Page 76 of The Black Flamingo

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she turns to her companions. “Girls, girls!

We’ve got a birthday boy here.”

They let out a cheer and she turns back

and asks me, “What’s your name, sweetie?”

Daisy answers for me, “It’s Michael.”

The nuns begin to sing “Happy Birthday,”

and the whole carriage of merrymakers

and plain-clothed homegoers all join in,

including Mum and Anna, who is now very

awake.

“So, how old are you, sweetie?” our nun asks.

“I’m seventeen,” I reply.

“And how about your girlfriend?”

“She’s not—” I begin.

“—I’m sixteen,” Daisy cuts in.

“Baker Street. Everyone out,” shouts another

one of the nuns.

“Good night, kids,” says my nun. Then

she leans into me and whispers: “I think she

likes you.”

Christmas Day it’s me, Mum, and Anna,

but Mum’s made a lot for just three of us.

She’s done a nut roast and a turkey

with roast potatoes and vegetables.

There’s vegan stuffing, normal stuffing,

pigs in blankets, vegan cocktail sausages;

there’s vegan gravy and normal gravy.

“You’ve made too much, Mummy,” I say.

“That’s good. Then Daisy can have some

when she comes tomorrow.”

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