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The night after they returned from Copenhagen Lewin dreamed again of that summer almost fifty years before, when he got his first proper bicycle. A red Crescent Valiant. And his dad had taken almost the whole summer off to teach him to ride it.

The hardest bit was always when they were almost home again. Worst of all was the gravel path leading to the house. The last twenty metres between the white garden gate and the red wooden porch.

‘I’m letting go,’ Daddy calls, and Jan squeezes the handlebars and pedals and pedals and slides over on the loose gravel. And this time he slid over badly, scraping his elbows and knees, and the whole idea of ever learning to ride a bike suddenly seems pointless.

‘Up you get, Jan,’ Daddy says, picking him up and ruffling his hair. ‘Let’s go and have some hot chocolate and a cheese sandwich, and find some plasters.’

And everything was back to normal again.

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