I linger in the house after Amber leaves with the boys; I don’t want to go yet. I’m not ready. Slowly, I circle the lounge, brushing my fingers over each of the framed photographs of my precious grandsons. I smile as I remove my favourite one from the cheap, white IKEA bookcase; I’d never have entertained such a monstrosity when this was my house. The picture is of Nick standing behind Finley and Leo, his arms draped loosely around their shoulders as, between them, they hold up their catch from the fishing trip. It was taken last year, just before Amber dropped her bombshell. My fingertip traces the boys’ ruddy faces; their expressions, happy and proud. They’re the spit of Nick and Tim when they were that age. An ache pummels my stomach; I rub it away with my other hand.

The thought of not being able to drop in and see my only grandchildren when I want to, not being able to give them hugs every week, crushes me. A pain burns from within my chest.

I’m going to lose it all if I’m not careful.

I can’t let them leave. I just can’t.

Chapter Four

Amber

The afternoon traffic is at a standstill and I’m still twenty minutes from the school. I crane my neck for the tenth time to see what the hold-up is. For the tenth time I see nothing but a line of stationary vehicles. What is going on? There are no cars coming in the opposite direction either, so whatever it is, I’m assuming it’s bad and the entire road is blocked. It’s been like this for seven minutes according to my car clock.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. If we aren’t moving within the next five minutes, I’m not going to be there in time for school pick-up. It’s not a disaster because the teachers at Stockwood will obviously keep hold of the boys until I get there. There is an after-school club opposite the primary school, so if I ring and explain, I’m sure they’ll walk them over there even though they aren’t registered. I’ll pay the fee as a one-off – there shouldn’t be a problem.

I hate being late. And yet it’s getting to be a habit.

Car horns blare up ahead. I’m glad I’m not the only impatient one.

I switch to the local radio station in case there’s a travel update. Maybe there’s been an accident. Although, there’s been no sign of any emergency vehicles; I haven’t heard any sirens. Ed Sheeran’s song is playing for the millionth time today. Why must they repeat the same song until it makes you want to gouge your own eyes out? Hurry up with the news.