The Lost Sister by Kathleen McGurl (i can read book club .TXT) 📕

it. ‘You see, if you keep every last little memento, you’ll never get rid of enough stuff to allow you to downsize. This is just an old postcard, Mum. It’s of no value and says nothing of importance. It needs to go in the “bin” pile.’ She dropped it into a wastepaper basket.

Harriet’s instinct was to retrieve it immediately. Maybe she would throw it out but she’d like to read it one more time first. But she stopped herself. She’d end up having a row with Sally if she picked it out of the bin now. She could always go through everything Sally threw out later on, and hide away anything she really wanted to keep. It seemed weak though – this was her home, these were her belongings, her memories – why could she not stand up to Sally and say, no, I want to keep this? Deep down she knew Sally was right. She needed to downsize, she needed to thin down her possessions, she needed to sort everything out. But – one postcard? How much space did that take up?

Making a decision, she got up and picked the postcard out of the bin. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t keep this, love, but it doesn’t take up much room. I’m going to find a box and put the things I can’t bear to throw out for sentimental reasons in it. Just one box, for things like this.’

‘It’ll just clutter up your new place, though,’ Sally said, sounding a little petulant.

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to tuck it away somewhere, on top of a wardrobe or under a bed, or in an attic,’ Harriet said decisively. She was going to win this battle.

But then, to her dismay, she realised Sally was sobbing. Head in hands, tears running down her cheek, shoulders heaving. Harriet sat beside her and wrapped her arms around her. ‘Oh, love, what’s wrong?’

‘Sorry Mum, it’s just … so hard. Trying to help you, worrying about Jerome, worrying about you. Bloody Davina. And Charlie had a go at me this morning, too.’

‘Whatever for?’

Sally shrugged. ‘Oh, nothing really. I threw out half a pot of coffee, and it turned out he’d wanted more. He snapped at me. I know it’s because he’s under so much strain too, but honestly, he could be a little more forgiving. It’s so bloody hard, Mum.’

‘Of course it is – what’s happening with Jerome is terrible, but why are you worrying about me? There’s no need to. And Davina – well, she’s made her own decisions. Best to put her out of your mind – there’s nothing you can do.’

‘I can’t help it, Mum. It just bugs me so much that she’s not here to help. If she was here, she could be helping you to downsize while I concentrate on Jerome.’

‘Love, you don’t need to do so much for me if it’s making you too stressed,’ Harriet said, anguished to think she was adding to her daughter’s problems.

‘I do, though. It’s my duty to.’ Sally pulled a tissue from a box on a side table, dabbed at her eyes and gave herself a little shake. She smiled at Harriet. ‘Sorry for that little meltdown. I’m OK, and I do want to help. I’d feel so guilty if I didn’t do what’s best for you, as well as what’s best for Jerome. Just feel a bit stretched at times, is all.’

‘Shall we leave it for today, though? We could go for a walk instead. The fresh air would do you good.’

Sally shook her head. ‘No, I’ll feel better if we achieve something today. If we move things along a little. So, let me make us some more coffee and we can get on.’ She went out to the kitchen, and Harriet heard the sounds of the coffee machine being switched on. She left her daughter to it, recognising that Sally needed a little time alone. Looking around the sitting room, she realised her mistake. These items, these memories of John – she needed to sort through this stuff herself, alone. Only she could decide what she wanted to keep. Sally was helpful when sorting out the less sentimental items. She quickly boxed up everything again, and pushed the boxes behind a sofa, to deal with later, then she followed Sally to the kitchen.

‘I’ve been thinking, let’s leave that old stuff for now. I’ll get on with it this evening. Maybe you could help me with the books? I must have hundreds, and there’s no guarantee I’ll have space in a new place for the six bookcases I currently have.’

‘Six?’ Sally widened her eyes.

‘Four in the dining room and two upstairs in Davina’s old room,’ Harriet replied. ‘So if you don’t mind, can we start with the dining room? I thought I could get rid of any I know I won’t read again and wouldn’t want to lend to anyone. I imagine the charity shops will take them.’

‘Yes, or I know of a charity library that will take them too,’ Sally said, looking much brighter, Harriet thought, now that she had a purpose. She picked up the coffee Sally had made her, and led the way to the dining room, where four full height bookcases groaned with hundreds of books crammed into every available space. It was going to be a big job.

Harriet took the plunge a week later: with the boxes of books donated to a charity library and the boxes of memories of John sorted, thinned down and stored back in the attic for now, she contacted estate agents and had the house valued. It was worth more than she’d thought, and after consulting Sally, who she knew would want to be involved, she decided on a local agency and instructed them to put the house on the market. An estate agent called round to take measurements and photos, and Harriet had to admit the house looked good, when she browsed the online listing later.

‘I need to do this, John,’ she said