When I was 15 years old, my parents had to go away for a couple of weeks to visit my grandma, who was very ill at the time. As it was during school term, it was felt that I should stay home – but it was also felt that I was not old enough to fend for myself. So it was arranged that I should go and stay at my Aunt Chrissie’s house. This was in another part of town but still close enough for me to get dropped off and picked up from school.
Aunt Chrissie had been divorced about a year or so when I went to stay with her, the marriage ending after my uncle had an affair with his secretary. She had three children, all considerably younger than myself – Tammy, my eldest cousin, was 12; Brett (whose room I shared during my stay) was nine, and the youngest, Peter, was six.