and she felt her lungs inflate at the wonder of being there, witnessing it all as if for the first time.
Maybe in one of those houses was another slider, someone on their third or seventeenth or final version of themselves.
She would look out for them. She looked at number 31.
Through his window Mr Banerjee’s face slowly lit up as he saw Nora safe and sound.
He smiled and mouthed a ‘thank you’, as if simply her act of living was something he should be grateful for.
Tomorrow, she would find some money and go to the garden centre and buy him a plant for his flowerbed. Foxgloves, maybe.
She was sure he liked foxgloves. “No,” she called back, blowing him a friendly kiss.
Thank you, Mr Banerjee! Thank you for everything!” And he smiled broader,
and his eyes were full of kindness and concern, and Nora remembered what it was to care and be cared for.
She followed her brother inside her flat to start tidying up, catching a glimpse of the clusters
of irises in Mr Banerjee’s garden as she went. Flowers she hadn’t appreciated before,
but which now mesmerised her with the most exquisite purple she had ever seen.
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