Invisible Child from Findings by Ange Hardy & Lukas Drinkwater

My father’s chair is mottled and skewbald like an old chestnut mare, and he’s often there, sitting with tea and a half vacant stare.

He has milk and two, and I bring him his slippers and pills with his brew and the morning news, before heading up to the little one’s room to wake little Charlie.

So much to do, so I clean her and change her and tidy the room. And the bed’s wet through so I turn on the washing and make a fresh brew.

The last few times the washing I’ve brought in has barely been dry; but the sun now shines, so I know that today will be better and I can take out little Charlie.

The hours are gone, another day’s over and he’ll not be long. The little one, I cradle her safely and wrap her up warm. And he’ll fall through the door (and the threshold will take off his shoe) and crawl back to the chair that he came from. He quietly knew not to wake little Charlie.

I know you will eventually go to your room, and I can play with my trains.

• Contemporary Folk
• Folk
• traditional folk
• United Kingdom