I remember the first time I went shopping with my new Mum. She wasn’t my first Mum. She was the third. The one before didn’t stay long. Not my fault. Didn’t like her. Didn’t speak to her. Glad, too, when she packed her bags and in waltzed Mum three. Mum one was the best, but she died. Of shame, someone said, soon after Dad came home and Uncle Ted (never tell your dad, Mum always said) was there. New Mum is kind though. Even with her funny accent. American. We were in the big store, buying me a new toy. She said let’s get the elevator. I ran to the escalator. Didn’t know she meant lift. Back home, the shopping unpacked she said ‘Honey, get rid of the trash'. I rubbed my ears and stared. My dog’s called Trash. A rubbish mongrel of a dog, Dad always said.