Pearls slipping off a necklace ...

This morning we drove to Havant - 

Every Sunday we visit my parents - I walk with them to All Saints Church - Anne makes sure the crinkle cut chips aren't burnt - 

When she met me today, my mum asked are you Chris? 

For a few moments she didn't know me - then she smiled and held my hands - 

Later, we sat together on the settee - 

Do you remember when you were small? she asked - 

Yes I said - 

I remembered the rowan tree in the garden, the smell of my dad's dhobying in his naval grip, The Virginian on the Ferguson Ultra, reading Slippery Sam whilst in a chair bed - 

My mum's memories, I thought, were like pearls slipping off a necklace -

They rolled off her fingers, lost in the dark - 

16.00

Sunday September 20 2015 

Staunton Road 

Havant