Playing

On the tube, my four year-old cousin soaks up the soft, evocative looks she gets, like a lonely elderly woman. Mummy is dark chocolate and daddy is a Milky Bar, so I’m a caramel, she announces, smiling at me. I’ll play along – why not?

We’re forced to stand, her little face pressed up against my thigh. Someone gives up their seat for us. She clambers onto my lap and asks, ‘Can I do your make-up, now?’

I say, ‘Later honey.’ Because she’ll forget.