Neither of them had particularly strident voices, and I listened to the carriage clock on the mantelpiece tick loudly.
It was warm, just on the right side of oppressively hot.
One of the cats, lying on its side in front of the fire, stretched out to its full length with a shudder, and then went back to sleep.
There was a photograph next to the clock, the colors muted with age.
A man, obviously Raymond’s father, grinned broadly at the camera, holding up a champagne flute in a toast.
“That’s Raymond’s dad,” his mother said, noticing. She smiled.
“That was taken the day Raymond got his exam results.” She looked at him with obvious pride.
“Our Raymond was the first one in the family to go to university,” she said.
“His dad was pleased as punch. I only wish he could have been there for your graduation.
What a day that was, eh, Raymond son?” Raymond smiled, nodded.
He had a heart attack not long after I started uni,he explained to me.
Never got to enjoy his retirement,his mother said.It often happens that way.
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