All night Tippi and I lie with our arms wrapped around each other like rope. I bury my face in her neck and she wakes every now and then to kiss the top of my head
He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher. He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher. His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Five children clasping mittens could not hug the entire trunk. Whole hands could hide in the folds of its bark. James, the tallest boy in class, could sit on a root,