Map
Ade McT
built-in map cover art dysfunctional families family female protagonist House house setting IFComp 2015 IFComp Game Inform 7 multiple endings parser puzzleless second person time travel Xyzzy Awards 2015
The house is growing. Or perhaps it's you who is shrinking. And with all this extra space is coming.... time. Time enough, maybe, to make some changes.
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The white door in the hallway is new. You can't remember having seen it before. After the children left home, you had expected the house to be quieter. You hadn't expected it to grow. Now, with Brady gone, Samantha living with her boyfriend one town over, and everything being packed for the move, unexpected doorways and passages are the norm. Just yesterday morning, you had been vacuuming the bedroom and noticed a small archway behind the wardrobe leading to goodness knows where.

Sometimes, on the nights when Derek doesn't come home, you imagine you can hear the creaks and groans of rending wood and stone as the house tortuously shifts itself into new configurations.

When Derek arrived home from work last night, you tried to tell him about it, as you do most nights.

"You should be glad of the extra space, Elaine," he said, "you've always wanted a workroom." Most of the time he just sighs and turns the TV on, only half listening to you.

A Deconstructural Fiction by Ade McT

The week starts like it always does. Slowly. It was an effort to get out of bed this morning. Derek had left before the morning light spilled half-heartedly into the room and from the coolness of the sheets on his bed, you judge he had left early. His coffee cup was still warm, though. You imagine he had taken his coffee out into the garden.

Some mornings, especially in summer when the weight of light on your eyelids wakes you early, you come across him in the garden staring across the expanse of lawn. At these times especially you try not to intrude but occasionally you will watch him through the kitchen window, wondering what he is thinking about.

But today all that's left of Derek's morning routine is a half-empty coffee cup and a few toast crumbs on the sideboard. A week can go past when these remains are all you see of him, and this morning, like every morning, you begin your day by wiping away this evidence that Derek was ever here. Most of the rest of the morning is spent doing those little things that are done on auto-pilot, and, once done, forgotten until they need to be done again.

It's not until you are on the upstairs hallway, dusting the leaves of the rubber plant, that you see the white door you noticed yesterday stands open, light spilling from it into the darkened hall.

typing "help" will get you started with some special commands.)

The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is the spare room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.

The rubber plant you brought home from the garden centre a year after you moved in sits on a small plinth in the corner.
You look at pictures
You don't really enjoy having your picture taken. You haven't for years. If the camera comes out, it's always you who is holding it, or trying to blend into the background blur, looking away.

When you were first married, it was fun, and you still have the black and white passport sized set of linked photographs from the photo-booth in which you and Derek made funny faces at the camera, laughing.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a map
You look at the map
You started drawing the map on the day you noticed the house start to grow. Now, your drawing seems to have taken on a life of it's own. Each morning, it has changed. Sometimes, when you are walking around the house, the map seems to come to life in your hands.

You see that since yesterday, there is a new door on the west wall of the hallway, and a new door east of the Main Bedroom.
About you
You don't often look at yourself. It's difficult to pinpoint the moment when you stopped looking in the mirror, or glancing at your hair in a handy reflection in a shop window. How would someone else sum you up? Elaine Paterson. 40 years old. Dowdy in a neat and unassuming sort of way. Quiet. You wear thick jumpers when it's cold.
You look at the plant
Perhaps it's where you put it, but for some reason, over the years, this plant has grown slowly, the leaves small, the trunk pencil-wide.

You remember the day you brought it home. "It won't grow flowers, you know," had said Derek as soon as he saw you come in the door.

You nodded and smiled. "Yes," you had said, "It says so on the label." You remember having a cold, coughing, the wind outside had made your fingers feel like they belonged to someone else.

"You know," he had said, "Malcolm and Judy were thinking of inviting us to dinner tonight."

"Oh?" you replied, unwilling to commit, a vague feeling of dread creeping over you.

"We should go. Maybe you could try and make an effort this time."

You didn't answer him, but you felt bright spots of red appears on your cheeks. He turned, losing interest in both the plant and you, and walked away. Three steps. You had been left holding the plant, uncertain.

"Where shall we put it," you had said to his back,  your voice small. "It might look nice in the lounge."

"Good Lord, no," he had snapped. "What's the point if it will never flower? Ugly looking thing anyway. Keep it out of the way somewhere."

You had burst into tears right there in the middle of the entrance hall. It was the first time you had ever cried in this house. Maybe that's why you remember it so clearly. So you had stuck it away in the upstairs hall - out of sight.
You look around
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is the spare room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.

The rubber plant you brought home from the garden centre a year after you moved in sits on a small plinth in the corner.
Go south
(first opening the spare room door)

The work bench, so recently unpacked and painstakingly pieced together, sits unused in the corner. The vast expanse of empty floor is intimidating.

Over the years, the function of this room has changed and evolved alongside the family. It used to be a playroom for the children. Then it was an office when Derek worked at home for six months. Then it was a spare bedroom for visitors. But it was used so infrequently that Derek suggested you use it as a workroom "to do all those things you've always wanted to do."

It was a good idea, but now you've cleared the old bed away and put a workbench in here, it still remains almost entirely unused. It's as if, when confronted with all this space and opportunity, your mind went blank, and everything you thought of seemed a waste of time somehow. It's like you're paralysed by indecision.
You examine the bench
The wooden surface of the workbench is entirely empty.
You stand on the bench
You get onto the workdesk.
Down
(first getting off the workdesk)
You can't go that way.
You go north
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed, but the open door allows some light to creep in. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is the spare room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.

The rubber plant you brought home from the garden centre a year after you moved in sits on a small plinth in the corner.
You go east
Away from the faint light from the stairwell, the hall is darker, and the pictures that continue to line the walls are more indistinct. The door in the north wall leads to Samantha's room, opposite it, your and Derek's room, and the hallway stretches to the west. To the east, a doorway leads into the bathroom.
Go north
(first opening Brady's bedroom door)

Brady's room remains in the state it was when he moved out. You've left it untouched in the hope that one day you will hear a knock on the door and it will be Brady there, his tall thin frame slightly stooped, leaning against the doorway, a five day scrag of beard covering his habitual cheeky grin.

The posters on the wall, reminders of winning sports teams and fading rock bands, are further apart than yesterday, as though spaced out and shifted by some unseen hand, showing acres of cream wallpaper. The bed, stripped of sheets, is only a textured mattress, the desk, piled with hockey trophies from his schooldays. Grey light from the window filters into the hallway behind you.

Derek had said that Brady wasn't going to be back, and you should remove his things - sell them maybe - empty the room. You had shaken your head. "He'll be back," you said, "he'll always come home." Derek had disagreed. Privately, lately, you have been doubting it also. It wouldn't hurt for him to call, you often find yourself thinking. When the message light blinks on the answering machine, you always have a moment of hope.
You look at the posters
Brady's tastes always ran to...loud. The posters seem to be mainly long haired men shouting into the camera or clean cut young men, heavily muscled under hockey armour.
You examine the window
Through the window, you can see the garden.
You look at the garden
Brady's room overlooks the lawn.
You examine the desk
The wooden desk is battered and dented and completely covered by Brady's old hockey trophies.
Day
It's Monday today.
You look at the bed
More of a futon. Brady always insisted he felt more comfortable sleeping closer to the floor.
You look around
The posters on the wall, reminders of winning sports teams and fading rock bands, are further apart than yesterday, as though spaced out and shifted by some unseen hand, showing acres of cream wallpaper. The bed, stripped of sheets, is only a textured mattress, the desk, piled with hockey trophies from his schooldays. Grey light from the window filters into the hallway behind you.
You go south
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed, but the open door allows some light to creep in. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is the spare room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.

