“Do you remember the beach hut where that photo was taken, Mum?”
Of course I do, dear. It belonged to a friend of your uncle.
“The huts were on a spit of sand between the river and the sea. I remember wood splinters and cold sand on my feet when I walked between them.”
“They cost nearly a quarter of a million each now, those huts, Mum.”
I don’t believe you. “Time passes Mum … and prices rise.”