After walking for more than an hour through a vast and unfamiliar forest whilst chatting with my brother-in-law about the nil-rate tax band, I turned to glance at the children following behind. One of them, my son, was not there. At first, we were not too worried. He is not an infant, but neither is he a man. He is at that awkward mid-teen stage of wanting independence whilst still comfortably depending on us.
A slight panic began to set in as it became apparent that he wasn’t just lagging behind at a slow pace. “Has he got his phone?” my brother-in-law asked. “He hasn’t got a phone,” I replied.