The rubber plant you brought home from the garden centre a year after you moved in sits on a small plinth in the corner.
You go east
Away from the faint light from the stairwell, the hall is darker, and the pictures that continue to line the walls are more indistinct. The door in the north wall leads to Samantha's room, opposite it, your and Derek's room, and the hallway stretches to the west. To the east, a doorway leads into the bathroom.
You examine the pictures
It's like a history, this hallway, or a story. Black and white becomes colour. Hairstyles change from long to short and then long again. Young people become middle aged. Babies appear and disappear, becoming children. Through it all is the constant presence of Derek: A frowning boy; a serious looking young man with neat hair; A harried young father balancing two small children in his arms at some seaside resort; A middle aged man sat at the kitchen table.

At this end of the hallway you are part of the tale, but your story seems to end somewhere in the middle.
You go to the north
The pause before you enter Sam's room is almost subconscious. When she was at home, you were always an uninvited presence there and with both of you in her room, resentment hung thick, turning most interactions poisonous. Now, even with the room vacated there's a sense, at the doorway, of unwelcoming. It's not something you've been able to shake off even after these last two months without her.

(first opening Sam's bedroom door)

The bed under the window seems further away today. The floor, uncluttered with Sam's possessions, has stretched slightly during the night. You used to be able to touch the empty desk from the door, and the walls, bare of brightly coloured posters, appear taller - the ceiling more distant.

After Sam left, Derek had piled everything remaining into black plastic bags and, shaking with anger, had dumped them in the garbage. You feel now that maybe this had been the wrong thing to do - that you should have taken Sam's possessions from the trash and stored them somewhere. But, at the time, you had been angry too.

It had been the first time you noticed the house's growth. As Derek removed books and posters and CD's and plastic figurines or furry jumbles of cuddly toys, the walls of the room had expanded. Walking across the floors had taken longer. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. Eight years living in the same house, vacuuming the same floors, has made you sensitive to any small change.
You look at the bed
You bought this bed when Sam was only eight. You had just moved here. At the time it had been a princess bed with a pink gauze canopy. Over the years, Sam had grown out of the canopy, but she had refused to let the bed go, even though, as she grew, her feet stuck further and further over the bottom.
You examine desk
Just a plain wooden desk but, over the years, Sam has decorated it in graffiti, sequins, and vari-colored crepe paper, depending on her moods.
You go south
Away from the faint light from the stairwell, the hall is darker, and the pictures that continue to line the walls are more indistinct. A little more light spills in from the open door. The door in the north wall leads to Samantha's room, opposite it, your and Derek's room, and the hallway stretches to the west. To the east, a doorway leads into the bathroom.
You go east
(first opening the bathroom door)

The bathroom is all in pale green. The toilet, sink and bath were here when you moved in, and there never really seemed to be a reason to change them. The mirrored cabinet above the sink steams up when anyone has a shower and because of the poor ventilation through the small fan in the window, the grouting between the tiles has always had mold problems.
You examine the window
Through the window, you can see the garden.
You look at the cabinet
Your face, in the mirror, appears care-worn.
You open the cabinet
You open the mirrored cabinet.
Close cabinet
You close the mirrored cabinet.
You examine the toilet
The toilet is old, but serviceable. It's supported the whole family for eight years.
You examine the bath
The bath is empty.
You go west
Away from the faint light from the stairwell, the hall is darker, and the pictures that continue to line the walls are more indistinct. A little more light spills in from the open door. The door in the north wall leads to Samantha's room, opposite it, your and Derek's room, and the hallway stretches to the west. To the east, a doorway leads into the bathroom.
You go south
(first opening the main bedroom door)

This has always been your favourite room. The large south facing window lets in plenty of light which makes it brighter than the rest of the house. However, over the last couple of days, the wooden floor has stretched, each pine tile becoming larger and the two single beds that used to be separated by the width of the small table are now several paces apart. Your dressing table, loaded with detritus, is under the window and a wardrobe in the corner partially obscures a new passageway that leads out of the eastern side of the house.

The beds are new. It had been your suggestion. You had surprised yourself one night, when, after a couple of glasses of wine, you had said to Derek, "Shall we get single beds, do you think? You need to get up so early, and you know how I toss and turn and keep you awake sometimes."

Derek had looked up, surprised. "I suppose we might as well," he had said, after a pause, "it's not as though we need a double at our time of life."

It had been a strange feeling, that first night, when the new beds had been unpacked and covered in freshly bought linen. Twenty five years of sleeping next to a warm, breathing body, and space to throw out an arm or a leg and still feel supported, replaced by open space each side of you. It had been a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one, and you had slept better that first night than in a long time.
You look at the detritus
Just your accumulated personal items that seem to have built up over the years. A small avalanche of lipsticks and mascara bottles, hairbrushes and curlers, foundation and pins.
You examine the window
Through the window, you can see the driveway.
You examine the driveway
From here you can see over the driveway and a little way along the street.
You examine the bed
Which do you mean, your bed or Derek's bed?
You look at your bed
A single bed. It's quite small, but comfortable. After twenty years of sharing a bed, you had forgotten how pleasurable it was to be able to sleep in your own space.
You examine the derek's bed
Derek prefers a much harder mattress to you. He says it's good for his back.
Dust
You rub the map.
You examine the wardrobe
A large wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room. It is closed.
You open the wardrobe
You open the wardrobe, revealing your and Derek's clothes.
You examine clothes
A thicket of greys and green, the clothes hang listlessly.
You enter the wardrobe
You get into the wardrobe.

In the wardrobe you can see your and Derek's clothes.
Go south
You would have to get out of the wardrobe first.
Go outside
You get out of the wardrobe.

This has always been your favourite room. The large south facing window lets in plenty of light which makes it brighter than the rest of the house. However, over the last couple of days, the wooden floor has stretched, each pine tile becoming larger and the two single beds that used to be separated by the width of the small table are now several paces apart. Your dressing table, loaded with detritus, is under the window and a wardrobe in the corner partially obscures a new passageway that leads out of the eastern side of the house.
Go east
As you walk through the entrance, the air seems to shimmer
somehow.

You recognise this room. It's the downstairs hallway in your Aunt May's house. It has the same musty becalmed air, smelling of age and dust.

The old clock in the corner punctuates the seconds with its deep bass ticking. All the pictures are still on the wall - lined up ancestors and forgotten relatives mixing with cheap reproductions of Monet's landscapes. A musty old sofa against the wall is lit up by the one window. A door to the south leads into your Aunt's front room.

You were here only last month. Just before your Aunt was finally shipped off to the old folk's home. It wasn't a pleasant visit. Aunt May had been quiet, pensive, sad even. She had spent the whole time staring out of the window into her garden and hardly speaking. When you came in, Aunt May had been sat ramrod straight in her armchair. She turned her head when you entered the room, but hardly seemed to recognise you.

