the front garden was lush with foliage. It looked friendly.
Sheltering from the wind in a small porch, grey clouds scudding across the sky, we knocked on the door, and were invited in by the owner, a middle-aged man wearing the England football strip.
‘Mrs Stevens!’ he said. ‘Come to have another look at your new home? Did that sorry excuse for an estate agent tell you I accepted your offer?’
‘Oh,’ Mum said, her mouth pursed. ‘No, he didn’t. I’ll give him a call this afternoon.’ She exchanged a glance with Richard.
‘Right you are, love,’ said the man. ‘It’s chain-free, so I’m ready to move just as soon as. Now, I’m in the middle of something. Do you mind taking a look around by yourselves?’ We shook our heads and he disappeared back into the house.
I looked around. We were standing in a tidy little entrance hall with pillar-box red walls and carpeted in a green sobright I jokingly slid my sunglasses back over my eyes once the owner had disappeared
‘I’m trying to look past the décor,’ I whispered, pretending to peer through my sunglasses.
‘What’s wrong with the décor?’ she asked. ‘I quite like it.’
The house was U-shaped, built as if its arms were hugging a little garden that could be seen from almost every room. There was a sense of light and space, which I liked at once. Richard and I followed Mum around and she presented each room to us with a flourish, clearly enjoying seeing the property again now she knew her offer had been accepted. I could see from the way her eyes narrowed that she was trying to picture her things in each room. The study was very small. I couldn’t imagine how Dad would have managed to work in it.
‘I’ll need to get some new furniture,’ said Mum. ‘Most of mine is too big. But wait till you see the bedroom. The bedroom’s gorgeous.’
She led us through the long, narrow living room nodding apologies to the owner, who was watching television, opened a set of French doors and stepped outside onto a patio that faced the small, neat garden.
‘It’s not very big,’ said Mum. Already I could see her saying the same thing to her first guests as she showed them outside.
‘But isn’t that the point?’ I asked. ‘Wasn’t the old one too big for you to manage? Especially now you’re on your own.’
‘Not that your father—God rest his soul—was ever thatmuch of a help in the garden,’ she said. ‘He was always bloody away.’
The master bedroom was a beautiful space. With French doors to the garden as well as a glass wall through to an
en suite
with windows facing the end of the plot, it was bright and airy. Richard nodded to himself. ‘Very nice,’ he said.
‘Ta-da!’ said Mum, doing a twirl as if she owned the house already. ‘I love this room. There’s room to swing a cat—and I won’t need to do a thing to it.’
I frowned. ‘Did Dad see it?’
‘Yep.’
What, I wondered, had he made of the pink carpet, flowery wallpaper and chipboard fitted wardrobe?
‘So. He accepted the offer despite what the estate agent said,’ said Mum, as we walked home after we’d said goodbye to Richard. The wind whipped our hair around our faces. Mum did a silent cheer, clearly pleased with herself. ‘What did you think? Do you like it? Can you see yourself visiting your old ma there?’
‘I liked it,’ I said. ‘Yeah. Nice choice. But you really will have to get rid of a lot of furniture before you move.’
‘I know. I’ll have to get a smaller dining table and maybe just the one sofa instead of the two three-seaters. But you’re getting through the stuff in the attic, aren’t you? I don’t want to be taking all that stuff with me.’
I nodded.
‘I don’t think that house even has an attic. Nowhere tokeep my secrets!’ Her laugh took flight on the wind. We walked in silence for a bit. Then: ‘Have you found …’ she hesitated a fraction ‘… your brother’s things yet?’
Nothing of Graham’s had been
Sheltering from the wind in a small porch, grey clouds scudding across the sky, we knocked on the door, and were invited in by the owner, a middle-aged man wearing the England football strip.
‘Mrs Stevens!’ he said. ‘Come to have another look at your new home? Did that sorry excuse for an estate agent tell you I accepted your offer?’
‘Oh,’ Mum said, her mouth pursed. ‘No, he didn’t. I’ll give him a call this afternoon.’ She exchanged a glance with Richard.
‘Right you are, love,’ said the man. ‘It’s chain-free, so I’m ready to move just as soon as. Now, I’m in the middle of something. Do you mind taking a look around by yourselves?’ We shook our heads and he disappeared back into the house.
I looked around. We were standing in a tidy little entrance hall with pillar-box red walls and carpeted in a green sobright I jokingly slid my sunglasses back over my eyes once the owner had disappeared
‘I’m trying to look past the décor,’ I whispered, pretending to peer through my sunglasses.
‘What’s wrong with the décor?’ she asked. ‘I quite like it.’
The house was U-shaped, built as if its arms were hugging a little garden that could be seen from almost every room. There was a sense of light and space, which I liked at once. Richard and I followed Mum around and she presented each room to us with a flourish, clearly enjoying seeing the property again now she knew her offer had been accepted. I could see from the way her eyes narrowed that she was trying to picture her things in each room. The study was very small. I couldn’t imagine how Dad would have managed to work in it.
‘I’ll need to get some new furniture,’ said Mum. ‘Most of mine is too big. But wait till you see the bedroom. The bedroom’s gorgeous.’
She led us through the long, narrow living room nodding apologies to the owner, who was watching television, opened a set of French doors and stepped outside onto a patio that faced the small, neat garden.
‘It’s not very big,’ said Mum. Already I could see her saying the same thing to her first guests as she showed them outside.
‘But isn’t that the point?’ I asked. ‘Wasn’t the old one too big for you to manage? Especially now you’re on your own.’
‘Not that your father—God rest his soul—was ever thatmuch of a help in the garden,’ she said. ‘He was always bloody away.’
The master bedroom was a beautiful space. With French doors to the garden as well as a glass wall through to an
en suite
with windows facing the end of the plot, it was bright and airy. Richard nodded to himself. ‘Very nice,’ he said.
‘Ta-da!’ said Mum, doing a twirl as if she owned the house already. ‘I love this room. There’s room to swing a cat—and I won’t need to do a thing to it.’
I frowned. ‘Did Dad see it?’
‘Yep.’
What, I wondered, had he made of the pink carpet, flowery wallpaper and chipboard fitted wardrobe?
‘So. He accepted the offer despite what the estate agent said,’ said Mum, as we walked home after we’d said goodbye to Richard. The wind whipped our hair around our faces. Mum did a silent cheer, clearly pleased with herself. ‘What did you think? Do you like it? Can you see yourself visiting your old ma there?’
‘I liked it,’ I said. ‘Yeah. Nice choice. But you really will have to get rid of a lot of furniture before you move.’
‘I know. I’ll have to get a smaller dining table and maybe just the one sofa instead of the two three-seaters. But you’re getting through the stuff in the attic, aren’t you? I don’t want to be taking all that stuff with me.’
I nodded.
‘I don’t think that house even has an attic. Nowhere tokeep my secrets!’ Her laugh took flight on the wind. We walked in silence for a bit. Then: ‘Have you found …’ she hesitated a fraction ‘… your brother’s things yet?’
Nothing of Graham’s had been
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