And Dominic lowered his voice, which he does when he is angriest, and about nine people heard it anyway.
“How dare you come here today.”
And what he did not look at was the two boys standing four feet behind me.
He looked straight past them. Or he did not know them, which is likelier, because the last photograph he has of those two is from a christening.
“I’m here for my children.”
**He laughed. “*Your* children?”**
His eyes went to them for about a second and came back to me. He saw two lads in supermarket jackets with lanyards on. He did not see anything else.
“This weekend matters to Rafe,” he said.
“It matters to Idris and Cai as well.”
Thirteen years of birthdays, concerts, science fairs, a night in A&E with croup, two GCSE results days and about four thousand ordinary evenings, and that man was standing in a foyer working out why I had turned up to annoy him.
