Realizations

Chapter 8 - A Day Out

Friday, July 7, 1995

The late-morning sun shone brightly down on the streets of London. The weather was ideal for an outing--clear and mild with a dazzling blue sky, puffy white clouds, and just enough of a breeze to keep things from getting stuffy.

Harry Potter closed his eyes, and turned his face toward the sun for a few seconds while waiting for his chance to cross the street. Days like today were a rare treat. Until now, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed being outside. Now that he thought about it, he'd been inside the Leaky Cauldron for five whole days. Harry signed contentedly as the sun warmed his thin face, and the breeze tugged at his shaggy hair. Too bad he couldn't risk flying on his broomstick. If he could just have a go on his Firebolt, things would be just about perfect.

The traffic signal changed, and Harry hurried across the street and down the sidewalk with the rest of the pedestrians, taking note of the book stores, music stores, and hamburger restaurants he passed. Perhaps he could explore them later, but right now he was heading for a nearby Underground station. The very station, Harry remembered fondly, that he and Rubeus Hagrid had traveled to when he'd visited the Leaky Cauldron for the first time. As he continued on his way, Harry wondered absently how the half-giant was doing. It sounded as though Dumbledore was planning to send Hagrid and Madame Maxime as emissaries to the giants, to try and prevent Voldemort from gaining their support. The boy hoped all was well with his friend. When Hedwig returned, he would send him a letter.

Harry rolled his eyes a little as he reached his destination, and followed a group of people downstairs. Looking back now, it was hard to believe how utterly unprepared he'd been for his first contact with the wizarding world. He remembered looking up at Hagrid after reading the list of required supplies for his first year at Hogwarts. "Can we buy all this in London?" he'd asked in amazed disbelief. It just didn't seem possible.

"If yeh know where to go," Hagrid had replied, a merry twinkle in his beetle black eyes.

Harry still hadn't been completely convinced. He knew London was a large city, with plentiful and diverse shopping areas, but really! A cauldron? A wand? Dragon-hide gloves?? Harry had balked a little at the concept.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had known he was a wizard, of course, but they'd kept everything from him, and grown angry whenever he tried to ask questions. They'd claimed that James and Lily Potter's deaths, and Harry's lightning bolt scar had been caused by a car crash. All his life Harry had listened to Uncle Vernon bellow, "There's no such thing as magic!" It had been hard, at first, to accept that magic was real. Harry had spent his first few hours with Hagrid terrified that this was either some colossal joke, or else a highly detailed and wondrous dream. Any minute he had expected to wake, and find himself back with the Dursleys in the dilapidated little hut on the rock.

The idea of magic, however, was nothing compared to the reaction he'd set off at the Leaky Cauldron. When Tom had realized who he was, and blurted his name, a hush had fallen over the tavern. Witches and wizards had clustered around him, wanting to shake his hand and welcome him back. He'd been told more times than he could count what an honor it was to meet him. After almost four years, he was becoming more accustomed to it, but even now, Harry found his fame disorienting. His sudden celebrity had contributed more to his culture shock than talking mirrors, ghosts, moving staircases, flying cars, and Mountain Trolls combined.

Harry picked up a map of the London Underground at the ticket counter, bought his pass, and headed for the platform. It's all rubbish, anyway, he thought, as he watched a train pull into the station. He rather doubted that he was all the wizarding world made him out to be, but he also like to think that he wasn't as utterly contemptible as his relatives claimed. At least he hoped he wasn't. In the muggle world, the Dursleys thought of him as an embarrassment...a burden. His very presence in their house was a dirty little secret that they went to great lengths to hide. Harry shrugged philosophically. The truth was somewhere between those two extremes--hopefully closer to the good end, though sometimes he wasn't sure.

Harry entered the train when the doors slid open, and chose a seat by a window. He smiled lightly, once again reminded of the kindly half-giant, and how he'd carried on about dragons, and parking meters, and muggle transportation methods. Harry knew he had been very lucky to have Hagrid as a guide, and wondered briefly how muggleborns like Hermione managed to cope. Actually, Harry realized, he'd never given the matter much thought. Hermione had always seemed so knowledgeable and in control, he'd never thought to ask how she reacted when she'd received her Hogwarts letter. Harry frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. Perhaps he would ask Dr. Granger.

