‘I done it,’ he called up the stairs. ‘I used four matches – all at once,’ he added. I zipped up and charged down, a deep bass drum pounded inside my chest, and there it was, in all of its flickering amber glory, growing, climbing the sooted chimney, before my white-soled sandal stomped its frightened authority on paper and kindling. As it crackled and spat, and fire clung to my scarred sole, extinguished only by a dance on the tiled hearth, and I asked, ‘What d’you do that for?’ And my little brother replied, ‘Coz you couldn’t do it with … Continue reading Four Matches