The Dream by Harry Bernstein

finished doing it as she snapped at me and the old man chuckled. ‘What are you afraid of,’ he said, ‘he’ll steal it?’
    ‘Be quiet,’ she said angrily, then once more to me, ‘Go on, go to bed.’
    ‘Let him finish his drink at least,’ my grandfather said. ‘What’s the rush for bed? Let him stay up for a while longer. I want to talk to him.’ Then he asked me, ‘Do you like toffee?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said.
    ‘Does Mrs Turnbull still have her toffee shop on your street?’
    I nodded and sipped at my glass, only pretending to drink and at the same time keeping a careful eye on my grandmother. She was getting angrier by the second.
    My grandfather chuckled. ‘You must miss her shop,’ he said. ‘But you’ll find plenty of toffee shops here. Buy yourself some.’ He dipped his hand under the cloth and brought out a quarter. She tried to snatch it away from him, but he managed to avoid her hand and thrust it into mine. Then he said, ‘Now you can go to bed.’
    I went hurriedly, clutching the quarter, aware of the glaring eyes of my grandmother on me. I closed the door after me and slipped into bed, still clutching my quarter.
    I heard the murmur of their voices again, my grandmother’s still sounding angry, and there was more clinking of coins before I finally fell asleep.
    I slept late. When I awoke they were all at breakfast. The kitchen door was wide open and their voices came to me loudly, along with the rattle of crockery and the smell of coffee. It was a Sunday morning. Everybody was home. I could distinguish some of the voices, my brothers’, my sister’s, Aunt Lily’s, Uncle Saul’s and the hoarse one of my grandfather. I remembered it from last night, along with the chuckle he gave occasionally. I did not hear my father’s voice, though, and gathered that he was still in bed.
    It gave me more incentive to join them. I hurried to dress and went into the kitchen. They were all seated round the table talking animatedly and my entrance was hardly noticed, save by my mother, who hurried to serve me as soon as I had slipped into a seat among them. My grandmother, who was helping with the serving, frowned darkly at me, evidently remembering last night and the quarter I’d been given.
    My grandfather seemed to be doing most of the talking and I gathered that what he was saying amused them all, because there was considerable laughter. His own weather-beaten bearded face was wreathed in laughter and he gave vent to his chuckles now and then. He seemed to be enjoying himself tremendously, and they too. Uncle Saul once reached out a hand across the table and pressed his father’s hand in a gesture that showed his affection. Aunt Lily seemed to have the same feeling towards him. They were two of the three in the family unmarried and still living with my grandmother. There was a third, Eli. He was missing and I should not have been surprised. In the two weeks or so that we had been living here we learned that Eli was often not home, and if he was he slept until all hours of the day. He had never worked, and when he came home from the nights and days that he was away he was bleary-eyed and still sodden with drink, and could barely make his way to his bed. He had been an alcoholic since he was fourteen. He was the youngest member of the family of ten.
    After my grandfather finished with what he had been telling them, he turned to me and said, ‘Ah, here’s the night owl. Did you buy your toffee yet?’
    ‘No,’ I said, although the quarter had been the first thing I thought of when I awoke and it was safely tucked away in a pocket of my trousers.
    I was sitting close to him, already spooning the oatmeal my mother had put in front of me.
    He reached out with a hand and ruffled my hair. ‘He’s only twelve,’ he said. ‘But already he’s as big as a man. Soon you’ll be getting married, I suppose.’
    I said nothing and went on eating. My mother smiled. ‘He’s not ready for marriage yet,’ she