Pest n.1 went to his new school, fifteen miles away, on a school bus. He climbed up, wearing his brand new uniform and carrying a satchel bigger than him. That morning, Mr Husband patiently stood in front of the mirror with him, trying (and failing) to teach him how to tie a tie.

My boy's head must have been full of recommendations, advice, reminders and instructions. I told him where I'd put his snack, and I asked him to be polite, listen to the teacher, eat his lunch, make friends, work hard, not fall off the playframe, and love me.

I forgot to tell him where to get off the bus, once at the school. So he stayed, and it was only when the bus driver realised that there was one, solitary and scared little seven-year-old boy left on the bus, after all the big ones had got off, that she was kind enough to turn round and drive back to the school, where Mr Husband - who, unusually, had worried about the first day at school and the bus trip - was waiting and frantic with worry.

I asked, that night, why he had stayed on, even when all the boys had left the bus.

'I was scared that, if I left the bus, I'd never find my way back home', Pest n.1 replied.

His enormous brown eyes shone in the darkness.

'I can understand that', I said, and hugged him.

I am on a similar bus. And similarly scared, I am old enough to get off, because it is not going home.