s far as I’m concerned the only good thing about fancy restaurants is that they have candles on the tables. ‘Watch this,’ I say to Danny. I pass my hand slowly through the candle flame and then hold it up to show him the black mark left on my fingers. ‘How tough is that?’ I say. ‘That’s nothing,’ says Danny. ‘Watch this!’ Danny rolls up his sleeve and passes his hand across the flame. But he doesn’t keep going. He stops halfway. The candle is burning him. Danny is crazy. He jerks his hand out of the flame and shakes it back and forth. ‘Ouch, ooch, itch, utch, eech,’ he says. He bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling. ‘I beg your pardon?’ I say. ‘Hot,’ he says, shaking his hand. ‘Really hot!’ Mum gives us a withering look. ‘Would you stop that!’ she says. ‘Stop what?’ I say. ‘Stop playing with the candles.’ ‘We’re not playing,’ I say. ‘We’re performing amazing feats of bravery and endurance.’ She gives me another withering look.
