Mum used to carry loads of heavy bags around with her—they’d never been able to afford a car—she used to say her genes had been spliced with those of a donkey. No, she didn’t say that, Mum wouldn’t have used the word spliced, she might not even have used genes. What had she said? She was fading, retreating into a darkness where Reggie couldn’t follow. “Bred from a donkey”—that was it.
