To Julie’s chagrin, he loved accompanying all the golden oldies on the radio with the volume up and the windows down. ‘When you’re my age and taking your kids to school, you’ll do the same,’ he’d say to her. ‘Aren’t you impressed I know the words?’ ‘Kind of,’ she’d say, grinning. ‘You haven’t got a bad voice, you know, Dad. At least, not for someone your age.’ It was great when they larked around like that. The journey to school – as long as her driving wasn’t too terrifying – provided him with a great opportunity to talk to her. And, according to every parenting article he had read, it was vital to keep communication channels open with your teenager. Now, even though Juliana wasn’t in the car, he still loved singing along to Elton. He could see Juliana dancing there in front of him, through the windscreen, in a scarlet, backless dress that was too tight after their daughter had been born . . . Christ, he’d been stupid. Why hadn’t he stopped her trying to get back into modelling?
