Harry felt quite uplifted by his idea of writing and set about fishing more packages out of the box. A pile of old bills and receipts.

“Why did I keep these?” He wondered, and glanced through quickly before jettisoning the heap into the ‘unwanted’ receptacle. “That’s better,” he thought, pleased that he’d finally found something he was happy to let go of, and aware that he’d looked at them, albeit briefly, before doing so, with the vague thought that there might have been something to contribute to the memoirs. [Read more...]

The first box he opened revealed a great many small packages, envelopes of various sizes bound with rubber bands which gave up the ghost as soon as touched. The paper of the envelopes was yellowed and sere. Harry opened the first one that came to hand. “Oh my sainted godfather!” he said aloud. “Annie Clark!” A rather brown photograph of a buxom young woman sitting on a hay bale. Harry sat on the edge of the bed staring at the old, what had once been black and white, snapshot. [Read more...]

Harry had broached the subject of Edgar and the spare room to his sister and Betsy had pursed her lips for a couple of moments before she replied. “He’s not a smoker is he? I won’t have a smoker.”

“No, he doesn’t smoke, and neither does he get drunk and I’m sure he’ll abide by the rules if you make them clear.” [Read more...]