I got home from work about eight that night and Mum was sitting on the sofa reading. She looked up and beckoned me into the sitting room, ‘Come here... sweetheart, I want to talk to you,’ she said. I had a bad feeling in my stomach but hoped that my instincts were wrong she seldom brought up serious matters until after I had finished my supper. ‘It’s about Emma,’ she started. I raised my eyes to the ceiling and threw myself into the armchair dramatically. ‘Oh, bloody hell, what has the little. Well, for both of us, really.”I was confused. “I know it’ll make your life easier, but how will it help me?”“Well, you always seem to forget to bring something or other with you. And, well, I was thinking that ... I mean ... What if I came to your house instead?” She turned on her sweet smile. It was probably the same smile that secured the car from her father, a smile no man alive could resist. If I had trouble not giving in to her when she smiled this way, what chance did her own father. More

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