Play it again? [antikvár]

ONEDylan's father stood out in the crowd of rail travellers. He was taller than most, still tanned from Jamaica and, as usual, his distinctive fair curls were mildly unkempt. He wore a pale linen suit, one hand in a trouser pocket, the other carrying a brown leather overnight bag. Seeing Dylan, he sauntered towards him flashing the neat white teeth he'd got in the States. In spite of one or two deeply etched lines and little twin peaks of receding hairline, Alex Child lived up to his name and remained persistently boyish.Dylan chucked his cup in a bin, got up from the bench and gave his father an awkward hug, trying not to spread dried plaster over him. 'How was the journey?' he asked.Alex eased away and dusted down his jacket. 'Not bad. Well, considering I'm in Britain.'Dylan laughed. 'Now for the best bit.' He held up