He piled my plate with breakfast and placed it on the table.“Eat,” he said, “I assume you’re getting fed all right in Manchester.”“Better ...han all right Dad,” I replied, “the chef in the hotel has a Michelin star, and I’ve been out in the evening a couple of times with folks from the cast.”“Good,” he answered, “your Mum is worried you might not be eating properly.”“Well, you can reassure her that I am.”“Are you wanting a lift with your gear when you go off to this rehearsal?”“Please, Dad,” I. I take it, you pull me into your embrace; one hand upon my waist, the other wrapping beneath my arm to the center of my back. You nuzzle into my neck, kissing it firstly; this is comfortable, being in your arms. Time stands still, the only sounds: the beating of our hearts and the ebb and flow of our breath – both in unison; you pull away, eyes darting, searching mine, begging for the permission that I gave you back in our school days. I had said, “anytime, whatever you like.” I meant it, I. More

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