I had been about to chide him for slacking, but one look at his face, and I knew something was wrong. ‘That was my mum on the phone. Dad’s been taken into hospital. I’ve got to go to London. I don’t know how long I’ll be there. Mum’s told me to bring a suit.’ The significance of this last remark didn’t bear thinking about. For years, Adam’s father had been struggling against the inevitable decline of Alzheimer’s disease, but recently it had become painfully obvious that he was going to lose the battle. I felt useless, not knowing what to do to make the situation better. As I hugged him, he said, ‘I’m so sorry to be burdening you both with the packing and moving, but I really can’t stay. I must get down to London as soon as possible . . .’ Rohan said, ‘Of course, don’t worry, we’ll be fine.’ He really can be very lovely sometimes. ‘We’ll probably do it faster without you anyway.’ If a little insensitive occasionally. It had already become clear that we were going to have to make two trips in the van, so it was decided that we should set off sooner rather than later, grab a quick lunch, and then go our separate ways.
