The forever home

Hours after her daughter departed, Patricia channelled her lingering agitation into cleaning.

Of course she could see Nora’s point of view; she’d made it so often how could she not?

Yes, it was a big house for one person, for “someone her age”, and the stairs were only getting steeper – but it was her home. A refuge she and Barry had built forever ago, a repository of stories, memories, and after-images – like Barry, long gone, but there, still, in his chair.

Scaling a ladder to reach a cobweb, Patricia was adamant: they could carry her out in a box.

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