I stare at the flight board at Heathrow’s Terminal 4.
I’ve just paid £33 pounds for blue, orange and green plates from the belt at YO Sushis
and I’m waiting for the gate for the British Airways flight to Singapore to be announced.
I’ve packed the last things in London and I haven’t spoken to my father for the whole day. He hasn’t called and he hasn’t returned my calls.
I have a feeling there’s something wrong but I’ve brushed it off telling myself it’s probably nothing.
In a few minutes I will get a phone call from my dad finding out that something definitely is not as it should and that he is at the hospital.
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