My dad told me about Bear’s eggs. They are great. Much, much bigger than hen’s eggs - you know, the sort you have for breakfast. White or brown or even speckeldy. Sit in an eggcup. You smash the tops off and peel away the shell and inside is soft and white. And what’s really cool is that inside that, if it’s done properly, like my Dad does, inside that is the yellow stuff. Yowelk, I think it’s called. Actually, I don’t think that’s quite right. I’ll ask my Dad.

‘Dad?’

‘What, Pax?’

That’s his name for me. It’s his special name for me. Pax. It’s off some bloke on the telly my Dad watches after I’ve gone to bed. He calls me Pax 'cos he says I ask lots of questions, like this bloke. My mum doesn’t call me Pax, she calls me Timothy, 'cos that’s my name. Everyone else calls me Tim. I asked my mum to call me Tim too, but she won’t.

‘If I’d wanted you to be called Tim I’d have had it put on your Birth Certificate. You are Timothy and that is that. If your friends want to call you Tim, that’s up to them. And if your Dad wants to call you daft names that’s up to him.’

Of course, I’d never want my mum to call me Pax, that would be all wrong. It’s a special name, between me and my Dad.

‘You going to ask me another question. Pax, or what?’

‘What’s the yellow stuff called inside an egg?’

‘Yoke.’

That’s it, yoke. I nearly got it right. Usually I remember what I’ve been told but there’s so much stuff to know that sometimes I get muddled or forget. I knew all the veggies, though, on Jamie’s stall. That’s where I learnt about Bear’s eggs. Whenever we go out, my Dad’s always setting little tests, to keep me looking and learning.

‘Never stop looking, Pax, and you’ll never stop learning. Keep asking them questions. Finding out - that’s what’s important. The more you know, the better it’ll be for you. Knowledge is power, Pax, knowledge is power.’

Even when we are doing something boring, like shopping, he sets me off on something.

‘See how many fruit and veg. you can name, Pax.'

At Jamie’s stall him and Dad are having a laugh. That’s another thing about my Dad. He’s always laughing and joking and chatting to people. Half the time I’ve no idea what he’s on about, and I just let him get on with it while I look and learn, and store up all the things I’ve learnt. Dad says I’m right clever, cleverer than him. That’s rubbish. I’m always having to ask him stuff and he always knows the answers.

Always.

Anyway, so I’m going round the stall, naming all the stuff - potatoes, cabbage, carrots, swede, brussel sprouts - I hate brussel sprouts. My mum cooks them every Sunday. She makes me eat them, even though they make me sick. She tells me it’s wrong to leave good food when there are children starving. I don’t see how eating disgusting sprouts helps starving children one bit. Dad agreed with me, once, said I could leave them. Mum went mad. They had this ginormous row. Jessica started to cry. Jessica’s my sister. She’s only a baby. Mum thinks she’s great. Always kissing her. Always making a big fuss. As soon as Jessica started to cry my mum stoped shouting, picked her up and left! In the middle of dinner! Dad and I threw the sprouts in the bin. But I still have to eat them every Sunday.

...cauliflower, turnip, broccoli. Easy. There are trays of fruits next, all kinds, apples, pears, oranges, bananas, cherries - they’re fun. Dad and I play ‘Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Sailor’ with the cherry stones. I always stop eating when I get to Rich man. But Dad says

‘Money can’t buy you happiness, Pax, my son’

in a sad kind of way. It’s funny, 'cos my mum says he’s got more money than sense whenever he buys something, especially when he buys something fun, like his beach buggy - that’s mega fun.

Next to the cherries is something new, something I haven’t seen before. It’s hairy, brown and heavy. (Yes, I know your not supposed to touch, unless you’re buying - Mum taught me that one - but I forgot ‘cos it looked so strange and it was the first thing I thought to do. I put it down, straight way, before anyone saw.)

‘Dad’

‘Just a minute, Pax, I’m talking.’

I waited ages, then asked again.

‘Dad, what’s this?’

Dad and Jamie turn to look. Jamie opens his mouth, but Dad nudges him and winks. He does that a lot, winking. He winks when he’s happy. He winks at old Mrs. Featherstone next door and says ‘Hello gorgeous’ so she giggles like a little girl. He winks at Jessica, and pulls faces at her, 'til Mum tells him to stop being so daft and go and do something useful. He doesn’t wink at Mum much.

‘Don’t think you can charm me anymore with your winking, Henry Tate.’

I don’t know why she doesn’t like it, 'cos when he winks his eyes go all twinkly and his face creases up and you can’t help smiling.

‘That’s a bear’s egg, Pax.’

‘A bear’s egg?’

‘That’s right, son, a bear’s egg.’

I looked at the big, brown hairy egg-shaped thing and then back at Dad.

‘But it’s hairy. Eggs aren’t hairy.’

‘He’s got you there, Henry.’

Jamie laughs. Dad winks again.

‘It’s hairy ‘cos it’s cold where bears live. It helps keep the baby bear warm inside.’

‘But you don’t sell eggs, do you Jamie?’

‘No son, you’re right there, I only sell the very best in fruit and veg.’

I know we don’t buy our eggs from Jamie. We get them from Tescos. We used to get them from Uncle Sam’s farm. I go to Uncle Sam’s a lot. It’s the one place we go with Mum that’s fun.