She had been upset. Your Aunt Anna was taking her to an old folk's home because she was getting too frail to look after herself. When she had asked you if she couldn't come and live with you, a big part of you wanted to say yes. But, with the move, and everything that was happening with Samantha, it just seemed as though the fight with Derek would be too daunting.

So you had made some excuses.

On your way out she had looked up at you. "Remember me," she had said. "But not like this." You hadn't known how to respond. So you had left quietly, closing the lounge door behind you. Your mother's younger sister, Anna, had taken May to the home two weeks later. You haven't seen her since.
You look at the pictures
A brief history of your maternal family tree. Uncles and aunts you have a passing acquaintance with mingle with more distant relatives. Dotted here and there are Monet prints. Your Aunt May loved Monet.
You examine the sofa
Your Aunt May has had this faded old thing for years. It was in her caravan when you were a child.

She always told you it was a wedding present . When you pointed out that she had never been married, Aunt May would tap her nose and wink. As a young woman, you pretended to be annoyed but secretly you were delighted that this woman had so many secrets. So many hidden sides to her. You always hoped that when you reached her age, your life would have been as complicated and interesting.
You examine the window
Through the window, you can see the vegetable garden.
You examine the garden
Aunt May's garden used to be beautiful. And productive. She grew all kinds of vegetables and fruit. When she visited, it was always with a basket in which were unlikely combinations of odd vegetables. Aubergines mixed alongside purple french beans and baby turnips. Now, with her advancing years, she has let it become overgrown and wild.
You examine the clock
Aunt May has had this clock forever. Its tick is like a constant note in your life.
You examine the map
You see that since yesterday, there is a new door on the west wall of the hallway, and a new door east of the Main Bedroom.
You go to the south
Despite her age, Aunt May keeps her home spotlessly clean. The window allows her to watch the comings and goings in the street from her strategically positioned armchair. An old dresser holds brass ornaments and a selection of glass flowers. The only door leads back out into the hallway.

On the dresser is an old folk's home leaflet.

Aunt May sits in her chair, hands folded quietly in her lap, staring out of the window. She looks up and smiles wanly. It seems to take her a while to recognise you. "Hello, Elaine love," she says, eventually. "It's nice that you could drop in, especially now I'm not going to be here much longer."
You talk to May
To engage in a conversation, try to ASK Aunt May ABOUT something, TELL Aunt May ABOUT something, or SHOW Aunt May something. Or, even, try saying "hello". Once you are chatting, you can just use "ASK ABOUT something", or if you are feeling confident, as a short hand, just "A something". You could also ask Aunt May to do things using: Aunt May, GO SOUTH for example.
You ask may about may
"Hi, Aunt May," you say.

"Yes, dear?" she asks.

"How are you, Auntie May?" you ask.

"I'm fine, thank you," she assures you. "Not that any of you care."

Aunt May sighs heavily.
You look at the leaflet
"Shady Willow Retirement Community". The photographs make it look quite nice.

Aunt May shifts in her seat, and clasps her hands in her lap.
You ask may about yourself
You prattle on for a while about your life, and the move, and Derek and the kids, but it's not long before you run out of things to say, and the enormous silence in the room reasserts itself.

"Sounds like things are going well," says Aunt May, but she shakes her head slightly. "I'm surprised you've got time to come and visit."

Aunt May lets out a sigh that seems to come right from deep inside her. ""Oh, Elaine," she says, "they're wanting me to go to an old folk's home. I don't want to go. They're saying I'm not right on my own because of the fire."

The call with Aunt Anna had been difficult. After the fire, she had wanted you to take Aunt May "for a few weeks while we get her sorted out". You had thought at the time, with some justification, that it was unfair of her to ask at such short notice. Anna is only just older than you. She has plenty of space in her house now her kids have left home. She blamed her husband. "He's always working," she had said. "I don't think I can cope with her by myself." You had demurred, making some excuses about moving house and Samantha being difficult. "You could at least try, Elaine," Anna had ended the call by saying. "We don't ask you to do much for the family."
You ask may about the fire
"Did you have a fire?" you say.

"Just a little accident," replies Aunt May. "I nodded off while my dinner was on the stove."

Aunt May turns her head slightly to look up the street, but you can't see what she is looking at.

"I know I can't stay," says Aunt May, and her voice catches for a moment, "but it would be nice to live with someone I loved rather than all those strangers."

Aunt May had stayed with Anna for just a short time. She moved back into her flat despite Anna's protestations. Anna wanted to sell May's house. To do it up and use the money to fund May's final years in an old folks home. Your other aunts had disagreed. They wanted to get May a nurse - to let her stay here amongst all her things. The conversation had passed you by.
You ask May about Anna
"How is Aunt Anna?" you ask.

"Don't talk to me about her", says your Aunt, her voice raising slightly. "She's no sister of mine. Forcing me into that Shady Willows place. It's a place for old people. Not for me."

Aunt May looks at you directly. "I know you've had a tough time recently, Elaine, she says, "and I don't want to put on you, but you've got all that spare space now Brady and Sam are gone, and I know you're lonely what with Derek working all the time. Perhaps I could come and stay with you? We could be company for each other, and I could help out a bit around the house. What do you say?"

Do you tell Aunt May "yes" or "no"?
Yes
"I'd love to have you, Aunt May," you reply. "You're welcome to say as long as you like."

Aunt May smiles, and a tear trickles slowly down the side of her nose. "I knew you'd come through, Elaine," she says. "You've always had the kindest heart."
Hug may
You place a kiss against your Aunt's dry cheek. She smiles, but doesn't turn to face you.

> ASK MAY ABOUT DEREK

"Derek's been working hard," you say. "He says he is up for a promotion"

"I remember when you met him," replies Aunt May. "You two looked good together."

Aunt May coughs, and dabs at her lips with a small handkerchief.
You ask may about the garden
"Your garden's a bit overgrown," you say. "Doesn't Mr Turner come around anymore?"

"No," replies Aunt May. "I can't really afford him these days on my pension, and I don't get out there much anymore."
You tell May about the house
"We're moving house," you say. "Derek has picked us a little bungalow up cheap. It's going to be much less work now the kids have left home."

"Does it have a garden?" asks Aunt May. "You always loved gardening."

You don't answer, because you realise you are not entirely sure.
Bye
Aunt May just shakes her head. "I'm sure with your young legs, you could do that," she says.

Aunt May wipes a weary hand across her face.
Describe the surroundings
Despite her age, Aunt May keeps her home spotlessly clean. The window allows her to watch the comings and goings in the street from her strategically positioned armchair. An old dresser holds brass ornaments and a selection of glass flowers. The only door leads back out into the hallway.

On the dresser is an old folk's home leaflet.

Aunt May sits in her chair, hands folded quietly in her lap, staring out of the window.
You look at the flowers
You used to play with the brass ornaments as a child. They are a mix of circus animals and ancient horse brasses. The glass flowers are your Aunt's pride and joy. She has collected them for years.
You examine the dresser
A chipped white antique dresser.

On the dresser is an old folk's home leaflet.
You go north
On your way out of the room, Aunt May looks up at you. "I'll see you soon," she says, with a wide smile, "just give me a call when you're ready for me." Her smile turns slightly wolfish. "I'll call Anna and give her the good news."

