PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
‘Trouble,’ judged Mum, eyeing Mickey’s leather jacket, the guitar slung across his back.
Still she let him come in as long as he took off his boots, left his bike helmet in the porch.
So the three of us gathered round the teapot, its bobble hat cosy, a plate of custard creams. The electric heater ticked into life – three bars as we had company – and Mum took Nana Cally’s cups from the dresser, a sure sign she wanted to impress.
She nodded to the guitar recumbent on the settee. ‘Can you play Danny Boy?’
I knew then we’d be okay.
And for those of you who fancy a sentimental wallow, here’s Eva Cassidy’s version of Danny Boy.