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Reg stood at the front door and watched the for-sale sign flap about in the breeze and thought maybe I should have waited. But Reg couldn’t wait. He had already been waiting for far too long. His hand hovered over the letterbox and he remembered the key on the piece of string hanging behind it; but people didn’t do that now. Someone might break in and enter. Reg felt his hand reach up, out of habit and lift the letterbox flap; just to renew the memory.

He still had the door-key. Sixty seven years he had kept it. Reg took it from his wallet and looked at it. Gold. Well not real gold. Gold colour. He felt its texture its shape. He had kept it for luck, after mummy …his mother had … gone. He tentatively placed, key to lock. (It wouldn’t fit, that only happens in fairy tales). Reg felt his heart miss a beat as the whole length of the key slipped into the lock. But it didn’t turn and he wasn’t upset. Reg was used to disappointment…