A few last minute passengers boarded before the doors slid shut, and the train pulled out of the station. Harry watched through the window, until the train entered the tunnel leading to the next stop. When his view was restricted to a concrete wall, Harry turned from the window, and fished his shopping list and directions our of his shirt pocket.

When he'd finished his correspondence the day before, Harry had taken a good hard look at his belongings, and made a shopping list. It was a bit more extensive than he had expected, but it couldn't be helped. He needed socks, shoes, glasses, underthings, toiletries, and all his clothing needed to be replaced--even his Hogwarts uniforms.

The young wizard chuckled softly when he remembered trying to get dressed earlier that morning. He'd decided to wear his school uniform shirt and trousers, so he wouldn't look like a complete ragamuffin, and had been utterly shocked to find his arms and legs longer than his clothes! Perhaps that was the cause of that annoying soreness he'd had. He could still get into his shoes, though his toes just barely fit, and he seemed to be the same size around the middle, but his shirt felt a little tight across the shoulders. He was definitely showing some ankle and wrist as well.

He'd purchased that uniform...when? Summer before third year? Last summer? Harry shook his head impatiently. It didn't matter. The point was, Madame Malkin had allowed plenty of growing room. If his shirt sleeves and trouser legs had been any longer, he might have lost house points for sloppiness. Now that he thought about it, by the end of last term, his sleeves seemed to creep up his arms, and the legs of his trousers were just barely brushing the tops of his shoes. He'd just been too distracted to notice. Glancing at his laundry pile, Harry also noted that he hadn't needed to roll up the sleeves and trouser legs of the muggle clothing he had worn yesterday. Harry had been wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs since school let out, so he really hadn't noticed his new height.

In the end he had changed out of his outgrown uniform, and donned one of his older muggle outfits instead. Either way he was no fashion plate, but, in Harry's opinion, clothing that was too large, but close to the proper length looked less stupid than clothing that was too short. The boy glanced down at his attire and shuddered slightly. Dudley's old clothes were so large he hoped he never completely grew into them.

It was amazing, really, Harry had thought, as he studied his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't believe it. Because of the TriWizard Tournament, he had spent quite a bit of time this past school year so nervous he was almost physically ill. His diet and eating habits suffered when he was worried, sad, angry or depressed. He tended to close in on himself and go off food, but evidently he had gotten enough, hence his little growth spurt.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so amazing after all. Ron, Hermione, and what seemed like half of Gryffindor Tower--Ron's family, the Quidditch Team, and his dorm-mates to name a few--knew this was a quirk of his, and usually pestered him into eating at least a little, even when he didn't want to. Plus, he'd certainly been getting enough to eat since he'd been at the Leaky Cauldron. I really am lucky to have such good friends, Harry thought as the train sped thorough the tunnel. A determined little frown crept onto his face, and he lifted his chin almost defiantly. He'd do whatever he had to. No one else was going to get hurt because of him if he had anything to say about it.

The train began to slow as it pulled into the next station. Harry glanced quickly at his Underground map, then at the directions Dr. Granger had given him. He was on the right line, but there were still a few stops before he got to the one he wanted.

When Harry had placed the call to the Granger residence that morning, he'd been prepared to confess to Hermione. He couldn't see any way out of it. He had reckoned she'd want an explanation when he rung her up, then asked to borrow her mum, but that hadn't happened. He had fretted over whether he was calling too early, but he'd caught Helen Granger at home alone. Hermione and her dad were already off on their annual all-day father-daughter outing, and Helen wasn't expecting them back until supper or later. "Hermione will be sorry she missed you, Harry, though I must say, an owl last night, and now a call? Do you have designs on my daughter, Mr. Potter?" she had teased.

Harry was sure she must have been able to hear him blushing through the phone. "She got my note already?" he had asked, neatly sidestepping the question and trying to sound surprised.

"Yes indeed. She was very happy to hear from you. So you're a working man now, are you?"

"Yes ma'am. Actually, erm, actually, that was part of the reason I called," Harry said, then plunged on before he could change his mind. "I need to buy some clothes and things, for the job I mean, and since you live in London, I was wondering if you could recommend some stores?"

"You're coming all the way to London?" Dr. Granger had sounded puzzled. "Wouldn't it be easier to just visit some shops down in Surrey?"

