edits:dote

8

My dad disappeared when I was three. I never knew him. I think he’s dead now, anyway. He was white, I think he worked in Covent Garden, you know, in the market. My mother - I’m not talking much about my mother, either. She left as well when I was little. I was about eight when she went. She was a bit of a singer, too, as it happens. One of my few good memories of her is her singing to me when I was tiny and she said goodnight. But she didn’t do it that often. (…) She left us anyway, me and my aunt. She left us. Suddenly, one night, she was gone. Never was in touch. I haven’t seen her for years, maybe she’s dead, too.