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464 pages, Hardcover
First published January 11, 2018
It’s called sheltered accommodation, but I’d never quite been able to work out what it was we were being sheltered from. The world was still out there. It crept in through newspapers and the television. It slide between the cracks of other people’s conversation and sang out from their mobile telephones. We were the ones hidden away, collected up and ushered out of sight, and I often wondered if it was actually the world being sheltered from us
It didn’t take them long to undo my life, I had spent eight year building it, but within weeks, they made it small enough to fit into a manila envelope and take long to meetings …. They hurried it away from me when I least expected, when I thought I could coat myself in old age and be left to it
We explored pockets of the past. Favorite stories were retold, to make sure they hadn’t been forgotten. Scenes were sandpapered down to make them easier to hold … There were people missing from our conversations, and others were coloured in and underlined
I looked across the lounge, and into the past. It was more useful than the present. There were times when the present felt so unimportant, so unnecessary. Just somewhere I had to dip into from time to time, out of politeness.
Another problem with Cherry Tree is there are no cherry trees. I've had this out with Miss Bissell on more than one occasion, but she won't be told. 'One of them must be,' is all she can come up with, but none of them is.It's the kind of name you give to these places though. Woodlands, Oak Court, Pine Lodge. They're often named after trees for some reason. It's the same with mental health units. Forests full of forgotten people, waiting to be found again...
It's like the day room. It's isn't a day room, its an All The Bloody Time Room. Everybody will be in there now and it isn't daytime.
'You need to think about things for longer before you give up, Florence.
I didn't answer, and we were stuck in a wordless argument for a while.
'Do you remember taking sandwiches on holiday, when we were children? she said eventually. 'Do you remember going to Whitby?'
I said I remembered but I wasn't sure.She could tell straight away, because nothing much gets past Elsie.
'Think, Florence,' she said. 'Think.'
I tried. Sometimes, you feel a memory before you see it. Even though your eyes can't quite find it, you can smell it and taste it, and hear it shouting to you from the back of your mind.
'Ham and tomato' I said. 'With boiled eggs!'