Sandra Harris Writes

  More Things in Heaven and Earth . . . By Sandra Harris. © This memory always comes back to me when the nights are drawing in and the smell of coal fires fills the air. Eight winters ago, on a bright, cold Saturday afternoon, I sat down for coffee and a chat with some friends in a little caf é in Dublin 2. A few doors down, my two children, Reuben, ten years old at the time, and my adult daughter Lisa, were swapping Pokemon cards and gamers' gossip with a friend of Lisa's in a coffee-shop. A couple of hours later, about 5pm, I looked up from my coffee and saw my children and their friend, a young male in his twenties, file past the café window one by one. Reuben first, bouncing along happily, fuelled by ADHD and the once-weekly Coca-Cola, then Lisa, more sedately, then the friend. They didn't look in and wave, though, even though they knew where I'd be. “Oh, look, there go my kids,” I told my friends in surprise. “If they're heading home now, I suppose I...