I took a fortifying breath and walked into the kitchen. As it was I shouldn’t have worried. Only Becky sat at the table, two plates with sandwiches...on them in front of her. ‘There you are!’ She said. ‘C’mon the breads going to go stale,’ she pointed at my plate. I didn’t need to be told again. I sat down and tucked in. Munching away on my chicken and salad sandwich I wondered where Mr P had gone. As casually as I could I asked, ‘I thought you said your Dad was here?’ ‘He is.’ Beck answered. She must have been about forty six when this event happened in the mid 1970’s. I knocked on the door and his mother Helen answered it in a light blue rather worn towelling dressing gown. ‘Oh hi how nice to see you,’ she said listlessly. ‘Hello Mrs Franklyn,’ I said. She told me David has called to say he had to work until 7.30 but he would thrilled to see me when he go home.. ‘You can wait for him watch TV but I have a terrible headache and I’m going back to lie down in my bedroom, please. More

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