LYNETTE, or, as we referred to her, Mrs Burton, is the person this work epitomises. She was a neighbour with whom we stayed during the school holidays in the early 1970s while my mother, a single parent, worked full-time. Mrs Burton also lived with Frank; from memory, they were both widowed and had decided to live together. Their large, free-standing red brick house, with its central hallway, side driveway, and vast front garden, is long gone.

I still dream about that wonderful house and its darkened rooms, filled with interesting furniture, rugs, and personal possessions; the gramophone; and the driveway where Frank kept the old cars he repaired. Mrs Burton always wore full-length dresses in exotic patterns, and, most importantly, her three poodles-Baby Boy, Bell, and Beau-were always by her side. My favourite was Bell, a medium-sized poodle who probably reminded me of Bijou, the poodle I grew up with as my first sibling before my sister was born. Mrs Burton used to make the smallest of the three, Baby Boy, howl while cradling him in her arms. Beau, with his distinctive moustache, was the gentleman of the pack.

These memories continue to bring me great comfort, even now as I approach the age that Mrs Burton would have been then.