First I heard the front door slam, then a cheery voice call out.
‘Aloha!’ my son Tony, then 30, called, bouncing into the kitchen. ‘Stick the kettle on.’
It was 2015 and, despite being a dad of six, my Tony always found time to visit his old mum, to fill me in on how the grandkids were, catch up on gossip.
The eldest of my four children, he looked out for us all.
‘You won't believe who my new next-door neighbour is,’ he said. ‘Nick!’
‘You're kidding,’ I cried.
Nick and Tony had been best mates since meeting as teenagers.
Back in 2000, when Tony was 15, I'd moved the family from Northern Ireland to Grantham.
Tony had made friends easily and, with his strong accent, was often nicknamed ‘Irish’.…
