The taste of tea rasped against his throat. The seven of spades was missing from the deck. It meant putting the six of hearts, or diamonds, on the red eight, whenever it came up. It was a bonus really not having that card; one less thing to find. The game would be even easier if more cards went missing. Jack had dealt only six rows this time though and didn't realise until half way through. He was troubled, not concentrating: outside, the evening goods train was pushing a slow chug through the sound of a car engine revving hard, over and over, like a drill with no holes to make; he felt encrusted in everyone else's noise and no longer had any patience. Jack pushed all the cards from the table, letting them fall to gentle little slaps on the floor, and stood up.

A Bing Crosby song wound onto the radio, replacing a soft Ella Fitzgerald ballad. Wondering if it would soon be Christmas again, he shuffled into the living room. At the far end, the heavy curtain was tucked in tight between the couch and the wall underneath the window. Jack pulled at it to free it, pulled again and the plastic rail snapped, the curtain falling and furling along the backrest. The twilight outside lit the room.

The road was quiet. Mrs Sweeney's house, across the way, had no decorations up but there was a large silver blue car parked on the driveway that usedn't be there. Looked like a Mercedes maybe. Jack wasn't sure if the Germans put up Christmas decorations. The brick cladding was gone and the bricks underneath all cleaned up. Fresh and old it looked: strange.

Jack remembered turning the corner for the first time, holding to the tails of his father's coat, and looking upon these row of houses. The wooden cart holding their belongings creaked and bucked over the cobbles, bobbing the chest of drawers on the top. His father's feet slipped and he yelled out; it was the first time Jack had heard him say a "bad word" like that.