Monday 4 July 2022 Doreen Saunders Age: 89
It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visitor. She was all white hair like a bowl of cotton wool balls, her skin distressed leather, and a mouth like a dried-up creek. I introduced myself like I always do. “I’m Nell, pleased to meet you.” Her memories were easy to conjure, nostalgia hanging in the air like a fine mist. I could see her as a young girl helping Elsa Warren rescue an injured bird that had flown into the living room window or cutting toffee out of Bethany Wilson’s plaits. Doreen would’ve been the first person to call upon when one was in trouble.
Her sense of selflessness was apparent, and I knew she would want to hear about my past, a place I didn’t want
