father/daughter
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The flesh drained back on to the pillow so his nose poked up surprising, sharp, a single flower placed beside his head, below his green-pyjama’d shoulders – fragile, like a child laid lovingly to sleep. There were signs his nose had bled – otherwise he looked tidy and so still. His eyes were closed, his mouth fixed
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I’ve done his shirts. Now I’m on the hankies. I learnt on these. My mother thought I couldn’t harm the plain white squares. He had plenty anyway. First you flatten out and heat away the creases, then fold in half, do both sides, fold again, ending with a steaming, neatly cornered wedge. Clean hankies conjure
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I fell on to the pebbles from his shoulders: ‘Are you all right?’ my first anxious words – adults had so far to fall. He told my mother how absurd I was to worry about him. I never thought how scared he must have been for me. I couldn’t get my key to turn and kept
Virginia Rounding: Author, editor, proofreader, indexer 