"They are very difficult when they grow. Our oldest – twelve years – she is chatting about eye-phones and Myspacebook and popping music. We have no idea what she is talking about."
"I always wanted a child," I said. "But I'm not sure I want an infant."
I rubbed my face. Milk – that's what I'd come in for. I grabbed the biggest bottle. Elaine called these six-pinters "the Cow". But when it came to paying, I realised I didn't have my wallet. I grumbled under my breath, set down the Cow, and scurried out.
At the door to our building I patted my pockets. Patted them again. Looked down. I was wearing my pyjamas, the powder-blue ones Elaine's mother had given me for Christmas. I put the ticking intercom on the floor and, ridiculously, patted my pockets again.
