He had his own unique scent, filling Carrie’s head with peace; sepia film reels and withered violets, her father’s old jumper and peppermints masking forbidden Camel cigarettes, warm mahogany and washed linoleum, unused cardboard and Bakelite appliances. The smell of memories, not all of them her own. She sifted through the odours, sorting them one by one into drawers, wondering where to file them all.
