It’s been two years this week since my neighbour died. I was reminded of him as I wandered in the garden and came across his “surprises”. He found discarded little gnomes which he placed in our garden and our task was to find them. We did share an enormous history over nearly 12 years and however challenging a personality, he was never short of a few crab stories and some laughs. His last few months were a mix of disbelief and sadness as his cancer spread. The house and its upkeep was the last thing on his mind and the dust and dirt piled up as bits of wood were saved for that day when they would be useful, as were the margarine pots, the bits of iron, discarded machines, crab pots, guillotines ( that is one thing I coveted) You name it, this house had it … somewhere.

This hoarder’s haven has now become a waiting room for heaven through the tireless efforts of his sister who brought in skip after skip to clear the treasures. Her efforts were herculean, they had to be, and she worked every single day with determination but also such good humour whether she was dealing with a stack of wood or the details for cremations. She was making room for a mother and stepfather and a carer of sorts. Except that the carer himself now has metastasized cancer and is on end care, while the mother and step father soldier on never complaining, never complacent, always with a smile and an aussie wit about them.

What is keeping them all going ? My inherited cat which would appear to have more lives then the three of them put together. He inches up the years and looks awful, open sore on one side, dribbling, matted fur, meowing loudly, sunning himself and of course responding to the great name of Boney. He plays one off against the other for endless attention. There’s a survival tactic if ever I saw one.

The stepfather whose eyes still sparkle and shine listens to the radio while brushing his beard. I have introduced him to Reading Radio. He is a handsome man and has an illustrious past. He sits on a plastic chair at the garage entrance, radio on, watching the happenings in our little street. Believe me there is not much action. The mother loves TV and so their joint and yet separate lives unfold on different floors in this home which sadly is not theirs. In sorting out his affairs before he died, my neighbour chose a charity and not his family. It is an open wound, it would be, but they accept the interim, the legal loophole which I suspect they are in, to even out the hurt, to recalibrate some of what is perhaps owed to them even if their son did not choose to make the remainder of their lives easier for them.

The sister left for a well earned short holiday with the words – “now none of you die please while I am gone”. They all listened.