I identified the stuff I wanted them to take and dashed round to the back garden again. I could’ve happily taken the white bird house, held up by a solid wooden pole. It could’ve leant against the railing of my balcony but I didn’t have the heart; Ma had already donated it to the birds.
Before long one of the removal men came out. He was a big, weathered man, with heavy, blunt hands and tattoos of something Gothic and dark running up both arms. He came and stood beside me.
‘We’ve put everything in. Is there anything else you want us to take?’