I go over to the bed wearing a veneer of brisk cheer and gingerly lift the duvet. Then I sigh with relief.
‘Good boy, another dry night.’
How many has it been? Three dry nights in the last week. Not bad at all. I pull off his pyjamas and pull up his underpants, then take him to clean his teeth.
‘Can I have coco pops for breakfast?’ he asks as he trots downstairs.
‘Of course, dear. Now hold my hand and don’t trip.’
I never thought I’d be having to do this for my father.