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  • Meg was a witch. She had a cat called Mog and an owl who regarded proceedings with bemusement. Meg was getting dressed to go to a witch's party. She put on her stockings. POP. She put on her dress. POP. She put on her shoes. POP.

    The pops had to be done right and he always did. His breath would ruffle my hair as Meg clip clopped down the stairs to her waiting cauldron. This was his spell.

    Mum made me a dress so that I could pretend. It had an effusive black witchy fringe. Perfect for twirling. I had silver foil buckles that I could put on my shoes.

    It's been a long time since dad could manage a POP. A week before my 18th birthday he had a devastating stroke. As if he had been strained in a colander all his words were lost. They fell through the holes.
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