The window seat
1Gran's flat had one good chair, and it faced the window. From it you could see the bus stop, the launderette and, if you leaned, the corner of the park where Gran had once taught Mum to ride a bicycle.
2When Gran moved in with us, the chair came too. Dad measured the living room three times, looking for a space it would fit. In the end it went in the corner by the radiator, facing a bookcase.
3Gran said it was perfect. She sat in it every afternoon with her crossword, and every afternoon, around four, she stopped filling in answers and looked at the bookcase as if it were a window.
4On Saturday I moved three shelves of books into my bedroom. I found an old photograph of the bus stop in the drawer of Gran's bureau and propped it on the empty middle shelf, at exactly the height of her eyes.