum? Is this the best she can do? Is this why it is really exciting?’

Mum and Julie smile a special sort of smile at each other. ‘Well, Pat, having a baby is an amazing thing to do,’ says Julie, folding her hands on our scratched kitchen table. ‘But I think I can have a baby and still do some of my work potential at the same time.’

I open the bakery box to see what Julie has given us today. Lemon tarts, jam donuts and fruit buns. I like the donuts best.

‘Actually, it’s Paddy today. My name is Paddy.’

Julie nods politely but I know she doesn’t understand. My name is very important to me. It’s Patrick David Lamond. Sometimes I like to be called Pat, sometimes Paddy and some days Patrick. Sometimes Boy-o, but only by Dad. Patrick is for a bad day, Pat is for an ok day and Paddy is for a good day.

And I can’t quite work out what Julie means. So I put it in the box in my head marked ‘Adults’ – it’s for things that adults say that I don’t understand. There are a lot of things in that box. But I do know one thing – kiss, kiss, kiss does mean a baby. Lisa in my class told me that. She knows a lot about babies because she has three younger brothers and sisters at her house. And she is always playing with dolls in the home corner. Sometimes she makes me play too. I have to be the dad, and hold the baby while she cooks dinner. She even showed me how to change the baby’s nappy and pat it gently so it would fall asleep. Lisa can’t write very well because she doesn’t hold her pencil properly but she knows how to hold a baby.

‘What about names, Julie?’ asks Mum, bringing two cups of tea to the table.

Julie shrugs her shoulders and laughs. ‘Oh, Rob and I have a list of girls’ names we like, so that’s sorted. But we like completely different boys’ names. So we are just calling the baby Rumplestiltskin for now!’

After Julie has her baby boy, she stays at home and doesn’t go out to work any more and doesn’t give us boxes of bakery treats on Fridays. So Fridays are bad days again because there is sport and there are no treats. Dan thinks Fridays are bad too, because he has no sport and no treats.

Rob goes back to work but Julie doesn’t kiss him between the cars any more. Sometimes I see Julie in her dressing gown holding the baby at the front door, making the baby wave his little hand. Sometimes the curtains are still closed in their bedroom window after I come home from school, and Mum says that Julie might be very tired because the baby might have cried in the night. Julie often comes over to our house with the baby, and sometimes she cries a bit and sometimes the baby cries a bit, and Mum makes her a cup of tea and holds the baby so Julie can go back home and have a shower. She doesn’t wear her pretty dresses any more. Usually, she wears tracksuit pants and a t-shirt.

One day after school I hear Julie’s baby crying and crying. Mum is in the middle of cooking something complicated in the kitchen so she can’t help Julie. I go next door and open the back door. Julie is crying on the couch and the baby is crying, too. She cries even more when she sees me.

‘I can hold the baby for you while you have a shower,’ I say. This is what Mum says.

Julie cries some more.

I walk over to the couch and put my hands out, and Julie gives me the baby. She needs two hands to find the tissues and blow her nose. The baby cries some more but I pat it gently just like Lisa at school showed me. I even sing the traditional lullaby Mrs Blackwell taught us last year.

Sleep, baby, sleep,
Thy father guards the sheep,
Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree,
And from it fall sweet dreams for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep.

 The baby stops crying. Julie stops crying.

‘I think I have good potential to make the baby stop crying.’

‘I think you do, too, Pat,’ says Julie, and she smiles.

‘Paddy, are you in here? You shouldn’t be bothering Julie.’ It is Mum, standing at Julie’s back door.

‘Oh, no, Catherine, he’s fine. Pat’s helping me out – he’s just stopped all the tears!’

‘Well, as long as he’s helping and not bothering,’ says Mum. She uses her strict voice but she smiles at me. It always confuses me when she does that. And usually she does this when there are other people around. Is she happy with me or cross with me? I can never work it out. Something else to go in the ‘Adults’ box in my mind.

