Colin pulled into the driveway of his childhood home. It always felt good to return. A pang of sadness hit him when he saw his dad come out of the kitchen door. Even though they lived about two hundred miles apart, Colin still got to see his mum and dad three or four times a year. That wouldn’t happen nearly as often once they’d emigrated.
Colin’s dad approached the passenger’s door and opened it. “Hi, boys. Good journey?”
“Not bad. The usual holdups coming into London, of course.”
“Hi, Harry. Good to see you,” Martin said, reaching to his right to release his seatbelt.
Harry leaned into the car and beat Martin to it.
“Hi, Avril,” Martin added.
Colin looked up; his mother wasn’t there to meet them. “Where’s mum?”
“She’s uh, resting. You know what she’s like in the run up to Christma
