The Memory Box

by Kathryn Hughes

Ancient I may be, but I still have all my marbles. I’m not one of those unreliable narrators. You can trust me.

‘I just miss him so much. I don’t know how I’ve survived a year without him.’

She didn’t care what they watched. She could happily just stare at him all evening.

She hooked her arm through his. ‘I hate being so pathetic, Lorcan. It’s not me. I’m a strong lass.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘In here, I’m indestructible, I can do anything, but this . . .’ She indicated her cane. ‘It marks me out as some kind of invalid, and I hate that. I hate it.’

It’s as though I’m too old to have an opinion on anything and what I think doesn’t matter as I’ll be dead soon anyway.

Candice insists I shouldn’t be taking any chances at my age. I don’t know. If you can’t take chances at my age, when can you?

‘You look radiant, happy. No, more than that. You look . . . what is the word . . . without cares. There is no tension in your face. It is a look that cannot be achieved with any amount of make-up. It is pure joy.’