Not that he ever scared me with it, but my son was - well, I can only call it 'psychic' when he was a child. (He may still be, but if so he has dialled the sound down, which I am sure makes life easier.)

The one that most nearly frightened me (it certainly struck me hard in the heart) was when he was three. We were shopping for clothes for him - trousers specifically. He had had one of his growth spurts and his most recent pair of trousers were practically mid-shin. He was messing around in the clothes racks and I was telling him off. All of a sudden he burst out crying, but not a 'stop nagging me' cry, an actual sobbing 'something is wrong' cry. I thought maybe a coat hanger had caught him in his eye. He came out all white and wide-eyed, with bright pink patches on his cheek and tears on his face. I crouched down to see what had happened. He just looked at me and said 'the old lady says bye bye.’ I felt a kiss on my forehead, not from him. There was nobody near us, just him crying and me with my hands resting on his arms to examine him for injury. I had no idea who kissed me.

Well, there was no point shopping after that, he was too miserable and I was too confused. We went home (I had to carry and cuddle him most of the way.) When we walked in the door the answer machine was flashing. My Dad had left us a message.

My Granny had just died.