The old clock in the corner punctuates the seconds with its deep bass ticking. All the pictures are still on the wall - lined up ancestors and forgotten relatives mixing with cheap reproductions of Monet's landscapes. A musty old sofa against the wall is lit up by the one window. A door to the south leads into your Aunt's front room.
Go north
The window is shut: you'd break the glass.
Go west
This has always been your favourite room. The large south facing window lets in plenty of light which makes it brighter than the rest of the house. However, over the last couple of days, the wooden floor has stretched, each pine tile becoming larger and the two single beds that used to be separated by the width of the small table are now several paces apart. Your dressing table, loaded with detritus, is under the window and a wardrobe in the corner partially obscures a new passageway that leads out of the eastern side of the house.
Go north
Away from the faint light from the stairwell, the hall is darker, and the pictures that continue to line the walls are more indistinct. A little more light spills in from the open door. The door in the north wall leads to Samantha's room, opposite it, your and Derek's room, and the hallway stretches to the west. To the east, a doorway leads into the bathroom.
You go west
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed, but the open door allows some light to creep in. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is the spare room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.

The rubber plant you brought home from the garden centre a year after you moved in sits on a small plinth in the corner.
You go to the west
The walls and floor seem to glow, as if lit by something inside the very fabric of the building. The only exit is back out to the hallway to the east.

In the centre of the room, an old fashioned movie projector sits atop a plinth.
You look at the projector
It looks exactly like the projector your Aunt May used to have. Maybe she still does.

When you were a child, every time your Mum took you to Aunt May's, the projector would make an appearance. Aunt May delighted in showing films of the family and films she had taken on her travels. Year after year, new footage emerged. It seemed never ending. You favourite movie was of your Mum as a young girl, playing on the beach with her sisters. It's a sharp, clear memory. Your Mum looks at the camera for a moment with a half-smile - distracted by something happening just off screen - and it was like you were there with them.

The projector is currently switched off.
You turn on the projector
The projector crackles to life, the reels beginning to whirr and spin. On the wall opposite the door, silently, a white square of projected light appears.

The white square is split and slashed by the visual crackle of fleeting imperfections and the number three flashes up, surrounded by a dark circle. Then this disappears and is replaced by the number two. Then the number one. The countdown stops, and the screen shows only pure white light.

The film ends, to be replaced with crackles and dashes of visual noise. There is a clatter from the projector, and then a high speed whirring as it rewinds itself to the beginning. With a click, the white square disappears as the projector switches off.
You look at the plinth
The plinth is a twisted, organic looking column leading up to a small platform, on top of which is an old-fashioned movie projector.
Go down
The glassed front door leads directly south onto the driveway, and carpeted stairs angle up to the first floor. Doors lead east to the lounge and the dining room to the north. The room is bare except for an occasional table next to the front door in the southern wall, on which the telephone and answering machine squat.
You look at the answering machine
The display on the answering machine is blank. The play messages button is right next to the display.
You examine the phone
A slim plastic phone in its cradle.
You examine table
A small wooden table you bought to stand the phone on.
Go east
Sometimes you think this room is made entirely from memories: the barometer on the wall that has indicated rain for years; the picture of your daughter, staring defiantly at the camera, flanked by the peaks of mountains; the wood paneling, a forgotten texture below the bookshelves; the books themselves, all green and blue leather - alphabetised soldier-sentries; a balding sofa and chair where Derek spends most of his evenings staring at the TV mounted to the wall.
The too-small window overlooks the front driveway and lets in only just enough light.

When you came to view the house, eight years ago this coming May, the first thing you had noticed was this window. A south facing room should be bright, sunlit, welcoming. Over the years, you had always meant to change it - to get the builders in and make it larger. Maybe a bay-window in which you could sit and read while the sun warmed your shoulders.

But for some reason you had never got round to it, and now, if you are being honest with yourself, you are glad. Some days, you spend all day in here, curled up on the sofa, welcoming the tepid light.
You examine the sofa
Over the years the leather of the sofa has become shiny and worn.
You look at the barometer
This was your Aunty May's. It's never worked. The needle has always been stuck halfway between rain and drizzle.

Aunt May gave it to you for your sixteenth birthday. It was an odd present, being broken even back then, but you had dutifully smiled and accepted it. Your father had hung it up in your bedroom where it lived on the wall between (and occasionally covered by) posters of Pink Floyd and, later, Nirvana.

When she gave it to you, your Aunt had said "It's always useful for a sixteen year old to know the weather." She had said it with a wink, before planting a hairy kiss on your cheek. According to your mother, May had always been the strange sister. The oldest of six, she let her grey hair flow long and wild over her shoulders and had lived most of her life in a caravan.
Examine books
Derek joined a book club. It sent him one blue leather bound classic per month for two years. Then it sent him one green bound work by Dickens. Now it's sending him red bound works by authors in their "American Masters" series. Neither he nor you have every actually read one, although you did start "Little Dorrit" once. The text was so small and dense though you kept drifting off to sleep and reading the same paragraph over and over again.
Examine tv
A large flat screen attached to the wall opposite the window. Derek insisted on getting the largest. It is currently switched off, and the darkened screen shows a weakened reflection of the room.
You turn on the tv
You switch the TV on.
Examine tv
A large flat screen attached to the wall opposite the window. Derek insisted on getting the largest. It is switched on, and a game show desperately tries to gain your attention.
Examine tv
A large flat screen attached to the wall opposite the window. Derek insisted on getting the largest. It is switched on, and a news program desperately tries to gain your attention.
Examine tv
A large flat screen attached to the wall opposite the window. Derek insisted on getting the largest. It is switched on, and a talk show desperately tries to gain your attention.
You look around
Sometimes you think this room is made entirely from memories: the barometer on the wall that has indicated rain for years; the picture of your daughter, staring defiantly at the camera, flanked by the peaks of mountains; the wood paneling, a forgotten texture below the bookshelves; the books themselves, all green and blue leather - alphabetised soldier-sentries; a balding sofa and chair where Derek spends most of his evenings staring at the TV mounted to the wall.
The too-small window overlooks the front driveway and lets in only just enough light.

The TV spills sounds and flickering images into the room.
You turn off the tv
You switch the TV off.
Go north
All the bric-a-brac on the sideboard has been packed away for the move, leaving only dusty imprints on the wood. It had been filled with colourful plates and cups and seldom-used cookery books and odds and ends that the family had brought back from various holidays that couldn't find another home. Now the brown boxes on the floor and table, taped and anonymous, only serve to remind you of how much there is left to do before the removal van arrives next week.

It hadn't been your idea to sell the house. Now, with the move only a few days away, the sheer volume of things you have accumulated as a family is entirely daunting. You have tried to pack, but instead, half way through filling a box, you find yourself wandering around the house with an ornament or a lamp or a small table in your hands, wondering where to put it.

When he gets home from work, Derek doesn't say anything, but you can sense his frustration that the pile of packed boxes in the dining room hasn't grown.
You look at the sideboard
This was your mother's, who had got it from her mother. It covers most of the wall against which it stands. You can't remember a time in your life when it wasn't present in your home.

