“It turns out that we have a genius on our hands, Sinead,” Dad announced, wrapping an arm around me. “He won’t be seven for another week and he wrote every word of those invitations himself. And have you listened to him read lately? He was reading The Hobbit the other night, and I’ve never heard anything like it. The school were right to have him tested, Sinead. He’s leaps and bounds ahead of the pack.” He squeezed my shoulder. “This young fella of ours is going to do great things.” Mam smiled indulgingly at me. “Is that so?” My face turned beetroot red, and I beamed with pride.
