We parked at the bottom of the cul-de-sac and looked at our childhood home.
“You were born in that room.” I said pointing to a curtained bedroom.
Anne was humouring my reminiscences, my insistence on visiting, not her choice.
Everything was different now, a new door, the saplings were trees, a conservatory added.
I recalled each child’s name for each house that we’d played street games with. Anne smiled, then asked to go.
After she died, I returned to the same spot, but I felt like a stranger in my old backyard. I drove off and I have never returned.
“You were born in that room.” I said pointing to a curtained bedroom.
Anne was humouring my reminiscences, my insistence on visiting, not her choice.
Everything was different now, a new door, the saplings were trees, a conservatory added.
I recalled each child’s name for each house that we’d played street games with. Anne smiled, then asked to go.
After she died, I returned to the same spot, but I felt like a stranger in my old backyard. I drove off and I have never returned.
