‘That old sofa? You want to keep it?’
My son shook his head, bemused. ‘It’s worn through. Look.’ He strode across the room, leaned to brush the worn upholstery.
I could see his point, now he mentioned it. The thinnest patch was to the left, near the rounded arm, which also showed whitish patches I hadn’t really noticed, covered as the arm normally was with cushions. Old cushions.
‘Look at those tatty cushions.’ My critical boy carried on. He plucked at a frayed corner. ‘Like something the dog chewed.’
‘Well.’ I smiled. The dog did chew the cushion. I always meant to repair that corner but … I shrugged. It would have been a five-minute job, but somehow I never quite got around to it. ‘I can mend that,’ I said, as if the thought had just now occurred to me.
He huffed. ‘Never mind. It should all go.’
And here we were at the beginning again. This downsizing thing simply wasn’t going to work. I took another tack.
‘That’s the sofa I nursed you on in the middle of winter nights,’ I said. ‘Wrapped in that blanket.’ I stroked the soft, faded cashmere, subtly hiding with my hand more evidence of dog chewing. ‘Doesn’t that mean something?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Only confirms how ancient the thing is. Why can’t you let it go?’
I didn’t answer, instead making another point. ‘It’s also the sofa which you and your sister pulled apart to make cubby houses. You threw the blanket over the top, and I was the servant who passed biscuits and juice through to keep you both from starving before dinner.’
He frowned, which I took as a more promising sign than rolling eyes. ‘Yeah, I remember.’ A soft edge had crept into his voice.
I pushed harder, no remorse. ‘Where you’d lie when you were sick and couldn’t go to school, and watch tele.’ I leaned into my advantage. ‘And where we curled up, the three of us, to watch Strictly all those years.’
His eyes softened to match his voice. ‘Yeah.’ He wriggled his shoulders. Then he recovered. ‘Sentimental value or not,’ he said, ‘there won’t be room for it in the new flat anyway, will there?’
Now it was my turn to shake my head. I sighed for good measure. ‘You’re right. No room for the sofa, or the bookcases or…’ I offered a pensive smile. ‘No room for our old life at all.’
The silence hung, and then, at last…
‘Do you think this downsizing is really a good idea after all, Mum?’
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My sentiments exactly. Which is why I don’t want to leave the large two-storey house our kids grew up in from the ages of nine and five and which our grandchildren have so much fun in when they visit LOL