‘Is it a railway station here?’
She was in bed, so what sort of a question was that? She was hearing the children outside, saying goodbye, in the repetitive way that small children do, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye ….
Shje had been in tears earlier about wanting to go to Newcastle. Dan, who had just been there, explained that it was a long journey,but she was inconsolable, wanting to see her father, who came from there. He died when she was ten.
The French family next door have gone to France for les vacances. The street is emptying out, except for ruddy topless builders piling old kitchens into skips. It goes very quiet after four in the afternoon.
We have visitors. A doctor with his trousers rolled up arrives on a bicycle to check that Anna does not have an infection. And friends call, before they fly south like migratory birds.

But others go away too. Psychotherapists and their patients talk about the summer break as if it only happens to them: we have been waiting three months for the front path to be ramped, so that Anna can get out more easily, but, when I phoned, the manager was on leave…. August is like Christmas, only longer.