I often watch a video-clip of Terri standing in the kitchen of the flat, talking to the camera about where the cooker and hob would go when she and Lyn bought 34. I then look in the kitchen: she isn’t there, but all that separates us is *time*. I want to break through the barrier of time to hold her hand and give her a hug: it feels as if my head will burst with the effort and frustration, so perhaps one day it will.