Oh, right. She thinks I'm still in Little Whinging. Harry thought fast. "I have to go to Gringott's and change some of the money in my vault into pounds," he said. It was the truth, after all. The wizard bank opened soon, and he was planning to go there as soon as he hung up. "I need muggle clothes, so I figured I'd just do my shopping in the city."

Dr, Granger had paused, mulling over his words. "You're coming to London alone?" she asked, seeking clarification.

"Yes. My supervisor let me have today off to take care of it."

"But why... What I mean is, where are... Umm..." Helen hadn't known how to phrase the question she wanted to ask without sounding completely tactless.

Harry had understood, though. He had replied in what he hoped was a casual voice, "My aunt and uncle aren't available at the moment. I'm sorry to trouble you, but this came up rather suddenly, and you did say I could call..." Harry trailed off and began to lose confidence when her shocked silence continued to hum over the line. "Never mind, then. I...I just thought the trip might go a little smoother if I talked to someone who knew where things were--I'm more familiar with Diagon Alley than London. Could I try to ring Hermione another time?"

"What? Oh! No, wait, Harry," Helen had said, realizing he'd misinterpreted her lack of response. "I'm sorry. Of course you can call on us any time. I was just a little surprised that you're being allowed out on your own."

"Well, I'm sure this isn't anyone's first choice, but there it is," the young wizard replied frankly.

"Too true," Helen agreed, then brightened.

Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and observing idly as the train reached the next stop. It seemed Dr. Granger had plans of her own. She was going to spend some time at her office that morning, and run errands in the afternoon. Quick as you could say "Bob's your uncle", he had an engagement to go shopping with his best friend's mother, complete with a luncheon date. He still wasn't quite sure how that had happened. He'd only meant to get some advice, and maybe some directions when he called, but Helen was harder to argue with than Hermione was. As a result, he was getting a later start than he'd planned. Dr. Granger had some work to do, he had to allow himself time to "get to London from Surrey."

The boy raised a bemused eyebrow. He now knew where Hermione's way of speaking very quickly when she got enthusiastic or excited about something came from. He was also beginning to suspect that Dr. Granger was just as adept as her daughter was at assimilating information and putting things together. If he didn't want her guessing his situation, he'd have to stay on his toes. Harry frowned moodily out the window as the train continued on its way, and wondered if it would be more efficient to just confess now and get it over with.

When he got to his stop, Harry exited the train, made his way up to the street, and set out for the dental office that the Grangers were partners in. Helen's directions were very good, so in no time at all, the Gryffindor found himself in a neat, cheerfully decorated waiting room. After a brief conversation with the receptionist, Dr. Granger came hurrying up from the back.

"Sorry, Harry. I'm almost finished. Why don't you come on back?" she invited.

Harry nodded good naturedly, and followed her back into one of the examination rooms. Once there, he looked curiously around at the various machines, and gleaming tools, while Dr. Granger finished sorting the files she had been working on. "Thinking of a career in dentistry, Harry?" Helen asked with a smile, noting his interest.

When Harry had flushed, and haltingly admitted that he'd never seen such things before, Helen had been scandalized. Harry had been unceremoniously plunked down in the examination chair, and Helen had quickly checked him over for any soft spots or weaknesses. Accustomed to dealing with Hermione when she got a bee in her bonnet, Harry had thought it best not to argue, and had submitted to her probing and scraping without protest.

"Well, I must say, Harry, you either take exceptionally good care of yourself, or you're blessed with really good genes," Dr. Granger said a few minutes later. "Nevertheless, you should be having proper exams and cleanings. If you'd rather go to a dental office closer to your home, that's fine, but don't neglect your teeth."

Harry had agreed, and dutifully made an appointment when they passed the receptionist's desk. He and Helen had then set out for a nearby shopping center. Their first stop had been a store which advertised their ability to have glasses ready in about an hour. Harry managed to get a same-day appointment with optician's office that was affiliated with the store. There was a little time before Harry's appointment, so they nipped up to the food court for lunch.

Harry had been afraid that he and Dr. Granger might be hesitant, or awkward with each other, but to his pleasant surprise, they had been remarkably at ease. Of course it helped that they had a favorite subject in common: Hermione.

