Lonely planets

We love this old house and can’t imagine living anywhere else. But needs must and we’ve finally bitten the bullet — the house is on the market from today. Twenty years we’ve been here. For 15 of these it was a home for nine elderly residents run by my parents. Now everyone’s dust except me and my mother  — and she reckons she’s not far off it. We’re two lonely planets orbiting in a house on a cliff with seven bedrooms and 11 lavatories to choose from.

It’s a long walk just to answer the phone. If it’s someone for my mother, the caller might hear the receiver being slammed down on the telephone table, receding footsteps, irritable shouting, doors banging — then prolonged silence. Then fainter, more distant shouting, more doors slamming, then an even longer silence, during which the caller is probably saying, ‘Hallo? Hallo?’ Then the sound of returning, defeated footsteps and a panting, irritable voice saying, ‘She’s not in.’