Your mother gave it to you when you were first married, and had moved into the little flat over the shop. "A good start," she had said, "something to build on."

It had been far too big for your tiny new home, but you and Derek, laughing, had maneuvered it into place. You remember it had covered half of the kitchen door, so you both had to enter the room sideways.
You go east
The kitchen is due an update - it feels very seventies, with a faux marble worktop, dark wood-effect cupboards and garish tiling. The refrigerator is covered in scraps of paper and bills, all held in place by magnetic capital letters. The back door leads out of the east wall into the garden.

The kitchen in the new house is smaller than this. That's OK, though. You don't spend as much time in here as you used to when the kids were at home. Derek usually doesn't get home until after he's eaten. The last time you cooked a proper meal was probably a couple of months ago. Before Sam left. You had cooked her favourite, lasagna, because she said she didn't feel well, and she had looked so tired and unhappy. You wanted to cheer her up. Straight afterward, she had run to the toilet to throw it all back up again.

A calendar on the wall shows a grid of boxes for the month, all covered in small handwriting.

On the refrigerator is a yellow post-it note.

The clock on the wall ticks the seconds away into the air.
You look athe post-it note
"I'll be home at 7.00 pm. Derek."

That's so like Derek. To put his name. As if you wouldn't know who had written it.
You examine clock
The clock reads 3:13 pm.
Examine calendar
Today your only job, according to the calendar, is to pack.
You look at the fridge
The fridge has become Derek's filing cabinet. It's where he puts all the unpaid bills and reminders and bank statements, all held in place in some sort of order by a magnetic alphabet.

On the refrigerator is a yellow post-it note.
You open the fridge
The mostly empty shelves remind you that you need to tell Derek to go to the supermarket on his way home from work tomorrow. When you let go of the handle, the fridge door closes by itself.
You open the door
You open the back door.
Go east
High fences surround the garden, giving it an air of privacy, sheltered from the street and any watchful eyes peeping from behind curtains in the neighbour's windows. A small patio area, attached to the side of the house, on which is a table and a set of peeling wooden chairs gives way to scrubby grass that you haven't quite got around to cutting for far too long.

Derek calls this your "little patch of wilderness". That's his half-joke that isn't a joke at all, but instead, really it's a cutting indictment wrapped up in humour - contempt masked with levity.

"You can't even look after the bloody garden," Derek snapped at you once, after an argument about something you can't even remember. "It's what you wanted. It's why we moved here for goodness sake."

When you were first married, gardening had been your passion. You inherited it from your mother, you suppose, whose own garden was, each year, a wondrous mass of colour and life.
You go to the west
The kitchen is due an update - it feels very seventies, with a faux marble worktop, dark wood-effect cupboards and garish tiling. The refrigerator is covered in scraps of paper and bills, all held in place by magnetic capital letters. The back door leads out of the east wall into the garden.

A calendar on the wall shows a grid of boxes for the month, all covered in small handwriting.

On the refrigerator is a yellow post-it note.

The clock on the wall ticks the seconds away into the air.
You close the door
You close the back door.
You look at the clock
The clock reads 3:23 pm.
Go west
All the bric-a-brac on the sideboard has been packed away for the move, leaving only dusty imprints on the wood. It had been filled with colourful plates and cups and seldom-used cookery books and odds and ends that the family had brought back from various holidays that couldn't find another home. Now the brown boxes on the floor and table, taped and anonymous, only serve to remind you of how much there is left to do before the removal van arrives next week.
You go south
The glassed front door leads directly south onto the driveway, and carpeted stairs angle up to the first floor. Doors lead east to the lounge and the dining room to the north. The room is bare except for an occasional table next to the front door in the southern wall, on which the telephone and answering machine squat.
Go south
(first opening the front door)

Bounded by small grass borders that, via some unseen line down the middle, demarcate your house from the next, the driveway stretches out onto the road to the south. The open plan nature of the street is disconcerting.

You're still not used to it, this openness of space, and this sharing of communal grass. When you grew up, each house in your terrace had its own little square patch of front garden bounded by a low stone wall. Sometimes with iron railings, painted green, or rusty, or shining black. Each garden had been a little statement by the house owner or tenant. Some had been lush bursts of colour in the spring and summer, some unkempt and weed-choked. Others had only been bare flagstones, empty and stark.

It had been a matter of pride for your mother, that little twelve foot by twelve foot patch of space. Your father had the back yard reserved for his chickens and vegetables. Your mother owned that front space. It was hers entirely. She made it reflect herself.

Your car is parked here.
You examine the car
Just a small grey car. You can't even remember what make and model it is. Nor can you remember the last time your drove it anywhere. Derek occasionally takes it out for a spin "to stop it seizing up."
You get in the car
The car is locked.
Unlock car
You don't have the keys. It's been so long since you've driven anywhere that you're not even sure where they are.
You close the front door
You close the front door.
Go east
The bathroom is all in pale green. The toilet, sink and bath were here when you moved in, and there never really seemed to be a reason to change them. The mirrored cabinet above the sink steams up when anyone has a shower and because of the poor ventilation through the small fan in the window, the grouting between the tiles has always had mold problems.
You go east
The old clock in the corner punctuates the seconds with its deep bass ticking. All the pictures are still on the wall - lined up ancestors and forgotten relatives mixing with cheap reproductions of Monet's landscapes. A musty old sofa against the wall is lit up by the one window. A door to the south leads into your Aunt's front room.

The room feels empty somehow, as if all the life in it has drained away.
Go south
Despite her age, Aunt May keeps her home spotlessly clean. The window allows her to watch the comings and goings in the street from her strategically positioned armchair. An old dresser holds brass ornaments and a selection of glass flowers. The only door leads back out into the hallway.

The room feels empty somehow, as if all the life in it has been used up.

On the dresser is an old folk's home leaflet.
Go south
The window is shut: you'd break the glass.
You go north
The bed under the window seems further away today. The floor, uncluttered with Sam's possessions, has stretched slightly during the night. You used to be able to touch the empty desk from the door, and the walls, bare of brightly coloured posters, appear taller - the ceiling more distant.
Look
You see that since yesterday, there is a new door on the west wall of the hallway, and a new door east of the Main Bedroom.
You go to the east
Sometimes you think this room is made entirely from memories: the barometer on the wall that has indicated rain for years; the picture of your daughter, staring defiantly at the camera, flanked by the peaks of mountains; the wood paneling, a forgotten texture below the bookshelves; the books themselves, all green and blue leather - alphabetised soldier-sentries; a balding sofa and chair where Derek spends most of his evenings staring at the TV mounted to the wall.
The too-small window overlooks the front driveway and lets in only just enough light.
You examine barometer
This was your Aunty May's. It's never worked. The needle has always been stuck halfway between rain and drizzle.
You talk to Derek
To engage in a conversation, try to ASK Derek ABOUT something, TELL Derek ABOUT something, or SHOW Derek something. Or, even, try saying "hello". Once you are chatting, you can just use "ASK ABOUT something", or if you are feeling confident, as a short hand, just "A something". You could also ask Derek to do things using: Derek, GO SOUTH for example.
You ask Derek about the work
"Hi," you say.

"Hmm?" he replies non-commitally, his eyes not leaving the TV.

"How was work?" you ask.

