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Animals My grandfather knew he was an animal. He kept a notebook with the timetable for all the trains to Epping, the olden forest where he’d disappear for days. He’d nest inside a hollow tree. I imagine him waking, a pearly half-light through the clearing, a Muntjac watching on the other side, the way that animals do – neighbour, predator, prey? Once he took his children there at dawn and walked them on the grassland without shoes. Deep in the braided woods, he stood them on the right side of the wind, to stop the deer from scenting them, and have them sniff the air for musk and fox. They were animals too.