I get to work and look in the mirror properly for the first time that morning. Next to my eyes is yellow, globular evidence of oversight. With a fingertip, I wipe away the sleep.
*
At 6.07am Tuesday morning, my personal trainer points at my nose.
“You… you’ve got a little something there. Not sure what. It’s black.”
I peer past two bodybuilders who are controlling the mirror.
It’s greasepaint from Keira’s play makeup. Goodness knows how it got there, or when.
I rub it off.
Too early to feel embarrassed.
But I did.
Later.
*
Riley has been playing snakes and ladders by himself. He likes being the green token and commentating over the action even if – especially if – it’s all his making.
“Riley throws a six and crosses the finish line!”
He’s a closer, Keira is the player.
He’ll whack down a Draw Four in UNO as soon as he gets it.
There is no strategy.
Keira cherishes hers, keeps it close until the right moment.
The most devastating one.
Adam and I smile at each other, life-long card players, and board-gamers, and just your regular-gamers.
I wonder when they’ll be old enough to play Risk.
But I don’t wonder too long.
Because sleep is rushed, as is getting ready for the day.
And the clack-clack of tokens progressing along the board is the sound of life.
