shopper, comes to the door. She presses the security pad.
‘Ooh duck, you’d better come on in – can’t have you standing out in the cold. Not when you’re, well, you know … ’ she says, standing aside as the automatic door buzzes open.
‘Thank you. Err,’ I mutter, wondering what she’s going on about, but before I have a chance to ask, she’s off up the path, bellowing out to the minibus driver to make sure he waits for her. I’m hovering in the hallway when my mobile rings. It’s Dad.
‘Georgie, I’m so sorry, I missed your calls. Are you OK?’ he says, sounding different – panicky, edgy perhaps.
‘Yes, I’m fine thanks, are you?’ I brace myself, desperately hoping he hasn’t slipped back into his old ways and got in trouble again – gambling is an addiction, after all. And I know he’s never missed a meeting since he left prison all those years ago, but it’s still there, secreted in the back of my head as a possibility, I don’t think that will ever go away. And I couldn’t bear it, for his sake too, if he succumbed again. I know he’d be devastated. And what would Nancy think? Dad could lose everything he’s worked so hard to rebuild.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he quickly replies.
‘Dad, I’m actually outside your flat, but you’re obviously not here. I’ll come back another time.’
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