Have you ever tried to turn a coach in an average-size street? I started the engine, cursing its three little coughs. Finally I revved it up, in a cloud of exhaust smoke, and drove to the end of the road, keeping the car in my rearview mirror. At the end of the street it turned left, so at the other end of the street I turned right. Fumbling, I engaged the wrong gear and juddered along in third. Luckily the streets were laid out like a grid, so I accelerated down the parallel one, back towards the main road.

Luckily, too, it’s steam before sail and the traffic was forced to stop as I swung into the road. There was a squeal of brakes. The car, a blue estate job, was speeding away and there were several vehicles between us. I swore at myself. Why hadn’t I guessed that he’d be given a lift?

The traffic lights had changed to red but I put my foot down. Somebody hooted. The car was disappearing round a bend, ahead of me. I was stuck behind a British Telecom van. I pressed the horn.

Glued to its bumper, I drove round the corner. Ahead lay a large intersection; the blue car indicated right and pulled across the road. I drew out, but the Telecom van blocked me and I watched the car, helplessly, as it disappeared behind a derelict church.

The van waited patiently for three cars, a lorry and a bus to pass before it pulled out and crossed the road. I followed, trying to nose my coach past it, cursing my size.

The van indicated left and turned down a side street. Ahead, the road was empty. I drove to the end and stopped at a T junction. To the left, a sign pointed to an Industrial Estate, Units 1–7; to the right there was a street, lined with hoardings, and a boy, bicycling into the distance.

I watched him; he wore a school blazer. I turned his way and drove down the road. The hoardings gave way to a building site; I had to slow down for a bulldozer. Beyond the site was a carpet warehouse, then a Baptist chapel proclaiming JESUS IS WATCHING YOU. I drove past a group of bungalows and jammed on the brakes. Ahead stood a glassy modern building, set back from the road. Children were filing through the gates. Several cars were parked outside, and I was just in time to see the blue estate car, its passengers gone, pull out and drive away.

It was 9.15 when I got back to Leaps Road. This time I parked on the main road; I preferred to be on foot it made me less conspicuous. I was more wary of Lesley than of my son.