‘Oh. You bought a new table.’
‘Isn’t it lovely? I should have replaced that old piece of rubbish long ago.’
Mum pats her kitchen table like a dog. I was quite fond of that old piece of rubbish.
‘What happened to it?’
‘I put it on Gumtree. As firewood. It went in no time.’
It was real wood, unlike this one which looks like it’s made out of what someone who’s never seen wood imagines wood looks like. Its surface lacks the scars of my anger, my arts projects and my spilled food.
Someone burnt a piece of my childhood.