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She was rarely to be seen sitting comfortably. Our small kitchen with its formica table and steamed-up window could hardly contain her as she crashed saucepans and wrestled wet sheets. But that afternoon she fetched the old step-stool, that beast of all work stalled patiently in the corner – inside its red frame there was a secret ladder tucked upside-down that creaked a familiar greeting when she unfolded it. The kitchen was stifling and her hands were raw but she poured milk in my favourite cup. And I climbed and sat facing her, resting my bare feet on the warm top step. The voice in the radio spoke to us both that day. It said Beyond the steamed-up window there is a world. It said A thing can be more than it seems – reach in and unfold it.
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