Derek shrugs. "It was ok. Nothing exciting to report."
You tell Derek about May
When you first told Derek about Aunt May being shipped off to a home, he had been furious. "Why didn't you tell me," he had said, barely containing his anger. "She could have come and lived with us. You know you would have liked that. You and May have always got along."

"I thought you would have been against it," you had said, weakly.

Derek had sighed. "Don't put this on me." You haven't really spoken about it since, and Derek looks so tired you're too nervous to bring it up again.
You ask Derek about the move
"Are you looking forward to moving?" you ask.

"It will be nice to get out of this place and start afresh," says Derek. "We need to hurry up with the packing though. The movers will be here next Tuesday."
You tell Derek about the projector
You start to tell Derek about the white room, and the plinth and the projector. But something holds you back. You realise you don't want to. That this is somehow too private to share with this man, even though you've been married all these years.

Derek switches over the channel.
You ask Derek about food
"You need to go to the supermarket tomorrow," you remind him. Derek grunts in acknowledgement.
Tomorrow
In your dreams, you are running towards something, but it is constantly moving away from you. There is a hand reaching out, but it is just out of reach and someone is calling you but you can't quite make out if it is a child or just the wind blowing through a partially open window.



The morning has disappeared. You don't know where it went. The house continues its inexorable growth. Earlier, when you were dusting the upstairs hallway it seemed to take so much longer than usual, and a new door had appeared through which you were sure you could hear muted voices.

Actually, you had woken late, and, slightly disoriented by the brightness of the morning, it had taken you a while to get your bearings. The phone had been ringing. You lay in bed and let it go to answer phone.

As you drifted in and out of a doze, you listened to Aunt May pottering about the house. She tends to rise early. Ever since she moved in, each morning, you lie in bed listening to her moving about. It's comforting somehow, and, with Derek working so many hours, it's been nice to have someone to share the last days in the house with.

The kitchen is due an update - it feels very seventies, with a faux marble worktop, dark wood-effect cupboards and garish tiling. The refrigerator is covered in scraps of paper and bills, all held in place by magnetic capital letters. The back door leads out of the east wall into the garden.

A calendar on the wall shows a grid of boxes for the month, all covered in small handwriting.

On the refrigerator is a yellow post-it note.

The clock on the wall ticks the seconds away into the air.
You read the note
I have to work late tonight. I'll stay in town. Derek.
Go west
All the bric-a-brac on the sideboard has been packed away for the move, leaving only dusty imprints on the wood. It had been filled with colourful plates and cups and seldom-used cookery books and odds and ends that the family had brought back from various holidays that couldn't find another home. Now the brown boxes on the floor and table, taped and anonymous, only serve to remind you of how much there is left to do before the removal van arrives next week. The pile of boxes seems to be higher than yesterday, but that's ok, because the room seems to have grown to accommodate them.

On a plinth in the corner, a rubber plant brushes the ceiling.
You examine the plant
Since being moved into the sunlight of the dining room, the plant seems to have had a new lease on life. Its leaves stretch above your head, oriented toward the warming sun through the window.

It was Aunt May's doing, moving the plant into the dining room. As soon as she had seen it on the upstairs hallway, she had cried out in horror and insisted that you move it immediately. Derek wasn't too happy. He doesn't like clutter. But you have to admit, in the sunshine, the plant transforms a little. Leaves that were dull greyish green suddenly sparkle in the sun. You could almost imagine it sighing with relief.
Open boxes
They are securely taped shut and there's nothing in there that you really want to have to pack again.

In the distance, you can hear the phone ringing.
You go to the south
The glassed front door leads directly south onto the driveway, and carpeted stairs angle up to the first floor. Doors lead east to the lounge and the dining room to the north. The room is bare except for an occasional table next to the front door in the southern wall, on which the telephone and answering machine squat.

The display on the answering machine flashes with the number 1.

You hear noises coming from the room above. Aunt May keeps unconventional hours. Sometimes you will hear her moving about the house in the early hours of the morning. Some days she stays in bed till lunchtime and the house remains quiet. Most days, she stays in her room, sitting in her chair and watching through the window. Her presence is comforting somehow, and you know you can always pop in and have someone to talk to.

The phone on the hall table rings insistently.

The phone stops ringing.
You press the button
A briskly impersonal voice says "Hi, Mrs Paterson?" There is a pause. "It's Churchill's removals, you were going to call to arrange a time for pick up on Tuesday. Can you give us a call please and ask to speak to Karen. Thank you."

The machine whirrs on to the next message.

Derek's voice, made small by distance, says "Hi Elaine, it's me. I just got a call at the office from the removals people. I guess you forgot to ring them. I told them to turn up at about 10 am on Tuesday. See you tomorrow night."

The machine falls silent.
Tomorrow
In your dreams, you are running towards something, but it is constantly moving away from you. There is a hand reaching out, but it is just out of reach and someone is calling you but you can't quite make out if it is a child or just the wind blowing through a partially open window.



The morning has disappeared. You don't know where it went. The house continues its inexorable growth. Earlier, when you were dusting the upstairs hallway it seemed to take so much longer than usual, and a new door had appeared through which you were sure you could hear muted voices.

Actually, you had woken late, and, slightly disoriented by the brightness of the morning, it had taken you a while to get your bearings. The phone had been ringing. You lay in bed and let it go to answer phone.

As you drifted in and out of a doze, you listened to Aunt May pottering about the house. She tends to rise early. Ever since she moved in, each morning, you lie in bed listening to her moving about. It's comforting somehow, and, with Derek working so many hours, it's been nice to have someone to share the last days in the house with.

The kitchen is due an update - it feels very seventies, with a faux marble worktop, dark wood-effect cupboards and garish tiling. The refrigerator is covered in scraps of paper and bills, all held in place by magnetic capital letters. The back door leads out of the east wall into the garden.

A calendar on the wall shows a grid of boxes for the month, all covered in small handwriting.

On the refrigerator is a yellow post-it note.

The clock on the wall ticks the seconds away into the air.
Go south
The glassed front door leads directly south onto the driveway, and carpeted stairs angle up to the first floor. Doors lead east to the lounge and the dining room to the north. The room is bare except for an occasional table next to the front door in the southern wall, on which the telephone and answering machine squat.

The display on the answering machine flashes with the number 1.

You hear noises coming from the room above. Aunt May keeps unconventional hours. Sometimes you will hear her moving about the house in the early hours of the morning. Some days she stays in bed till lunchtime and the house remains quiet. Most days, she stays in her room, sitting in her chair and watching through the window. Her presence is comforting somehow, and you know you can always pop in and have someone to talk to.
Call removals company
Your fingers hover over the buttons, but you can't bring yourself to dial. The thought of speaking to a disembodied voice fills you with dread.
You press the button
A briskly impersonal voice says "Hi, Mrs Paterson?" There is a pause. "It's Churchill's removals, you were going to call to arrange a time for pick up on Tuesday. Can you give us a call please and ask to speak to Karen. Thank you."

The machine falls silent.
Wait
Time passes.
Wait
Time passes.

The phone on the hall table rings insistently.
You answer the phone
You move towards the phone, but you just can't bear to speak to a disembodied voice right now.

The phone on the hall table rings insistently.

