He squats beside me on the rocks. ‘Hello, Danny-boy.’ He stirs up the water with his fat fingers, splashes me. The crab I’m watching doesn’t listen either. You can’t hear underwater.
He snatches at the crab, and misses. Water makes things look bigger.
‘Your mother calls you Danny-boy.’
‘She’s allowed.’
The crab clambers out the other side of the pool and he doesn’t spot it, it’s so tiny.
They shout in pretend whispers every night. When they stop, I cry out: ‘I’ve had a nightmare.’ Mum clicks on the light, hugs me, and I smile over her shoulder at him.
Helen writes flash and short stories and loves walking, day-dreaming and amateur dramatics, though not always at the same time. Read some of her writing here: helenchamberswriter.wordpress.com
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