Helen had been curious to know more about Hermione's life at Hogwarts, and how she had come to be such good friends with Harry and Ron. Harry had obliged her with some of the more innocuous stories in his repertoire. He'd started with their initial meeting on the Hogwarts Express, and ended with his overwhelming gratitude at the way she'd believed him, and stood by him this past year. "I didn't deserve it," he'd told Helen. "Especially after I was such a petty, unforgiving git our third year."

"You're growing up, Harry," Helen said knowingly. "It takes a lot of heart to admit your mistakes. Just be sure to learn from the experience so you don't repeat them."

When they'd finished eating, they'd split up briefly. Helen escorted Harry back to the optometrist, then left to run a few short errands while he seeing the doctor. Harry filled out the forms for their files, then occupied himself with the brochures* in the waiting area. The one about contact lenses especially the section called "For Today's Active Lifestyle" caught his interest:

Whatever your sport, with outstanding fit and comfort, today's lenses are ready to play. Made of special materials that give them better fit, today's contact lenses remain in place under almost all conditions--allowing you to concentrate on the game, and keep your competitive edge.

Ooooooh, yes. Harry was liking the sound of this. He grinned as he skimmed the list of benefits contact lenses as opposed to glasses:

Contact lenses are more comfortable...don't splatter or break...don't fog up from perspiration...don't steam up in the locker room...promote better depth perception and peripheral vision...improve your ability to judge distance and speed...

Better and better. Harry's grin turned a little wolfish as he slipped into "Destroy Malfoy" mode. Contact lenses sounded tailor made for Quidditch. Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team would never know what hit them.

Harry sobered a little when the other Hogwarts seekers, Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory crossed his mind. It still hurt to remember what had happened to Cedric, but Harry had found it easier to bear since the night he'd had his little meltdown. He didn't like what had happened, and never would, but he had done the right thing, offering to tie with Cedric. Of that he was certain. Harry had spent the last few nights studying the circumstances from every possible angle. He'd had no way of knowing that the cup was a portkey. Even Dumbledore hadn't known. Allowing himself to sink into despair, and wallow in his own misery accomplished nothing, and certainly didn't honor Cedric's memory. Harry had made up his mind to play Quidditch next term, unless it was canceled again. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to take another thing he loved away from him.

Besides, hadn't Hermione said he looked different without his glasses? They might be useful for his little charade as well. He'd definitely have to see about getting some. Harry glanced briefly over the sections that described lens types, and care, and perused another brochure which advertised color contact lenses before the doctor called him.

By the time Helen Granger made her way back to the eyeglasses store, Harry was finished with his exam. She found him standing in front of the men's eyewear display, prescription in hand, and looking a little rattled. "So, how did it go?" she asked in way of greeting, as she approached the boy.

"Fine," Harry replied distractedly, still looking at the wall. "I'm just trying to choose some frames." He turned and grinned shyly at her. "I've never been allowed to choose before," he confided.

Helen nodded, assuming his aunt had always had the final say when he'd gotten glasses in the past. She did wonder about the woman's taste, though. The thick, black frames Harry was wearing were serviceable enough, she supposed, but they really didn't do anything for him. At length, they had selected some smaller, thinner, wire frames, that suited Harry far better, and didn't overwhelm his face like his old ones had.

Helen had looked on curiously as Harry paid for his purchases. "Contact lenses as well?" she noted, amused, as they left the store, and headed out into the mall. The boy had nodded enthusiastically and dug a crumpled brochure out of his trouser pocket, pointing out the section that extolled the virtues of contacts and "Today's Active Lifestyles". Of course, Helen smiled, amused, as she read over it. Lads and their sports. And here I thought he was going vain on us.

If Harry thought the choices in men's eyewear were impressive, he found himself completely overwhelmed when confronted with the wonderful world of retail sales. In the past, Aunt Petunia would stiffly present him with a bundle of Dudley's outgrown clothing, and that would be that. He'd never really been clothes shopping, except for Madam Malkin’s of course, and that didn't count. He had a list of exactly what and how many of each item he needed when he shopped there. There were no choices. All the uniforms were the same. The only time he would have had a choice was last year when he'd needed dress robes--and Mrs. Weasley had picked those out for him. She had fetched last year's school supplies for her children, Hermione, and himself while they had attended the Quidditch World Cup.

