London: 1976.

“Why don’t you get some sleep, Ma.” Ricky rearranged an errant silver lock.

 “You need sleep too, Richard. Why keep touring instead of settling down and having children?”

“I do it for you, mum,” he said, “I want you to be proud.”

“When dad died, you held it together. I couldn’t be prouder of my boy?”

“Boys, mum,” Ricky said, thinking of his late brother.

He went to give her a peck, but she was already asleep. “See you on Sunday, Ma.”

***