Sometimes we survive by forgetting.
“Where on earth is he?” I muttered to myself, pacing up and down the house, from the bedroom — where our new-born son was sleeping peacefully in his cot — to the living-room and back again, as if I wanted to wear a path along the tiled corridor. Continue reading
“You can go and see the doctor on Friday, then….”
It was the summer of 1976 and I was on holiday in Britain with our two small children. Sitting in my parents’ living-room, I had clamped the phone against my ear to try to muffle the sound of canned laughter coming from the television in the corner of the room. The children were sitting on the carpet in front of it, eating bowls of cornflakes, entranced by the novelty of daytime programming. Shouting to make myself heard over the noise of the television and the static on the line, I asked T to go and pick up a prescription the following Friday at our doctor’s surgery in Bethioua. Continue reading