I was sitting on the couch at Jethro’s flat in Wellington, watching something on TV. It was a Saturday night. I think we’d just finished dinner. We were still in the phase of getting to know each other – we’d been ‘official’ for just under a month.
My phone rang. It was mum. I picked it up. She immediately asked if Jethro was there with me. Yes, I said. Why? I could hear something in her voice. I asked what’s wrong?
She replied, “Granddad’s dead.”