Glancing at the kids playing outside, it was a sunny day.
On 3 September last year, it was the last day of the summer holidays. And my son Marli, five, was making the most of it while I cooked dinner.
‘Stay on the street where I can see you,’ I’d told him earlier.
That day we were at my Grandad John’s house with my parents Mandy, 45, and Steven, 49, and my two girls Milli-Mae, eight, and Rayne, one.
‘Tea’s almost done,’ I called out to Marli, checking the chicken Kievs.
‘Not yet Mummy, I’m playing with my friends,’ he begged, pedalling on his Sonic the Hedgehog bike. ‘Can I have five minutes?’
‘Yeah, go on then,’ I smiled at him. ‘Just stay where I can see you.’
In such…
