• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 12
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The old armchair

It was not in a garret with high windows and light streaming in. It was in your back room, a small dining area leading from the uninspired kitchen. It was where you spent hours together, on Friday and Saturday evenings after tea, through your last year at school, you sitting on his lap, arms around each other. Your parents, watching TV in the front room, were not too happy that you were alone for so long, often in the dark, though patently unable to get up to anything untoward in such a public place. You talked for hours, and kissed and cuddled, and there you got to know each other, at the start of a relationship that lasted 33 years, until his sudden death at the age of 50.