Love and fear are one
The same, pride turns to shame
And all is never well
“How long have they been gone now?” I ask.
“About half an hour. They’ll be home soon, I’m sure they’re fine” soothes a granny.
“I’m not going to bed until they’re home.”
We are talking about my parents, who have gone to check on granny’s house and switch some lights on; despite living only a mile away, Dad’s mum stays the night at our house every Christmas and our parents walk off the excesses of the day by ‘checking’ hers in the evening. Years later they will laughingly tell us how they’d often ‘had a quickie’ in Dad’s old bedroom and popped in for a drink with the neighbours. If only I had known at the time that they were having so much fun, my Quality Street wouldn’t have been washed down with quite so many swallowed tears.