My children were appalled.
"You're being selfish, Mum."
"What about the grandchildren?"
"You're going to waste all that on travelling?"
And Col, who is forty-one: "That house was meant to stay in the family."
When I would not be talked out of it, two of them blocked my number.
That hurt more than I let on at the time.
But while I could still walk and carry my own case, I wanted to do one thing for myself.
Australia was my fourth stop.
And that is where I met Alec.
Seventy-one, widowed, gentle, funny, and fond of exactly the things I am fond of: old films, jazz, the garden, and detective novels with bad covers.
After four or five afternoons he asked me over.
"I've got a shelf of records you'd lose your mind over. Come for a coffee and I'll put some on."
And I went, because I trusted him.
