Grandad’s coming in through the back door from the garden, his jumper wet at the neck where his coat wasn’t done all the way up, grey trousers tucked into mottled brown socks. The only time I’ve ever seen him dressed differently was their Golden Wedding Anniversary about three years ago; that day he was wearing a light blue suit and tie. He looked very uncomfortable, especially when Nanna kept sticking his hair down every few minutes and generally making a fuss.

Almost at the same moment, Nanna comes into the hallway from the living room – the front room, they call it. The sitting room is at the back, in the conservatory. She’s got her cleaning apron on, duster in her hand. They both say ‘Hello dear,’ to Mum at the same time.

Then they spot me.

Since I can remember, Grandad’s always squeezed my shoulder to say hello, giving it a little shake, like he’s rocking you backwards and forwards. He never does a full hug – the shoulder squeeze is as close as he gets. Well, almost. He used to do it to Dad too, but he’d shake his hand as well as squeeze his shoulder, rocking him backwards and forwards in rhythm with the handshake. Since Dad died, I’ve been granted this full handshake and shoulder version as if I’m an adult. This time, the squeeze is so hard it almost hurts, and it lasts for much longer too. I’m rocked so much I almost fall backwards, then I actually do stumble forward a bit into Grandad. It’s almost a hug. Nanna’s greeting is less restrained as she ticks off all the clichés on the Nanna list; cheek tugging, kisses, hugs, holding me at arm’s length to look at me, commenting on how much I’ve grown. The whole thing takes about five minutes.

We sit around their big kitchen table and have a cup of tea. Nanna’s made more flapjack and keeps apologising that there isn’t enough (even though the deep tin is brim-full of little, bitesize squares). She didn’t know I was coming. She’ll have to stretch the joint out (lamb tonight) but it should be fine if Grandad can bring in a few more leeks and carrots from the veggie patch.

I answer all their questions about school, about how my friends are, and manage to keep my blushes to a minimum when they ask about the still-just-visible bruise on my cheek. I can’t control the blushes when they ask about Dana though – Mum must have told them – and Grandad gives me some brief advice about women.

‘Don’t try to understand them, Josh. Just be as nice as you can be.’

Nanna hits him with the duster.

‘Thanks, Grandad. I’ll keep that in mind.’