At Auntie Catherine’s - that's Mum’s sister - it’s boring. Mum moans about Dad. She bounces Jessica on her knee and Jessica laughs. I don’t. I make up stories about my cars to stop me listening.

She doesn’t moan at Uncle Sam’s. It’s great there. Mum leaves me alone. I can do what I want. She doesn’t mind at all. And just before we leave, Uncle Sam takes me into his barn and we hunt for hen’s eggs. He’s nice is Uncle Sam. He’s not my real Uncle, he’s Mum’s special friend. He’s not as nice as my Dad, but he tells me stuff, like Dad does. Once, when we went, there were little chicks in the barn. They were really sweet, all yellow and fluffy. He told me they came from the eggs. The eggs we had for breakfast every morning. I didn’t know we had been eating baby chicks. Next day, at breakfast I opened my egg up really, really carefully.

‘What’s up, Pax?’

‘Nothing.’

Fancy my dad boiling up baby chicks for us to eat. I look at my Dad, but he is just whistling away as usual, as if nothing is wrong.

‘Dad?’

‘Will you get on with that egg. You’ll be late for school.’

Me and Dad have breakfast together every morning, just the two of us. Mum and Jessica don’t get up 'til late. Dad takes me to school and Mum and Jessica collect me after.

‘I don’t want it.’

‘What’s up, you feeling poorly?’

‘No’

‘Then stop messin’ about Pax, and eat up.’

‘I don’t want to eat baby chicks.’

‘Baby chicks?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where did you get a daft idea like that from, Pax?

‘It’s not daft. Uncle Sam told me.’

‘Uncle Sam, when did you see Uncle Sam?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Yesterday. Yesterday when? You were at school yesterday.’

‘After school. Like we always do.’

‘Like you what?’

‘Like we always do.’

‘Just a minute, Pax. Are you telling me you go to Uncle Sam’s every day after school?’

‘No, not every day, silly. Only on Thursdays. And on some Mondays. He lets me collect eggs from his barn.’

My dad’s voice seems to be getting tighter and tighter, like the day he told me I had a new baby sister. He almost can’t speak properly.

‘I thought you got eggs from Tesco's, when you go shopping with your Mum and Jessica.’

I laugh.

‘No, silly, we take an empty box and Uncle Sam and me fill it up with eggs from his barn. Only…’

‘Only what.’

Dad is sitting opposite me now, looking at me as if I’ve got something really important to tell him. Maybe he doesn’t know about baby chicks. Maybe he thinks eggs are just white stuff and yolk, like I used to. I thought my Dad knew everything, so it’s kind of strange to think maybe I know something he doesn’t. It’s a nice feeling though. I take a deep breath and explain. ‘The thing is Dad, I’ve found out something. Something very important. Something you need to know.’

Dad kind of coughs, then rubs his hand across his mouth, then over his eyes.

‘Go on Pax. What do you have to tell me?’

‘Eggs have chicks in them, Dad. I don’t want to eat them. They’re baby hens, you know.’

Dad is quiet for a bit. Then he’s quiet some more. I look at him carefully. His eyes are wet, like he’s crying. I put my hand on his.

‘I know, Dad, it’s horrid. We’ve been eating baby chicks for breakfast and we never even knew. Uncle Sam told me.’

‘Uncle Sam, eh?’

He says this very, very quietly.

‘Can we have coco pops for breakfast now, please Dad.’

I’ve been wanting coco pops for breakfast ever since I saw the ad on the telly, with the monkeys swinging through the trees. It would be cool to do that. Uncle Sam has a tree with a tarzie on. I haven’t tried it yet. But I will. Soon.

‘Uncle Sam?’

He says it again, as if it is a name he has never even heard of.

‘Pax, you go to Uncle Sam’s after school with your mum and Jessica and collect eggs?’

‘But I didn’t know the eggs have babies in them, Dad, really I didn’t. We shouldn’t eat them anymore. Not with babies in.’

‘Babies.’

My Dad starts to shake. Then two big tears fall down his cheeks and he sort of crumples onto the table.

‘It’s all right Dad.’

I’m worried now. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him about the chicks. I pat him on the shoulders, like he did to me when I found my gerbil, Cyril, dead in his cage.

‘I know you didn’t mean to feed me babies for breakfast. I know it was a mistake.’

Dad groans.

‘Babies. Uncle Sam. Babies.’

‘Dad?’

I don’t like this.

‘Dad? Dad, can we go to school now? Dad?’

Dad doesn’t say much in the car. Just that he’s going to pick me up after school. Which he does.

We don’t live with Mum and Jessica anymore. I don’t get eggs from Uncle Sam’s.

Dad told me that it’s only eggs that have been fertilized from a cocky farmyard cockerel that have babies in them. He says if we buy them from Tescos they don’t have babies in them. But it doesn’t really matter now. Me and Dad have coco pops for breakfast. They’re great.

‘Dad?’

‘Oh Pax, will you ever stop asking questions?’

‘You know them bear’s eggs?’

‘Bear’s eggs, what are you talking about, bear’s eggs?’

‘You know, that we saw on Jamie’s stall?’

‘You mean the coco!’

‘No Dad, not coco pops, listen, the bear’s eggs’

‘What about them, Pax?’

‘Do they have baby bears inside, or are they Tescos’ bear’s eggs?’

Dad sighs, a long, long sigh. He looks at me and says

‘You and your questions, Pax, you and your questions.’