I wish I had the actual memory of you placing your foot in the doorway to ensure Dad looked at your portfolio back when I was ten years old. You were constant through all my teenage years, your desk, my safe place in the busy art studio where I came for my lift home after school. I learnt more about those early days from late night sessions over more than one or two of your small glasses of wine. Your memory better than mine. Loved your artistry in life drawing sessions. I might glance over, towards the end of a sustained pose, to see a growing pile of meaningful sketches beside your donkey, whilst I’d be still tussling with my first. Can I tell you how wonderful you were to Mum? She rarely needed anyone’s help until very late in her life, and when she did, you and Helen were simply fabulous. Afterwards, visits to France, the brocante bargains, the vineyards, lunch by the river, Marianne Faithful, flamenco and the marvellous feeling of being embraced into your family. Now you are part of the hole in the heart where my special people, who have abandoned their bodies, congregate, where I am left to imagine your side of the conversation. Enjoy the peace and laugh at my imaginings.