Dear X,

ten years, three months and

seven days ago,

I walked through Ascot

Hospital. Mum held

my hand in hers.

I remember being

cold, in November.

the rooms smelt funny.

as we passed each bed

I peeped around the

corners and under

the scratching blankets.

at the end of the

hall your wax smile

was waiting. hampers,

baskets, flowers and

balloons. they were bright;

blue with pink swirls, or

orange with green stripes.

they twinkled. and you

pushed your 'falsies' out

over your bottom

lip. I tried

to climb onto the

bed, but I tripped and

pulled on the mellow

yellow tube, running

to the coat-hanger

for plastic bags. it

straightened tight like the

string on the paper

cup telephone we made

once. Mum yelped and took

me from the room. Dad

was in the hall with

Susan, Grant, Lisa.

everyone was

quiet.