This story is part of the September 3 edition of Good Weekend.See all 16 stories.
Hours after her daughter departed, Patricia channelled her lingering agitation into cleaning.
Credit: Jim Pavlidis
Of course she could see Nora’s point of view; she’d made it so often how could she not?
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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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