You turn the corner. Two high windows already open like eyelids. The house awake. Mum slows the car. Puts the blinker on. And there he is. Front door ajar. Leaning on the jamb and smoking his pipe. Raising a lethargic finger to say hello. You get out, head for the gate. Mum loiters by the fence. ‘What time will it be over?’ Her words float across the small garden. ‘Hard to say.’ He clears his throat. ‘I’ll drop him home...
