Antiques

I wonder what that is, thinks the boy. It’s yellow. It looks like one of my toys.
He looks up at the man standing beside him.
‘Dad?’ he says.
‘Brum, brum, brum!’ says the man, smiling. His glasses are big and thick.
‘Don’t be silly, daddy!’ The boy laughs, and they enter the shop.

The light coming off a stand of glistening metal tugs at his eyes. The objects are silvery and golden and bright. He looks at the things inside – paintings, little plates, cups and saucers, toys, and he’s amazed.

When they both leave, he glances back at the yellow thing outside, still clinging onto his father’s hand. The little car is big enough for him to get in, and it has eyes. He looks at the front bumper: BRUM is written on the license plate. ‘Brum,’ he whispers.