Years ago, when they lived near Wanstead, there was a huge overgrown garden that framed the backyard of the ground floor flat. A lone apple tree stood at the corner, burnished in ripening fruit over the summer. They fell steadily and she watched the daily spoils. After sometime, it became mucky and gross.
There was a big window that framed the garden, looking out to the East. Every morning, a warm sun glowed over them, brimming with joy.