15 May 2026 “Cancelled, love,” said Leon, eyes glued to his phone. “Mum’s on her way.” I stood in the
28 April “Waves are off, dear,” Mark said, eyes glued to his phone. “Mum’s on her way.” I stood in the
“the beach holiday’s cancelled,” Leonard said, eyes still glued to his mobile. “Mum’s on her way.
28 April “Right, the holiday’s off,” James said, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Mum’s coming over.
— The beach holiday is off, — James says without looking up from his phone. — Mum’s on her way.
“David, who’s that? Why are there so many people here?” my mother, Christine, whispered, clenching my
May 24 I’m standing on the edge of my garden, my elbow gripping my son’s wrist a little tighter than usual.
Dear Diary, This morning the garden gate creaked open to a small crowd I could never have imagined.
June 12 I‑—James—scribbled these words while the late‑summer light slipped through the fresh glass of
“Daniel, who’s that? Why are there so many people here?” My mother’s voice wavered as she tightened her









