He smiled. "Up already," he said tenderly. "I'll go and sort them out."
He got up, and I couldn't help staring as he pulled on his dressing gown. He was so tall, and thin, and I noticed he had the eyes of a dreamer, of a writer, like me. I'm a writer. I was a writer, anyway, I seemed to recall.
Then I heard his words re-echo in my head. Who was 'them'?
He poked his head out the door, and I heard a child's voice yelling, "Shut up or I'll strange you with my skipping rope!"
I raised my eyebrows.
"That doesn't scare me!"
"Then I'll do something worse!"
"Quiet!" he bellowed. "This is far too early inthe morning."
"That's okay, dad, it can wait till later," a girl's voice beamed.
Dad? Sheesh! Is this some kind of dream? Anyone would think I'd been asleep for a hundred years like sleeping beauty. Or at least lost my mind for the past ten years.
"Hello?" I said, and this time my voice was clear and confident.
"Ooh, is mummy awake?" squealed the girl.
Mummy? What next?
"Mummy's going to stay in bed awhile, seeing as she never gets to with you two jumping on top of her every morning," he responded. "Wanda, put that skipping rope away. Wolfgang, don't shout so loudly. You'll wake the neighbours."
"Besides, the neighbours are far worse than us with their stupid baby."
"Now, Wolfgang. That's no excuse."
Dream? I was kidding myself. This is a nightmare. So what if I had lost my mind for ten years? Was it physically possible to be brain-dead, or whatever it amounted to, for so long? I just couldn't remember anything. Anything at all. It appeared I had sisters, and children, and who was this man? So what if I had lost my mind? So what now?