Peter arrived by train a couple of days later and I went to Truro to meet him. Hard to describe my skippy excitement. Ridiculous, really. My son, who I could contact as much as I wanted, and who was good at responding although I deliberately didn't text him too much, so why the beaming smile? The jaunty gait? The truth was I didn't see nearly as much of him as I would have liked these days. For all the right reasons, obviously. He was off. Grown up. Independent. Exactly how it should be at seventeen — eighteen next month — having left school a matter of weeks ago. It was a good age; I reflected, as I watched the train pull in. Just clear of the awkward, adolescent, grunting stage — although Peter hadn't done too much of that — and heading towards the slightly loftier ground of further education, which in Peter's case meant knuckling down big time, hopefully with like-minded, similarly industrious souls. But Peter was no swot and I knew he'd also have time for some cricket, which he loved, and — I don't know, punting perhaps? May balls with pretty girls? Or had I swerved into Brideshead territory? Anyway, whatever it was they all did there, I was quite sure it would be on his agenda.

As the train came to a hissing halt before me, there was a pause, then the doors opened. The train was destined for Penzance, so only about a dozen or so people alighted. I saw him immediately, down at the far end of the platform. Tall — very tall — skinny, blond and so like his father. My hand shot instinctively into the air but I managed to resist shrieking: “Darling!" Instead I walked slowly towards him and said it more quietly as he gave me a hug, towering over me, adding, "Lovely to see you."

"You too, Mum. And such a relief to get out of London - it's baking. Heaving, too, thousands of tourists."

I smiled as we made for the exit. "You sound like some jaded old businessman who's commuted for years."

"I feel like it! Six weeks in that bank has shown me how the other half lives."

"Enjoying it?" I asked with interest as we threaded our way through to the car park. I didn't really mind what Peter did as long as he was happy, but money was always useful and banking surely provided that.

"I'm not sure ‘enjoy’ is quite the right word," he said wryly. "But it's interesting, if only from an anthropological angle. Some properly weird characters."

"Oh really? You mean higher up? The chiefs, or the other Indians?"

“Mostly the other interns. The guy I'm paired with, right, has clearly modeled himself on Gordon Gekko. We're talking slicked-back hair, braces, a proper pinstriped suit, and he's already bought a briefcase which has probably got cigars in it. He's my age!"

“That won't do him any favors."