‘Please phone when you arrive. You can reverse the charges.’ My mother tried hard to smile.

‘And don’t forget, you have to change at Crewe. I’ve written it all down for you.’ Dad was repeating himself and I nodded, confidently tapping the breast pocket that contained my travel directions.

Steam and pungent coal smoke from the locomotive swirled around them where they stood, so clean against the grimy platform. The guard’s whistle pierced the clamour of the station, and carriage doors rhythmically slammed shut as he moved along the train.

‘All aboaaaard.’ The harsh voice distorted the words, and in that moment I felt the first flutter of apprehension, and recognised the pain in my mother’s eyes. And began to grow up.