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'We don't want to be any bother,' says Mum hurriedly.

'No bother at all,' says Paul, and bestows a charming smile on her. 'Unfortunately, the room

we usually use for family bonding sessions is being redecorated.'

'Oh!' says Mum, unsure as to whether he's being serious or not. 'Oh dear!'

'So perhaps, Emma, you'd like to take your parents out for — shall we call it an early lunch?'

I look up at the clock. It's a quarter to ten.

'Thanks, Paul,' I say gratefully.

This is surreal. It's completely surreal.

It's the middle of the morning. I should be at work. And instead I'm walking down the street

with my parents, wondering what on earth we're going to say to each other. I can't even

remember the last time it was just my parents and me. Just the three of us, no Grandpa, no

Kerry, no Nev. It's as if we've gone back in time fifteen years, or something.

'We could go in here,' I say, as we reach an Italian coffee shop.

'Good idea!' says Dad heartily, and pushes the door open. 'We saw your friend Jack Harper on

television yesterday,' he adds casually.

'He's not my friend,' I reply shortly, and he and Mum glance at each other.

We sit down at a wooden table and a waiter brings us each a menu, and there's silence.

Oh God. Now I'm feeling nervous.

'So…' I begin, then stop. What I want to say is, Why are you here? But it might sound a bit

rude. 'What… brings you to London?' I say, instead.

'We just thought we'd like to visit you,' says Mum, looking through her reading glasses at the

menu. 'Now, shall I have a cup of tea… or what's this? A frap-pelatte?'

'I want a normal cup of coffee,' says Dad, peering at the menu with a frown. 'Do they do such

a thing?'

'If they don't, you'll have to have a cappuccino and spoon off the froth,' says Mum. 'Or an

espresso and just ask them to add hot water.'

I don't believe this. They have driven two hundred miles. Are we just going to sit here and

talk about hot beverages all day?

'Oh, and that reminds me,' adds Mum casually. 'We've bought you a little something, Emma.

Haven't we, Brian?'

'Oh… right,' I say in surprise. 'What is it?'

'It's a car,' says Mum, and looks up at the waiter who's appeared at our table. 'Hello! I would

like a cappuccino, my husband would like a filter coffee if that's possible, and Emma would

like-'

'A car?' I echo in disbelief.

'Car,' echoes the Italian waiter, and gives me a suspicious look. 'You want coffee?'

'I'd… I'd like a cappuccino, please,' I say distractedly.

'And a selection of cakes,' adds Mum. 'Grazie!'

'Mum…' I put a hand to my head as the waiter disappears. 'What do you mean, you've bought

me a car?'

'Just a little run-around. You ought to have a car. It's not safe, you travelling on all these buses.

Grandpa's quite right.'

'But… but I can't afford a car,' I say stupidly. 'I can't even… what about the money I owe

you? What about-'

'Forget the money,' says Dad. 'We're going to wipe the slate clean.'

'What?' I stare at him, more bewildered than ever. 'But we can't do that! I still owe you-'

'Forget the money,' says Dad, a sudden edge to his voice. 'I want you to forget all about it,

Emma. You don't owe us anything. Nothing at all.'

I honestly ca

Then, very slowly, back to Mum again.

And it's really strange. But it almost feels as though we're seeing each other properly for the

first time in years. As though we're seeing each other and saying hello and kind of… starting

again.

'We were wondering what you thought about taking a little holiday next year,' says Mum.

'With us.'

'Just… us?' I say, looking around the table.

'Just the three of us, we thought.' She gives me a tentative smile. 'It might be fun! You don't