I stand up and go over to the tall chest of drawers where my clothes used to be. It’s being in this room again that’s bringing it all back, making me think of things I haven’t thought about for ages. The drawers are now full of Mum’s craft supplies: balls of wool and knitting needles; patterns and magazines; sewing tins and button boxes. I examine the rest of the room and take in all the small changes that have been made since I left: different pictures on the wall; a diary and pen on the desk; a vase of dried flowers.

I open the window and sit in the wicker chair where once I discarded the clothes I couldn’t be bothered to put away, which Mum used to tell me off about. I smile. Now here I am, about to enter a whole new phase of life by becoming a mother myself, while Mum’s leaving that phase behind and focusing on herself again. She’s even volunteering at the local hospice. She hasn’t worked since before I was born. And now she and Dad are starting to do things they’ve always wanted to do. Like visiting New York. It makes me realize how liberated they must feel now that I’m so much better and have left home, how my epilepsy limited all of our lives.

It’s then that I remember the pink shoebox. The one full of memories from when I was a baby. First lock of hair, first pair of bootees. As a young child, I’d loved it when Mum showed me these things. It made me feel special.

I open each of the drawers in the tall chest, wondering if perhaps I might find it in one of them. It seems a likely place to keep it, but it isn’t here. I’ll have to ask her about it later.

But as I drift back into the spare room to start unpacking our bits and pieces, I remember where I saw it last. At the bottom of Mum’s wardrobe. I drop Ross’s spare T-shirt on the bed and rush off to see if it’s still there.

As my fingers touch the brass doorknob of their closed bedroom door, I hesitate. That same feeling of excitement and trepidation I had as a child whenever I trespassed over this threshold takes hold of me once more. I push open the door, hearing the familiar shushing sound as it moves across the thick pile of the carpet. Back then, I was bored and nosy. I knew it was wrong to look at their things when they weren’t there to grant permission. But it’s different now. Mum won’t mind me getting the baby box out. Especially now that I’m pregnant.