He had found himself floundering in this unfamiliar and confusing environment. There had been so much to look at! He hadn't known where to begin, or what to choose, and he'd been completely baffled by the salesclerks and their offers of help. He hadn't even known his current size for Heaven's sake!

Dr. Granger's presence had been immensely reassuring and helpful. She had gently steered him in the right direction, dealing with the questions of salesclerks, taking his measurements so they could judge his size, and showing him how to mix and match a few separates to make several outfits. She also knew how to take advantage of sales, and where to get the best price. Harry reckoned he learned more about value and cost comparison in one hour with Hermione's mother than his aunt had managed to pick up in her whole life. As a result, he was able to purchase more than he thought.

For her part, Helen marched Harry from shop to shop, running interference with the sales staff, and thoroughly enjoying the slow metamorphosis taking place in front of her eyes. Harry, she had discovered, looked best in and darker, brighter colors, and simple, tailored styles that accentuated his coloring, and played down his thinness. Helen shook her head in wonder. When the boy had hesitantly come out of the dressing room so she could see the clothes he was trying, the difference had been startling. Harry was still boyishly slight, and a little gangly and coltish in appearance, but the raw material was there. When he got past the "all elbows and knees" phase he was going through and filled out a little, the kid was going to be devastating. Helen considered him speculatively. He might be worthy of Hermione...maybe.

Helen chuckled a little at the direction her thoughts had gone. Easy old girl, she counseled herself. No need to rush things. They're just kids, after all, and they might not even be interested in each other.

Actually, Helen thought as she pulled her thoughts back to the present, she was beginning to wonder if they were going to have to make more than one trip. They were only buying the bare minimum, but Harry needed so much! She wondered how they would ever carry it all, but when she'd voiced her concerns to him Harry had simply smiled, and pulled a crumpled shopping bag out of his pocket.

Tom, from the Leaky Cauldron had let him borrow it, the boy explained. It had lightening and expansion charms on it. Helen had watched, amazed, as he'd paused in a handy hallway, and proceeded to stuff everything he'd bought so far into the bag. "Shall I carry yours as well?" he offered politely, gesturing to the purchases she carried. Helen, still a little dumbstruck, handed her items over without comment, and watched the teen place them in his seemingly bottomless shopping bag. Yes, magic definitely had its uses. She wondered absently if Hermione could make a bag like that for her. It would certainly come in handy when it was time to go Christmas shopping.

The trip to the barber had been another revelation. Harry had protested, saying that it was just a waste of time, but Helen had insisted, and the results had been well worth it. The boy's hair was still jet black, and just as messy as ever, but the stylist had changed something-- the length? The shape perhaps? Dr. Granger couldn't quite put her finger on what was different, but something was. Like his glasses, Harry's hairstyle had simply overwhelmed his face. Long strands still flopped on his forehead, to hide his distinctive scar, but the overall look was different--more appealing, somehow. She pulled herself out of her reverie, and noticed Harry was frowning thoughtfully at his reflection.

"What's wrong dear? Don't you like the haircut?"

"What? Oh, no. The cut is fine, Dr. Granger," Harry said, turning to grin at her, "I was just trying to figure out if it was going to last."

"Well, you'll have to get it trimmed now and then," Helen teased.

Harry snickered quietly, and motioned her nearer as they exited the barber shop. "Did Hermione ever do accidental magic before she got her Hogwarts letter?" he asked.

Helen nodded, refraining from launching into specific stories for the moment.

"I did too," the boy admitted quietly. "I think I kind of kept my hair the way it was subconsciously or something. No matter how many times Aunt Petunia used to send me to get my hair cut, it always looked the same. I'd come back from the barber looking like I hadn't been at all." Harry frowned a little, then continued. "Once she got fed up with it and cut it herself. She left the front long, to cover my scar, but it was very short everywhere else." Harry had paused and given Dr. Granger a rueful half smile. "It looked terrible," he continued when she didn't speak. "Anyway, I worried all night about how everyone at school was going to tease and laugh at me, but when I woke up the next morning, my hair was exactly as it had been before she cut it." Harry shrugged. "I wasn't trying to be difficult earlier, I guess I've just thought that there was no point in trying to change my hair since that happened."

Helen nodded thoughtfully. "It will be an interesting experiment," she agreed, "but I think it will stay because you like it. You admitted you didn't care much for the results of your aunt's efforts."

