I was half way up the mountain when I thought, – only then mind you – I didn’t cook that bacon. I’m almost sure of it.

The bad taste won’t go away, as if my tongue was black. Which meant you were a liar, back when I was in school – if your tongue turned black. 

We have the same memory.

It’s very early. The sun has just come up. All three of us – father, mother and son – are yawning sleepily. Mum has made some tea, or milky coffee, and we duly drink it. We’re in the living room, or the kitchen, quiet and still like statues.