When my friend Mary sat down beside him, he waved his hand in front of his face as if wafting away an unpleasant smell. Indeed, that must have been what he wanted her to think. His nostril’s twitched, his breathing shallowed. People were looking. Look at her, he must have thought, see how vile and disgusting she is? But we were not looking at her, we were looking at him. Did he not understand how he looked? In his blatant attempt to embarrass poor Mary, all he had achieved was to pour scorn on himself – albeit he was completely oblivious to this effect and thus unaffected by it. And that was the real frustration. This most unpleasant of boys was incapable of realising how petty, how pathetic and unvirtuous his behaviour actually was. I had never liked him, but I suppose you have already guessed that much. But had you guessed that Colin, this most vile of creatures, was my little brother? I accept your commiserations. But please do not tut or express your destain – or what I mean to say is, please stop your outward displays of displeasure. He cannot, in fact he never could, hear them you see; because Colin is profoundly deaf. A blight both he and my family have endured since his premature birth, nigh on two Olympics ago now. Mary’s bottom lip began to tremble – she was such a delicate little miss and could be such a baby sometimes. Colin’s eyes met mine and his hands signalled his triumph. I simply mimed my response, which alas, was spotted by mother and I was instructed to leave the table and take Mary upstairs to my room. And then I was reminded why Mary is my best friend, as her hand carelessly knocked over Colin’s glass, spilling juice into his lap. I took her by the hand, and we dashed upstairs together without looking back. Mary perched stone faced on the edge of my bed. I stood by the door and stared back at her. A sob and padding feet passed quickly by my door, as Colin made his way to his room. My lips puckered, Mary’s eyes began to sparkle and then spontaneously, we burst out laughing.