I pushed the gate. I’d peep through the front. The only change to the living room, associated with happier times, was the dust.
Couldn’t he bear to be there? I wasn’t ready for that. Coming home must wait.
‘Penny?’ The deep voice sounded beaten.
I turned. Dad looked beaten.
‘I was passing.’
‘Any time for tea?’
Would he show regret at driving Mum and I away? Only one way to find out. ‘After you, Dad.’
It’d been a long time since we’d smiled.