Julie rummages around in the pantry and finds me a chocolate biscuit.

It is a good day.

After a week, I go over to visit Julie to see if I still have my baby potential. The baby is lying on a blue and green rug on the floor, and Julie is waving a rattle in front of him. She lets me hold the rattle and I make a jingling noise for the baby.

‘Hi, Rumplestiltskin,’ I say to him. I know Rumplestiltskin isn’t his name but I don’t like his name so that’s what I call him.

‘See? I still have my baby potential,’ I tell Julie.

She smiles at me and starts to say something but the phone rings. When she answers it, she says lots of words like ‘I agree,’ and ‘Mmm,’ and ‘That all sounds possible.’

I don’t say anything because Mum has taught Dan and me that you don’t talk while someone is on the phone. I just sit next to Rumplestiltskin to teach him that you don’t make a lot of noise when someone is on the phone.

When Julie says, ‘Bye,’ and puts the phone down, she sits opposite me on the rug and touches the baby’s cheek.

‘Gosh, that was someone from my work on the phone, Pat. They want me to start work soon, maybe some work from home next week.’

I just keep waving the baby’s rattle in front of him. Sometimes adults talk like this, and I don’t know what to say. I only know what to say because I say what Mum or Dad or my teachers say.

Rumplestiltskin says nothing too but he smiles at me.

‘You will make an excellent babysitter one day, Pat, you are just so responsible.’

‘Thank you. Can I have another chocolate biscuit, please? And can you please call me Paddy today? Today, I am Paddy.’

Julie doesn’t have any chocolate biscuits today but she gives me a lamington. A lamington is even better than a chocolate biscuit because it is bigger and still has chocolate in it.

Later that week, I visit Julie and Rumplestiltskin again. Julie smiles when she sees me.

‘Come in, Pat, come in. I’m guessing you want to see my little man? He’s just lying on his rug, all wrapped up, ready for his sleep. You can have just a little look at him while I check something on the computer, and then he can have his sleep.’

Julie walks into the study and I look at Rumplestiltskin lying on the blue and green baby rug, then I pick him up to make sure I still have my baby potential. He looks at me and does not cry. Then I wonder if he has potential. Will he be a maths potential baby like me or a catching the ball potential baby like Dan or will he have looking after babies potential like Lisa?

I decide that all babies have the potential for walking. Well, except for Olivia and Bella and Luka who come to school in wheelchairs and can’t walk at all. Maybe I should check if Julie’s baby has the potential for walking.

I hold up the baby by his arms and let him dangle down. He is all wrapped up and I can’t see his feet. I lie him down again on the floor and unwrap him – there is a lot of material that is tucked around him. Once it is off, I can see his little feet, sticking out of the bottoms of his tiny white suit. I can hear Julie in the study, talking to someone on the phone.

‘That’s better, Rumple. Now you can walk.’

I stand over him, holding him under his arms, his feet just touching the floor.

‘Come on, Rumplestiltskin,’ I say in a gentle voice. ‘You can walk.’

He starts to cry. I move him around a bit and hold his hands with mine so his little arms are stretched over his head. He is so little, his head doesn’t even reach my knees.

I bend down over him, still holding his tiny hands. I use my really encouraging voice, the voice that Mrs Breen uses with me when she really, really wants me to catch the ball. ‘You can do it, Rumple, I believe in you. You can walk.’

But he doesn’t walk and cries louder.

His hands start to slip from mine. Too late, I remember that catching things is not my potential.

Julie comes rushing in from the study as Rumplestiltskin crumples onto the floor.

‘Oh, what the hell are you doing, Pat? Oh, precious one,’ she cries, scooping the baby into her arms. ‘Mummy’s here, it’s ok, you won’t get hurt.’

‘You’d better go, Pat. You can’t stay here any more.’

‘Actually, it’s Patrick, my name is Patrick today.’