Door
I think I figured it out. Grief-Magdalene-Prayer, and yesterday I went in search of the Queensbury house. I remembered the road, its roof was in sight of our garden, they were that close, and the turn onto their track a right hand before the crocodiles. I’d been meaning to look for ages. Andy drove, I leaned forward looking for the door. There’s a photograph of us all, me and my siblings and them - Alice, Emma, the whole crowd in our infant summer bare-foot sand and crinkled eyes to the sun shapes, brown bodies and straw hair. I remember the door and how it led to the courtyard in which long…
The skinny
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