I remember twin beds so close together they were almost touching.
I remember turquoise and green patterned covers.
I remember my sister came to bed much later than me.
I remember trying to stay awake.
I remember pressing the bubbles in the wallpaper with my finger.
I remember peeping through the curtains at the moon and the flickering blues of the TVs in the windows opposite.
I remember the door to the attic.
I remember the coats hanging there and how my sleepy eyes would transform their shapes to monsters in the dark.
I remember trying to fall asleep.
I remember my mum teaching me to pray. Hail Mary and Our Father: one for each.
I remember repeating them over and over in my head until the words lost their meaning, then faded to nothing.