15
As I turn the corner into my street, I recognise the car parked outside my house straight away. It’s one I haven’t seen for a while, but it’s unmistakeable. The black Audi is getting on a bit now, but it still looks the same as the day they drove it off the forecourt, thanks to my dad spending three hours every Sunday morning cleaning, drying and waxing the thing. It’s that sort of effort that made me never want to own a car.
The car doors open in unison as I approach, my mum climbing out of the passenger side and trotting towards me with her arms outstretched, a sympathetic smile on her face as she envelops me in her fake-fur hug. Dad stands stoically at his side of the car and tries to look pleased to see me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, hoping I don’t sound too shocked or ung
