The House We Grew Up In

She’d let herself die. Was that the same as killing yourself? He didn’t know.

I realised that a spirit is just another word for a memory, isn’t it?

I know as well as you do that only the individual has the key to change themselves. It’s buried deep inside each and every one of us and although someone else can help us to find the key, we’re the only ones who can use it.

The hardest thing to accept is that some things happen for absolutely no reason at all.’

The human memory is such a cruel, frustrating thing, the way it just discards things without asking permission, precious things. At least here, in my house, I have control over my memories.

Every time you switched on the TV or opened a newspaper, someone was having an affair with a married man.

He slept in his own bed, woke up with his own wife. He’d pick up a taxi, drop Beth off at the station for the last train, take it on home. A five-hour round trip for two hours of him.

Bill was a family man. There were no overnights, no waking up together

Lorelei filled her head with the things closest to her, the here and now, not the over there and then.

It’s like she’s scared that if she lets go of things, she’ll never think of them again. And that if she never thinks of them again then they were just kind of worthless.’