He arrives with children, and bags full of shopping, and Hallowe'en stuff. We shall be having an early Hallowe'en evening with the children, as next week it is not our turn to be parents.

My boys have written clues and his boys will go on a treasure hunt. Sweeties, and a midnight feast.

He has brought pancakes and five pumpkins. Sleeping bags and a huge tent for four hyperactive boys to hide and argue in.

He sets it up in the empty room (no money to furnish it yet) and involves the children, makes it fun.

Back in the kitchen, he will carve the pumpkins following the pattern the boys have drawn on each of them.

He is clumsy and holds the knife in a way that worries me.

His socks have holes in them, but I have none in my soul. Only a darned rip: sometimes I pass my finger on it to feel the ridge. Sometimes I lick its harder edges. It is darned but sore.

It would be wise to stay away from those who hold the scissors.

'Who do you love the most, daddy? Me or Lu?' one of the boys asks, from the back of the car.

'It's two completely different kinds of love', Mr Mechanic says.

The question implicitly implies love. The answer explicitly admits it.

It would be wise to stay away from those who hold the scissors, but sometimes I am so scared of them I wield the scissors myself.