Window

We were in London to meet up with our son and daughter. We met at our son’s flat. Our daughter was in the city for the weekend, visiting her friends - she lived in Paris now.

Looking out of the window of our son’s flat, I could see into the flat opposite where a mother was jiggling a baby in same the way that I used to do with each of our children.

For a minute, that period of our lives seemed almost close enough to touch. But it was behind glass and across the street and a quarter of a Century away.