"That's true," Harry said, gagging eloquently before consulting his list. He skimmed the checked-off items: shirts, trousers, socks, shoes... "I still need to pick up my new glasses, and visit the chemist," he informed her, then I should be done. "What about you, Dr. Granger?"

"I'm almost finished as well. I must say, I wasn't sure what to expect, but I've enjoyed today tremendously, Harry."

The young wizard grinned in pleased embarrassment. "Thank you Dr. Granger. Likewise."

"Next time we'll have to bring Hermione along," Helen teased. She about half expected Harry to blush again, but he just continued to smile at her.

"Yeah. Although I hope this won't be necessary again for a while. A few things might be all right, but I daresay today could be classified as a workout."

Helen laughed fondly, and ruffled his hair. Before too long, she was staring in amazement at the full results of the days' shopping. "How's that" the optical technician asked, as Harry slid his new glasses on. Harry's green eyes grew round with wonder. "Oh, wow!" he gasped. "I can't believe I was getting along with my old pair! Everything is so much clearer now!" He turned to Helen. "So what do you think? Did we do well?"

"Full marks, Harry, full marks." Helen shook her head in bemusement. "Good Lord, child, you look like a different human being."

He perked up at that. "Really?"

"Yes, really. If I hadn't been with you all day today, I'm not sure I'd recognize you."

Harry's grin turned wicked. "Could I ask for a favor?"

"I suppose," Dr. Granger hedged.

Harry laughed at her hesitation. "It's nothing horrible, I promise. I know you'll have to tell your family where you've been all day, but could you not tell Hermione about my, erm, new look? I want to surprise her the next time I see her."

Once his glasses had been fitted, Harry moved on to the contact lens area. The doctor had called in his order to the warehouse, and had Harry's new clear and colored lenses ready. At first the lenses had felt very odd, sort of like an eyelash had fallen in his eye, but Harry had quickly grown used to the sensation.

"All right now, let's make sure these are all right," the technician said, motioning for Harry to remove the clear lenses, and slip the colored ones in. Obediently, Harry did so, and a few seconds later, a virtual stranger was staring back at him from the mirror. That was what people noticed, Harry decided. The hair, the eyes, and the scar. Man, what a difference changing his eye color made!

"I still don't know why you want to change your eye color," the tech said frankly. "You look like you're wearing green color change lenses already."

Harry had shrugged, blinking his now brown eyes guilelessly. "I just wanted a change, I guess."

"Suit yourself. It looks like everything is in order. Do you understand the procedure for caring for the lenses?

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, then. What do you want to wear out? Glasses, clear, or color?"

"Clear, I think." Harry changed his contacts again. He was actually getting pretty good at this. Initially he hadn't thought he'd be able to control his blink reflex long enough to insert and remove the lenses, but he was getting better with practice.

Helen was checking her messages when he exited the fitting area. When Harry came up to her she sighed regretfully. "I was going to see if Greg and Hermione had any plans for supper, but they've decided to go to the cinema, and won't be back until late."

Harry had been disappointed, but recovered quickly. "It isn't that hard for me to get to the train," he said, shrugging his slim shoulders, as they walked toward the chemist. "I can come another time when it's more convenient." Harry stopped and bit his lip, before looking uncertainly at Dr. Granger. "I really appreciate you helping me out today. I had no idea what I was getting myself into."

"It was nothing, dear. I enjoyed it," Helen smiled as they reached the store. She really had. To her surprise, Harry was a pleasant and amiable companion. He also had the good sense to recognize how wonderful her daughter was, and didn't mind swapping stories with her--to a point. Yes, Hermione had a good friend in this one.

"Mum?"

"Helen? Are you still awake dear?"

Helen blinked in confusion, then saw the telly and relaxed. She must have nodded off.

"Mum?"

Ah. Hermione and Greg were back. "In here," she called, and soon she was facing her family. "How was your day?" she smiled.

"Brilliant, mum! You really should have been there," Hermione bubbled, full to bursting with tales of the day.

Helen settled back contentedly, and listened to her husband and daughter. She always loved listening to their stories, but tonight she was waiting for the question one of them would inevitably ask her.

"So, Mum, what did you do today?"

Helen grinned inwardly. Yes, that would be the one. She stretched languidly, then smiled up at her husband and daughter.