Page 8 of The Black Flamingo

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Aunty B yells, “Finally, we can eat!”

“First, we muss pray,” says Granny B.

Everyone bows their head.

“Faada God, we tank you dat Mikey

can be wid us dis special day, we pray

dat he is neva a stranger to you or to

dis family. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

Everyone at the table repeats, “Amen.”

My dad comes down from his bedroom.

There is a spare seat and place laid out for him

next to me. He silently piles his food up and

takes his plate back upstairs.

“Hey, Mikey—that’s great!” Uncle B says,

looking around the table at everyone else.

“That’s two Christmas crackers we can pull

together!”

Boxing Day.

Emily and I are playing

in my room.

She’s brought Goddess Barbie with her,

who has a shaved head now.

Emily sees Phoebe and asks,

“Couldn’t your mummy afford

the one you wanted?”

I feel myself getting hot.

I reach under my bed for my

black Action Man toy from Uncle B,

kept in his box, which he says is vintage.

On the front is Action Man’s name,

“TOM STONE,” and in his picture,

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