I scream at Patricia. I scream at your mother. I go up to the downs where it’s so windy that you can’t hear your own voice and I scream at the both of them. I’ll take you when you’re taller and I’m certain you won’t blow away.
I bellow and they bellow back; we argue about the living that they’ve left me to do without them. They rip at my shirt and whip round my head until I’m dizzy with anger and and after a while it’s too exhausting to stand, but they’re there, in the wind, on the downs.