Looking out for my food shop delivery one afternoon in 2015, I poked my head through the curtains.
Instead of the supermarket van, I saw an unfamiliar car outside.
Who's that? I thought, as a man climbed out and walked down our path.
Confused, I opened the door as he knocked.
‘I'm from social services,' he said.
Frowning, I thought of my son Toby, then 13, at school.
Sure, he'd been a bit of a tearaway recently – getting in trouble in class, vaping, sometimes disappearing with friends.
