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‘They’ll do their bit, I’m sure.’
‘Of course. Now what do you want me to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well then, why don’t I clear out your mum’s stuff. I expect she’d have wanted her clothes to go to the charity shop?’
‘I don’t know.’ Owen repeated.
‘Are you going to sort out your clothes and things?’
‘Yes.’ Owen started up the stairs. ‘Everything I want is in my bedroom.’
Sally followed, and on the landing, Owen tripped on the tow rope. Unweighted now, it writhed like a snake. Sally shuddered.
Owen asked, ‘Should I move it, do you think?’
‘No.’ She gripped his arm. ‘You shouldn’t have to touch that.’
‘There is no one else to do it.’
‘Leave it to the landlord, make him earn his money.’
‘This is my room,’ Owen opened a door. ‘Mum’s room is down the end of the corridor.’
Just then, George and Millie appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘No tea, I’m afraid,’ George said. ‘Nothing in the fridge, not even milk.’
‘And only some mouldy bread and a couple of tins of soup in the cupboard,’ Millie added. ‘We put it in the rubbish bin outside.’
‘Do you want us to go to the shop and get some milk and tea, Mum?’ George offered.
‘No, Georgie. You two help me sort out Mrs Kingsley’s things. Can you bring up some bin bags?’
‘And boxes,’ Owen added, ‘for my books.’
‘Right you are. Come on Millie.’ George led the way back down the stair.
‘Almost like Siamese twins,’ Sally said and, smiling encouragingly at Owen, she added, ‘Never you mind, lovie. Your turn will come one day.’
Owen frowned and said, ‘I sincerely hope not.’
