There's a low coffee table in the center of the room, perfect for playing Racing Demon. I sit on the floor with my back against a couch. Clockwise around the table are Grannyfan in her armchair, my sister cross-legged on the floor, and my mother on a pillow. The TV is in the corner with Strictly Come Dancing on, a fake Christmas tree shimmering across from it. My dad prepares pear brûlée in the kitchen. I sip my too-sweet chamomile tea. We all have our preferences: my sister chooses raspberry tea, my granny Earl Grey, and Mum just hot water. In a few days, I will leave this haven in the Malvern Hills and return to my house in America, bringing this heirloom game with me. Right now, in the Hills, we have three generations of women ready to play; I just hope I don’t lose.

As we lay out our cards, my sister teases, “Are you going to cheat this time Juno?”

“I haven’t for years, you can’t bring it up every time,” I retort.

My granny chimes in, "Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“I was seven!”

We laugh and return to our shuffling. I’m playing with my favorite deck of cards, decorated with piano keys. I like the way they slide into place, mixing up the deck. My mum has the Zanzibar deck, Grannyfan has Qualys, and my sister has cards we got at a tacky faux-Mexican motor inn years ago. Some of those cards are ripped, but I don’t think she’ll ever stop using them.

The cards were bought on our first American road trip, the one where I learned to play Racing Demon. Grannyfan was with us, and our ignorance of how to play appalled her. She had my mum stop just across the South Carolina border so she could purchase two decks of cards. That night, we stayed up late playing until I understood this game—the most valuable inheritance she could give me.

Back in her living room, the game is ready. Each of us has a bank of four cards lying face up in front of us, with a stack of 13 cards face down on their left to replace the four when they’re played. There's a collective breath, someone counts us in, and we race. The goal of the game is to place as many cards as possible onto the tabletop. Each pile starts at ace and goes in numerical order. Since there are four of us playing, sixteen piles could be in action at the peak of the game. Each card played is worth one point; kings are worth ten. The cards you place come from your hand or your bank. When someone’s stack of 13 runs out, the game is over. There are no turns, which is why it's called “Racing” Demon. You have to watch your hand, bank, and tabletop constantly.

Grannyfan doesn’t get as many cards down as she used to. I try not to think about it. The game is quiet except for the rhythm of cards being flicked through or slapped down, occasionally interrupted by someone cursing as they miss a move. At some point in the game, Dad wanders in with his Yorkshire tea to watch. I’m too focused on the myriad of cards in front of me to greet him. I wonder how it feels to have married into this family that prefers cards to conversation. He doesn’t seem to mind, watching us play for a while before going to check if the Wi-Fi router is acting up. The smell of pear brûlée wafts in. Hopefully one day my daughters learn to play and love this game like I do. I hope they get to play it with my mother and sister, and I hope my partner is content to watch quietly with a cup of tea. I hope we don’t lose.

© Juno. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.