I started my job today.

My boss seems cool. He just started himself last week and told me in confidence that he's still just as lost as I am. He's around 40, I guess, perhaps a little older, and has been working as a manager of a hotel in Manchester for the last five years. This job is quite different, as he is responsible for I don't know how many pubs in the area. I'll sure have to know the number soon, if I'm to keep up with my own job. Wasn't that keen on it, to be honest, but I saw a totally new side to this business today, and am certain that I'll enjoy it. Did a bit of a headless-chicken run today, though.

Had a drink with my colleagues afterwards. Only a couple of pints. Don't want to make a bad impression on the first day, ay? My boss – his name's George – left at the same time as me. Guess he's not keen on getting drunk with his staff. Couple of other people left as well, but most stayed behind. I'll see how late they're staying from the way they'll look tomorrow,

Went straight to the McQueen's afterwards. They'd just had their tea, Myra was doing the dishes, while John Paul was looking after Matthew and Kathleen Angel in the living room. Matthew's walking – or should I say running? He barely seems to walk at all, just goes everywhere at maximum speed – has improved immensely. Hardly any wobbles and they've had to remove every sharp or fragile object out of his reach. Didn't realise it myself until I saw him about to throw my IPad, which I'd put on the coffee table, across the room. John Paul just froze and I was about to shout at Matthew. Thank God Myra appeared all of a sudden, giving me a stern look to keep quiet, while asking Matthew sweetly to come over and hand it to her, praising him for being such a good and helpful little boy. He did so, very proudly, I might add.

She then turned around and went back to the kitchen area, as I sank back into the sofa, next to John Paul, trying to calm down from the adrenalin rush. He patted my thigh and made a sigh of relief himself, while reminding me why the flat seemed barren from three feet down.

I'm sure not to make the same mistake

again!

Mum's babysitting Matthew and Oscar this weekend.

Nancy and Darren are going away for the entire Easter weekend and since she agreed to babysit for them, she asked whether she shouldn't make a nice weekend out of it for my Matthew as well. After all she has Tom and Charlie to help with the little ones.

She then suggested that I'd take John Paul somewhere nice. I wasn't certain whether it was a good idea, whether it's the right time. I decided to ask him anyway, rather tentatively, though.

He asked what I had in mind.

I told him … oh, okay, I don't really know what I told him, became quite flustered and stuttered a lot until he quietly said, "Breathe," over the phone. It calmed me down, so I could gather my thoughts. I suggested that we'd drive to Wales. That we wouldn't have to stay the entire long weekend, but could just go early Saturday and be back Sunday evening, so he wouldn't be more than one night away from Matthew. It was actually him that suggested that we'd just return on the Monday, that it wouldn't be good to get Matthew back just before his bedtime.

So that's what we agreed. Matthew's coming to stay with me on the Friday to get him used to sleeping here, and then we'll leave when he's settled with mum on Saturday.

Guess there's no escaping what's coming next.

The talk!

We're on the A483.

We managed to have lunch at my mum's and Matthew was playing with Oscar when we made ourselves disappear and headed down to the car we're renting for the weekend. It's just under two hours before we'll reach Barmouth, a lovely seaside town where the tourist season is just about to start. I've been there once with my family, long before I met John Paul, and I remember running around the shore with Debbie, Steph and Jake.

I'm driving. John Paul's not taken his driver's licence yet, but I've had mine since I was old enough to drive. He's promised me that he won't fall asleep. Instead, he's gonna be the deejay – changing radio stations whenever we don't like the song.

We've been driving for half an hour and the signal for the radio station we're listening to goes out. He doesn't seem to realise so I say his name: "John… John Paul?"

He's not asleep, like I'd thought. Instead, the sound of his name seems to awaken him from his thoughts, and he turns his head, eyes open, to look at me. He doesn't say anything for a while, but puts down the volume without averting his gaze.

I remove my eyes off him and to the road ahead. There are all sorts of animals that cross these narrow roads, and you never know when a car can come out of nowhere.

I'm surprised when he finally speaks.

"Craig, do you think there's a chance for us…

again?"