On the Saturday, we drove by Silver Birches, because Auntie Sarah likes circuitous routes. It's a lot smaller and less beautiful than I remember it, but I could still see the path on the left hand side of the house that I would run through, and fling myself on the grass, and say 'I'm here at last!' and behind that the pear tree with the swing, and Grandad's shed, and the big field for flying kites.
The next day we drove past again, not stopping this time, although we did slow down. 'There's someone visiting,' Grandma remarked, and I turned my head and saw a grey car parked outside, and a woman lifting her son out and setting him down. I could almost hear the crunch of that gravel that used to be one of the 'England sounds' I would conjure in my head when Singapore was getting too stifling. My throat felt tight, and I realized the time of pink roses and Dee Dee's wheelbarrow rides and bumping down the stairs was over. A new child will be bumping down those stairs and flying kites in that field now.
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