My father tells me to bring a notepad and pen with me next time I come down. “There are a lot of things we need to sort out,” he says. At his house, I sit in the armchair opposite him. I open my notepad and click my pen. My father lights a cigarette. Every so …
The old lady has pale blue eyes, wavy white hair and a benign smile. She sits in a chintz-covered armchair, a blue leather handbag balanced on her lap. “Do you have any children?” she asks. I tell her I have a daughter who is 26. The old lady nods. “I never had any myself,” she …
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