The phone stops ringing.
You look at the answering machine
The display on the answering machine is flashing with the number 1. The play messages button is right next to the display.
You press the button
Derek's voice, made small by distance, says "Hi Elaine, it's me. I just got a call at the office from the removals people. I guess you forgot to ring them. I told them to turn up at about 10 am on Tuesday. See you tomorrow night."

The machine falls silent.
Go up
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed, but the open door allows some light to creep in. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is Aunt May's room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.
Go east
The hallway stretches endlessly from east to west through the house. The blank white walls are broken only by a door to the north.

You can hear voices, low and muted,  coming through the  door.
You go north
As you walk through the entrance, the air seems to shimmer
somehow.

You recognise this place. It's been months since you were here, but this is where you brought Samantha after she had told you. There she is, sat in the same chair, shoulders sagging sullenly, face turned away from you, chin in her hand. She looks so young.

(first opening the reception door)

The reception area is painted a clinical light green and smells of disinfectant. Rows of chairs line the walls. A reception desk in the corner hold pamphlets and leaflets. The only other door apart from the one back into your house is in the opposite wall.

You pause at the entrance for a moment. The only sounds in the room are the clicking heels of the nurse behind the reception desk. The cold air in the room makes you shiver.

The receptionist stands behind the desk staring out into space.

Samantha sits quietly on one of the chairs. She barely glances up at you as you enter the room.

At first, Samantha had not wanted you to come. Sat at the dining room table, she had hid her face behind her hair when she told you. "I've got an appointment at the Doctor's," she had said. "I guess you won't be coming."

But you had surprised yourself. "Of course I'm coming," you had replied. "You're not keeping it," you said, before you had even thought what that would mean. The words had come directly out of you, an unintended accusation.

Samantha's head had jerked upwards. "It's my baby," she said, "I'll do what I want."

The Doctor had been kind, if a little distant. Samantha had trembled next to you while he outlined her options, each more distressing than the last. When he had asked her what she wanted to do, Samantha, her face white and close to tears, had not replied. She had turned to look at you, her eyes beseeching you to answer for her. "What do you think, Mum?" she had said. You hadn't replied straight away.
You ask Sam about the baby
"Hey, Sam," you say.

"Yeah?" replies Sam.

"When did you know?" you say.

"I suppose I guessed when I took the pregnancy test," replies Sam, sarcastically. You restrain the urge to shout at her. There's so many things you could say.

Samantha sighs with irritation and rubs her face.

"What do you think, Mrs. Paterson?" the doctor had asked you, eventually. "This is Samantha's decision, but I'm sure she would like your guidance and support."

You had answered him. Samantha had burst into tears and ran from the room.

It's my choice," Samantha had screamed in the car on the way home. And then she had left. Gone to live with her boyfriend. When Derek had come home, you had hesitantly told him about Sam's condition, and the row. Derek had been furious. Not about the pregnancy, that he had accepted without comment. He had been furious with her because she had left home. "Of course we would have supported her," he had said. "Whatever she decided."

You had kept quiet.
You look at your surroundings
The reception area is painted a clinical light green and smells of disinfectant. Rows of chairs line the walls. A reception desk in the corner hold pamphlets and leaflets. The only other door apart from the one back into your house is in the opposite wall.

The receptionist stands behind the desk writing something down.

Samantha sits quietly on one of the chairs.

"Miss Paterson?" the receptionist says, brightly, interrupting your train of thought. "Doctor Bridge will see you now."

Samantha glances in your direction, gets up unwillingly from the chair and walks slowly into the Doctor's office.
Look around
The reception area is painted a clinical light green and smells of disinfectant. Rows of chairs line the walls. A reception desk in the corner hold pamphlets and leaflets. The only other door apart from the one back into your house is in the opposite wall.

The receptionist stands behind the desk tidying up the desk surface.
Go south
The hallway stretches endlessly from east to west through the house. The blank white walls are broken only by a door to the north.

You can hear voices coming through the open door.
You go west
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed, but the open door allows some light to creep in. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is Aunt May's room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.
You go to the west
The walls and floor seem to glow, as if lit by something inside the very fabric of the building. The only exit is back out to the hallway to the east.

In the centre of the room, an old fashioned movie projector sits atop a plinth.
You turn on projector
The projector crackles to life, the reels beginning to whirr and spin. On the wall opposite the door, silently, a white square of projected light appears.

The picture coarsens and then slips into focus. Aunty May is sitting in a featureless bedroom staring out of the window. As you watch, a nurse comes into the room and puts a tray down on the table next to her. Aunt May doesn't turn her head.

The film ends, to be replaced with crackles and dashes of visual noise. There is a clatter from the projector, and then a high speed whirring as it rewinds itself to the beginning. With a click, the white square disappears as the projector switches off.
Go east
(first opening the back door)

High fences surround the garden, giving it an air of privacy, sheltered from the street and any watchful eyes peeping from behind curtains in the neighbour's windows. A small patio area, attached to the side of the house, on which is a table and a set of peeling wooden chairs gives way to scrubby grass that you haven't quite got around to cutting for far too long.

When Aunt May arrived, she had taken one look at the garden and given a gasp of horror. "You used to like gardening," she had said, shaking her head. "We've got to get this sorted out."

"There's no point, Aunt May," you had replied. "We're moving soon."

Aunt May had looked at you shrewdly. "Hmmm...." she had said, "We'll see. This new house of yours, does it actually have a garden?"

"Not really," you had said.
You examine table
You bought the garden furniture set after the patio had been built. It's only a cheap wooden affair, now patched and faded from the weather.
You go to the east
Sometimes you think this room is made entirely from memories: the picture of your daughter, staring defiantly at the camera, flanked by the peaks of mountains; the wood paneling, a forgotten texture below the bookshelves; the books themselves, all green and blue leather - alphabetised soldier-sentries; a balding sofa and chair where Derek spends most of his evenings staring at the TV mounted to the wall.
The too-small window overlooks the front driveway and lets in only just enough light, especially now the room is so much larger.
You go south
Your Aunt has put her chair in front of the window where she can watch the comings and going of your neighbours. Her old sofa is against one wall alongside the grandfather clock that ticks time away in its deep voice. On the other side of the room is the dresser, weighed down with glass ornaments. Pictures cover most of the walls.

When Aunt May moved in, somehow you managed to squeeze all her things into the room. Fortunately, the room has expanded to accept them.

Aunt May sits in her chair, hands folded quietly in her lap, staring out of the window.
You ask may about the garden
"Hi, Aunt May," you say.

"Yes, dear?" she asks.

You remember when you used to visit Aunt May years ago. You always took away a bag of home gown vegetables. The kids complained in the car on the way home, knowing that for the next few days, there would always be something green on their plate. "I used to like growing my vegetables," says Aunt May. "Frozen veg just aren't the same."
You ask May about Derek
"He never seems to have much time these days," you say. "It's like he's avoiding being at home."

"Don't you worry, love, he's always loved you deep down." Aunt May shakes her head. "It's a funny thing, isn't it. The more you love them, the further away they seem to get."
You ask May about Samantha
"Sam..." you begin, but it's still too raw.

Aunt May looks at you and smiles sadly, "Children are hard, aren't they? I never had any, but I watched over your aunties and your mother growing up and they never stopped breaking my heart."
You ask may about the baby
Aunt May doesn't respond. She just shakes her head slightly and purses her lips.

