Our first morning in the UK was brighter, a communal breakfast taken in the conservatory and garden, bunkhouse style in the way everyone clubbed together. I still felt like shit, my usual reaction to long haul flights, but Maz and I had been woken by our daughter at about seven, Maz pretending to be asleep even after a prod from the girl. I understood why when LC finally turned to me for permission.
“Dad?”
“Yes, love?”
The slightest of twitches from her, and then that surge of confidence, or maybe hope, that warmed my heart.
“Can I play with the dogs again?”
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