Dear Auntie Charlotte,


Peter, Rachel and me are fine.

We haven't seen Dad for months.

Waiting for Peter at the school gates, Mum points at the sky and tells the other mums about the satellites.

She doesn't cry as much now.

Sometimes after Rachel and her argue she dresses us up in silver material, and puts green eye shadow on us. I don't like it because it makes me look like a girl. Mum says it gives me lizard's eyes.

After the first brick got thrown through our front window, she went very quiet. She says that people don't understand her round here.

We stand in the garden at night when the estate's quiet, and Mum points out the satellites as they pass overhead.

She says all of the satellites are going to crash into earth except Prospero.

'Prospero's special,'� she says. 'It's the only satellite made by British hands, put there with British rockets. We could all be on other planets now but they let us down.'�

Mum says it's only the pakis and wogs that spoiled everything. I don't like it when she says things like that.

Mum wants us to escape into space.

Come soon.


Love,

Gary

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