Between two storeys

She still remembered which ones creaked. As a child, she would wake early and creep downstairs to play with the dogs or cajole Pop into giving her sweets. She thought of him. Hands stained with oil, rising at 5am to spend time in the garage. “This is a car hospital,” he explained one morning. She picked flowers from the garden, “For the sick cars.” Pop wheezed and gave her a fistful of sweets. The stairs groaned, interrupting her reverie. The agent clip-clopped into the room, “It cleaned up quite nicely. I don’t think there’ll be any problems making the reserve.”

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