six.'
I walked quietly towards the back door and peered through the glass to look at my dad who sat bathed in the low yellow light which spilled out across the lawn from the kitchen window. When I had been living at home, my parents had never seemed to age. In my mind, they had looked the same on the day I left home as they had done in my earliest memories. It was only now that I was not seeing them on a daily basis that they seemed to be getting any older and today, sadly, Dad looked desperately frail, tired and ancient.
As I watched my father sleeping in an old deckchair, a light wind blew across the garden and he shuffled uncomfortably. The breeze ruffled the delicate strands of white hair which lay across his head and the light from the house combined with the sparse silver rays of the moon to cast ghastly haggard shadows across his face. Dad's glasses were perched precariously on the end of his wrinkled nose and the only movement he made was as his chin slowly shifted up and down as it rested on his heaving chest.
'He doesn't look too bad,' I said to Mom. I was quite worried by Dad's appearance but I did my best to try and allay any of the fears that my mother might have had.
'He might look all right,' she said, 'but he's not himself. You know your father, he's not one to make a fuss when he's under the weather but I can tell. I've been with him for long enough.'
I looked into Mom's face as she toiled over the hot pots and pans on top of the kitchen stove. She looked tired and worn out and I could see the strain and worry that Dad's condition was obviously causing her to feel. Although there was the best part of a ten-year age gap between my parents and she didn't look anywhere near as aged as Dad did, Mom still seemed to be growing old at an alarming rate.
'Steven,' Mom said (she was the only person who called me that and not Steve). 'We're going to go up and visit your Uncle George for a little while.'
I was relieved to hear that. Uncle George lived on the Scottish coast and, when I was younger, whenever we had visited there as a family, Dad had spent most of our time there complaining that the North was far too cold for him.
'That's good news,' I told Mom. 'That should really do Dad a lot of good. It's about time you had a rest as well.'
Mom nodded and smiled. She seemed pleased that I approved of their plans.
'What about Michelle?' I asked, wondering what my younger sister was going to do.
'She's coming with us. The poor love's been having a rough time at college recently. I think it'll do her as much good to get away for a while as it will your father.'
'When are you thinking of going?'
'Tomorrow. We're going up by train. We leave at half past nine.'
The immediacy of their leaving shocked me. Dad was notoriously slow at making plans and decisions and Mom could see that I was genuinely surprised.
'It'll be for the best,' she said, reassuringly. 'We'll stay up there for a while and come home when things get back to normal.'
Michelle came bounding down the stairs and burst energetically into the kitchen.
'I thought I could smell something!' she joked, cheekily. 'Stevie's here!'
I laughed sarcastically and walked over to greet her. We hugged for a moment and, once more, I realised just how much my conceptions of my family had changed since I had moved out. Before I had left, there had been days when Michelle and I could hardly bear to be in the same room as each other and yet we now hugged one another as if we had been apart for years.
'How's things?' she asked.
'Not too bad,' I replied, giving little away. 'What about you? Are you all right?'
Strangely subdued, she nodded her head slowly and sat down at the table.
'Can you go and get your father for me?' Mom asked, looking in my direction. 'I'm about to serve up dinner.'
I went outside to fetch Dad and was surprised by the brittle crunching of the moisture-starved grass beneath my feet. I stood at Dad's side and gently shook his shoulder. He began to come around.
'Hello, son,' he said in a voice that sounded tired, feeble