Fragments of family

Don't sit next to me in a café. I will transcribe at least parts of what you are saying. I may not look like it, but I am taking notes.

Lizzie's not well. I'm pretty sure she's dying. Given the huge numbers of people sitting in this Costa who have come to visit her in hospital, it seems likely that she's not got long. Lots of people who all look similar. Different hairstyles, but all with the same nose, a bunch with the same eyes.

Beside me is her long-forgotten sister. They haven't seen each other for a very long time, maybe since childhood. Her son asks her whether his mum knew she had a sister, like he didn't know.

Lots of photographs were passed around.

"Is that her?" "No that's her Auntie Flo".

"That one looks just like me.", "yes he was a right terror"

Someone, actually, turns out, three of them, were held in a prisoner of war camp in Hong Kong by the Japanese. Nobody ever talks about this. There was one of the sisters apparently who died there or soon after. Terribly sad.

"So who are you?" "I'm her sister." "Lizzie's sister?" "Yes." "Oh I didn't know she had one. Have you been in to see her?"

"Yes well Graham wasn't keen, the men are all like that, you know men's men, but he's been ever so good" "But he's gay is he?" "Yes, I've got a son and a lovely son-in-law"

"When I was 51 my Derek died" "I'm 51 now!" "Well I'm 51 too!" "I'm only 48"

It's a good job they've got those photos. And now Betsy, with her iPad is taking pictures of all the pictures so they've got them too.