Page 13 of Something Borrowed

I smile. “Really?”

“Yes, Uncle Stan. You’re brilliant, and I want the other children to know how cool you are.”

“Thanks, mate,” I say, touched. “What do you want to know?”

“Let me get my list of questions.”

“This is likeMastermind,” I observe.

“He’s very prepared,” my sister murmurs. “He needs a picture of you, so I’m going to give him that one from Boxing Day last year. You were extremely hungover and looked like you’d been lobotomised.”

“Oh god, I remember that. Raff gave me one of his supposed hangover remedies, and I was sick in the punch bowl.”

“Got them, Uncle Stan.”

“Okay. I amready. Shoot.”

“Why is Hump called Hump?”

I chuckle. “He’s named after Humphry Davy, who created the first electric light.”

“So why did you call your guide dog that?”

“Because Hump is like my electric light. He sort of helps me to see in the dark.”

“Do you think Hump could come to school and show the class?” He pauses and then adds quickly, “And you too, of course, Uncle Stan.”

I snort. “Of course, and yes, we’ll come. Just get mummy to give me a date. I can show the kids how Hump guides me.”

“Epic.” There’s the sound of paper rustling. “Do you just see blackness like when Mummy turns my light off at night?”

“No, mate. I still see a tiny bit. Every blind person is different, though. There are variations over what they can see.”

“What about you?”

“I have a very tiny percent of my vision left.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Not really.”

“What does that mean? What do you actually see?”

I try to think of how to convey that info so he’ll understand. “Do you remember last Christmas when the fog came down and you were in the garden? You said you couldn’t see anything except for blurry shapes.”

“Was that just before I ate Nana’s mince pies and was sick?”

“I think it’s probably that you ate seven of them rather than being the fault of your grandmother’s cooking. Well, that fog is what I see all the time. I can see light and shadows.” I pause, considering the misty hues I see. “Sometimes it’s worse,” I add.

“Why?”

“If we sit in a room with low light, I might not see anything at all.”

“So, what do you do?” His voice becomes concerned. “That fog was scary, Uncle Stan, and you’re on your own in it. Aren’t you frightened?”

“No, not at all,” I say quickly. “And I have the lights to keep me company.”

“What lights?”

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