James had gotten up that morning expecting to see a large present at the foot of his bed; his father had been consistent with this for the previous eleven birthdays, ever since James’ mother ran away to France with the local butcher. The wrapping had gotten more spectacular from year to year as if James’ father was trying to compensate for the lack of female influence on his son’s life. On James’ last birthday –his 17th- the box wrapped in paper of gold and silver had been bowed with multi coloured florescent ribbon, the box was so big that it could have been a coffin for a particularly outrageous clown.

James stands at the head of a long dining table surrounded by his friends, in front of him, sitting on the table, is a chocolate cake with two large candles, one in the shape of the number 1 and the other an 8. James leans over the table and blows out the flames on the candles in one smooth motion. He stands back up straight and looks over to where his father is coming out of his study.