In you come then.’ She stepped back to allow me into the hall, not quite suppressing a ‘tut’ as the canvas shoulder bag containing my entire wardrobe clattered off her knee as I passed. ‘Sorry.’ ‘No problem, go on through.’ ‘Dad not in?’ I asked, once I’d made it to the living room. ‘He’s upstairs moving the computer out of his, your, room.’ ‘Oh, okay.’ Within days of me moving out nine years previously my dad had transformed my bedroom into a study/computer/music/placetogowhenhewantedtobealone room. My parents lived in a small, two bedroom terrace in Muirend, and neither of them had attempted to hide the fact that they were looking forward to the extra space. I hadn’t been insulted or hurt by this; they were only being practical. Plus, at the time I was at least as eager to go as they were to see me leave. ‘It would be nice if you went up and gave him a hand.’ She was never one for making her hints too oblique, my mum. ‘Of course, yes. No bother.’ I headed up the stairs.
