Chill-Out Room

Now that the flat is all dressed up, trying to seduce potential buyers, it doesn't feel like home. More like somewhere belonging to a stranger who has let me stay for a few days, or a self-catering holiday apartment.

Only my son's room is vaguely normal. Vaguely, because we keep it supernaturally tidy. And on the night's he's at his mum's, I sometimes come in here and read, even though my legs dangle over the end of the bed. It's a peaceful place.