Willow Lane was such a place that it had been left behind in the previous century. The pavement was fissured enough to swallow bicycle tires, the mail posts were bushed like fatigued soldiers, and the willow trees which gave the street its name hung their arms very low over the road in an attempt to protect their children against the sun.
We had been staying at 14 all my life, but always Dad had said that he was going to upgrade to a larger house. The fact was he was in the grip of Willow Lane.
