The wardrobe and the dressing table drawers were full of old, old lady clothes. Brim full. The kitchen cupboards and drawers the same, of various and countless products and utensils. The carpet was soiled across its entire surface, the stair’s chair lift, clearly not used over recent years, in a similar state of neglect, whilst the pièce de résistance must have been the copper boiler tank, covered in what seemed to be a coat of cement. No doubt a well-intended amateur attempt at insulation. But that wasn’t the final indicator in what I surmise had happened here. Down beside one of the armchairs stood a half full water bottle. Totally undisturbed. Like a final witness to the room’s events and what must have happened here a month or two ago.
Leaving her clothes behind, no longer needed if the destination was to be a care home, the body of the previous occupant would have been taken to wherever old lady bodies are taken to at life’s end. And no-one to take her old, old lady clothes and belongings away from the property before potential buyers like myself pass nosily through.
All text copyright ian gordon craig.
