It has been a long time since Liam asked me to take him for a drive in the countryside, and I didn't have to be asked twice. I know that he just wanted out of the house for a couple of hours to get away from the pressure of his exams and to enjoy some of the sunshine while it lasts, but he was prepared to spend time with me to do it, so I wasn't going to complain. You see, for the past while he has made it pretty clear that he doesn't want to do anything with us: he doesn't want to go on holiday with us; he doesn't want to go on excursions with us; he doesn't even want to sit at the table and eat with us (although this we force him to); and he would much rather sit in his room watching his own TV or playing on his computers than sit in the living-room and speak to us. In general, his conversation is conducted in grunts and mutters, with the odd "what do you want?" thrown in for good measure; however, every now and again, every increasingly infrequent now and again, we catch a glimpse of our old son. These sightings are rare, because it's apparently not "cool" to actually like your parents, but every now and again he lets his guard down and we see the glint in his eye and the old cheeky grin. He's still in there: there may yet be hope.