The day after Halloween, I went up to the bedroom to take John some mail and found him sitting on the bed with Sean. John was distractedly thumping through a magazine. The white-painted shutters were open and the room was flooded with sunlight. The television muttered to itself in the corner, and the radio was faintly bubbling in the background. Sean seemed dejected. He looked up at me when I came in, and said, “Daddy should join the Beatles again.
John made me laugh but he also embarrassed me to the bottom of my boots. On top of the bus if we happened to be sitting behind a man with a bald head John would lean forward and very gently tickle the bare scalp with his finger. The poor victim would keep brushing his head, thinking it was a stray hair, until I was in an agony of suppressed giggles and horror combined. I didn’t know where to look. Then on leaving the bus John would adopt an exaggerated limp, or pecuilar gait, and parade up the pavement for the entertainment of the rest of the passengers looking out of the