Maybe, I thought, I could finish everything at Mother’s quite quickly, reclaim Das Boot from the spiders, spend Saturday night afloat and chill a little on Sunday morning. Fat chance.
Nephew had told me Mother’s flat was almost clear. Either he deliberately lied, or he wanted to prevent me having a nervous breakdown in the middle of last week.
I had it, almost, on Friday evening instead. Apart from cherry-picking the contents of kitchen cupboards, meaning it was a bloody good thing I’d brought my coffee filter and fresh supplies, and that my heart hadn’t been set on the Sabatier knife or the pretty white jug, Nephews One and Two had left the kitchen intact.
The sitting room was strewn with boxes, files and God knows what. Continue reading