***She’ll be thinking about it this week. I want her to be able to look at it and know it wasn’t that.***
He wrote that on the twelfth of March, 2025.
The day after I sat at a kitchen table and looked up his house.
He did not know. He could not possibly have known; he was in a bed on Dunmow ward and I did it at eleven at night at home.
He simply knew that a woman of seventy-two who is asked that question will go and look.
Because anybody would. He assumed it, and he was right, and he arranged his own estate around it so that I would never have to carry it.
And I carried it anyway, for a year, because he died before I could tell him and because by the time I read that note I could not.
And the two I answered, in 1970 and 1971, which went on a fire in a yard in about 1976.
