“In my day, we didn’t just throw stuff out,” I said, “we kept it for a rainy day; we always found a use for things in the end. Make do and mend, we called it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. There was a war on; you didn’t have money to waste… but like I said, you’re living in the past.” He dodged as I threw a cushion at him and then gave one last look at the room before following me into the kitchen for a cup of tea. “We’ll tackle that next weekend, if you like.”
I knew he was right, of course. There wasn’t going to be room in the little annex for the contents of a fifty-year marriage. And maybe keeping all the children’s old clothes, as well as our own, was a bit excessive. But I wanted to go through it on my own first, before our past – mine and Ted’s – was given away to the charity shop or a jumble sale. [to be continued]
