The door was unlocked so we let ourselves in. We left it open just in case. Used pots were piled up on the kitchen sink and cheap dirty lino stuck to my feet.
“Are you there Muriel?” Dad said.
A man coughed in the living room.
“It’s just him,” I said. “Good.”
It was my grandmother’s house. I hadn’t been there since I was a kid. Sandy’s dog basket was made up in the kitchen corner. He had been dead for years and wouldn’t be back to lie down.
I was first into the living room. Dad stood behind me just inside the door. It was painted in the same purple and pink paint as before. There hadn’t been enough of either to do all the walls.
The room stank of smoke and dusty old curtains, but there was another smell, like rancid meat that had been left in the shade.
Geoff was slumped in an armchair opposite the living room door. A cigarette hung from his bony fingers. He stared at the corner where the television used to be.
“Alright, Geoff?” I said.
“Bloody hell, to wha…
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