Whenever we arrived, Granddad was always down in the shed. Nana would kiss us, wet and sloppily, brushing our cheeks with the prickly hairs on her face, and say: “Gus is down in the shed.”
Nana’s house was a house of rooms, and every room was different. The hallway had mirrors, umbrella stands and magazine racks. When you walked down the long strip carpet, you felt the front door close behind you.
The lounge room was always dark, with the curtains drawn. There was a rich velvet smell of the floral lounge mixed with the musty old photographs on the bureau. The big wooden television set shone with hand polishing and, on the privileged occasions we were allowed to watch it, hissed with snow and ghostly figures. ...Read More