I’m in the back seat of a car parked down the road from a pub. This pub was in the city, but some way from home. It was the pub where, according to dad, “this is where your mother meets her fancy man”. It was a cold, dark night and the streets were empty, other than the occasional drunk singing the night away.
In the car, my dad was in the front passenger seat. In the driver’s seat was a man who I didn't know. He must have been one of dad's mates. He was tall and broad. He looked like a man that you would want by your side in the event of trouble. It's possible that he was there for a more sinister reason. Given that dad’s plan was confrontation, this man may well have been there to back him up if things turned nasty with “fancy man.”
I was about nine years old at the time.