Aunt May shifts in her seat, and clasps her hands in her lap.
You ask may about the projector
You tell Aunt May about the white room, and about the plinth and the projector. She looks out of the window for a while, as if deep in thought. "I don't know what they are," she says, "but it sounds like there's something that can be changed. It sounds like the past is not always as fixed as you might think."
You ask may about the rubber plant
"It's still not doing well," you say, "the rubber plant I bought. Do you remember?"

"I did tell you to put somewhere more sunny," responds Aunt May, a little acidly. "They like sun on their leaves, a ficus."
You ask may about may
"I said I'm fine."

Aunt May sighs heavily.
You ask may about yourself
"You look nice, love."
You ask may about the removals
Aunt May doesn't respond. She just shakes her head slightly and purses her lips.
You ask may about the barometer
"I've still got the barometer you gave me for my sixteenth," you say.

"That's nice," says Aunt May, "I hope you got it fixed."
You look at your surroundings
Your Aunt has put her chair in front of the window where she can watch the comings and going of your neighbours. Her old sofa is against one wall alongside the grandfather clock that ticks time away in its deep voice. On the other side of the room is the dresser, weighed down with glass ornaments. Pictures cover most of the walls.

Aunt May sits in her chair, hands folded quietly in her lap, staring out of the window.
You look at the pictures
A brief history of your maternal family tree. Uncles and aunts you have a passing acquaintance with mingle with more distant relatives. Dotted here and there are Monet prints. Your Aunt May loved Monet.

Aunt May turns her head slightly to look up the street, but you can't see what she is looking at.
You examine the clock
Aunt May has had this clock forever. Its tick is like a constant note in your life.
You go to the north
The hallway has no windows. It's always been a dingy place when the doors to the bedrooms are closed, but the open door allows some light to creep in. Pictures line the walls, barely illuminated. To the south of you is Aunt May's room, opposite it, Brady's room and the hallway stretches toward the east side of the house. A flight of stairs leads down into the entrance hall, and the new white door hangs open next to the staircase to the west.
You go east
The hallway stretches endlessly from east to west through the house. The blank white walls are broken only by a door to the north.

You can hear voices coming through the open door.
You go to the east
Away from the faint light from the stairwell, the hall is darker, and the pictures that continue to line the walls are more indistinct. A little more light spills in from the open door. The door in the north wall leads to Samantha's room, opposite it, your and Derek's room, and the hallway stretches to the west. It seems to be so much longer than yesterday. To the east, a doorway leads into the bathroom.
You go to the south
Despite her age, Aunt May keeps her home spotlessly clean. The window allows her to watch the comings and goings in the street from her strategically positioned armchair. An old dresser holds brass ornaments and a selection of glass flowers. The only door leads back out into the hallway.

The room feels empty somehow, as if all the life in it has been used up.
Search table
Which do you mean, the small table or the dressing table?
You examine the small table
You bought this a couple of months ago when you got the new beds. Now both you and Derek have a reading lamp. Derek likes to read late sometimes and at least now the light doesn't spill directly into your eyes.
Go north
The reception area is painted a clinical light green and smells of disinfectant. Rows of chairs line the walls. A reception desk in the corner hold pamphlets and leaflets. The only other door apart from the one back into your house is in the opposite wall.

The receptionist stands behind the desk sorting through some paperwork.
You ask the receptionist about Samantha
"Hi," you say.

"How can I help you?" replies the receptionist.

"The doctor will see you soon," says the receptionist, and smiles without showing her teeth. "I'm sure you can discuss any issues with him." She turns away.
You examine the pamphlets
Glossy brochures with titles like "Is Adoption for You?" or "You and Your Baby".
You ask the receptionist about the time
The receptionist smiles at you, but doesn't respond. She just goes back to her work.
You wait until 5 PM
You potter around the house until 5:00 pm.
You go to the north
The reception area is painted a clinical light green and smells of disinfectant. Rows of chairs line the walls. A reception desk in the corner hold pamphlets and leaflets. The only other door apart from the one back into your house is in the opposite wall.

The receptionist stands behind the desk tidying up the desk surface.
You go south
Your Aunt has put her chair in front of the window where she can watch the comings and going of your neighbours. Her old sofa is against one wall alongside the grandfather clock that ticks time away in its deep voice. On the other side of the room is the dresser, weighed down with glass ornaments. Pictures cover most of the walls.

Aunt May sits in her chair, hands folded quietly in her lap, staring out of the window.

Aunt May coughs, and dabs at her lips with a small handkerchief.
You go north
The posters on the wall, reminders of winning sports teams and fading rock bands, are further apart than yesterday, as though spaced out and shifted by some unseen hand, showing acres of cream wallpaper. The bed, stripped of sheets, is only a textured mattress, the desk, piled with hockey trophies from his schooldays. Grey light from the window filters into the hallway behind you.

Still no word from Brady. You had hoped that when the phone rang this morning, it was him and it would have been his voice on the answering machine. It was still too hard to actually pick up the phone though - that's why you stayed in bed. Just a message on the machine would have been enough.
You go south
(first opening the front door)

Bounded by small grass borders that, via some unseen line down the middle, demarcate your house from the next, the driveway stretches out onto the road to the south. The open plan nature of the street is disconcerting.

Your car is parked here.
You close the door
You close the front door.
You go to the south
The street is too open. There are too many eyes - all those blank windows reflecting and multiplying the world. Even thinking about passing the end of the driveway makes you feel uncomfortable. It's as if, unbounded by anything solid, all that space is too big to endure. It might dissipate you entirely.
Go north
(first opening the front door)

The glassed front door leads directly south onto the driveway, and carpeted stairs angle up to the first floor. Doors lead east to the lounge and the dining room to the north. The room is bare except for an occasional table next to the front door in the southern wall, on which the telephone and answering machine squat.
You close the door
Which do you mean, the front door, the lounge door or the dining room door?
Dust plant
You rub the Rubber Plant.
Go east
The kitchen is due an update - it feels very seventies, with a faux marble worktop, dark wood-effect cupboards and garish tiling. The refrigerator is covered in scraps of paper and bills, all held in place by magnetic capital letters. The back door leads out of the east wall into the garden.

A calendar on the wall shows a grid of boxes for the month, all covered in small handwriting.

On the refrigerator is a yellow post-it note.

The clock on the wall ticks the seconds away into the air.
You examine the clock
The clock reads 5:18 pm.
You watch the tv
A large flat screen attached to the wall opposite the window. Derek insisted on getting the largest. It is switched on, and an advertisement desperately tries to gain your attention.
You turn off the tv
You switch the TV off.
You go to the north
The reception area is painted a clinical light green and smells of disinfectant. Rows of chairs line the walls. A reception desk in the corner hold pamphlets and leaflets. The only other door apart from the one back into your house is in the opposite wall.

The receptionist stands behind the desk staring out into space.
You sit on the chair
You get onto the chairs.
You wait
Time passes.
You wait until 6
You potter around the house until 6:00 pm.
You go to the south
(first getting off the chairs)

The hallway stretches endlessly from east to west through the house. The blank white walls are broken only by a door to the north.

You can hear voices coming through the open door.