I think I’m going to be sick. I know I’m going to cry. I’ve just driven across the Pennines to Chesterfield, the town I was born in and the place that I left at 18. The first stop today on my homecoming trip is the most important. And six minutes away, I notice my hands are shaking.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” I hear myself saying. “There she is.” On the front drive is the woman I last saw three decades ago. Who, when I’ve tried to summon her over the years, has only ever been a psychedelic outline. No features, just a vibe: warm, forthright, maternal. “Can I give you a hug?” I ask. My throat tightens as the tears come. Christ, I’m predictable.
