I had rented a Ford Fiesta. A small car but this one had perhaps the best engine Ford made that year. It was the year my mother died.
Cynthia Quinton – my mother – loved cars. She didn’t understand much about the engineering of cars, but she had a rare understanding of gear changing and clutch control. She drove fast.
I parked the Ford Fiesta in the hospital car park and took the ticket. I was concerned it might be difficult to pay for – what with change and so on.
Mum was dying. I knew that. And I…
I stood next to her and hugged her. I told her about the car. She liked that. I saw her in extremis, and I felt I was invading.
The last time I kissed her, I knew. I left the hospital alone and devastated.
No one shared my pain and to this day I am in agony.