Heart to heart

After a flying visit home to see my parents recently, something remarkable happened. As usual, my father drove me to the train station. As usual, we trundled quietly along winding mountain roads, through familiar grassy vistas bordered by glimmering streaks of sea. As usual, there was small talk – ‘How’s work?’; ‘Fine, thank you’ – that polite precursor before someone pops on the radio.

Except this time, after a pause, my dad, John, went off-script. ‘What was it like for you growing up with Mum?’ he asked out of the blue. Just like that, he had started a conversation I had longed for my whole life.

To explain, ‘growing up with Mum’ was sometimes difficult. It was love and laughter-filled too