"What was it like outside?"
The question is like a hammerblow. I take a deep breath and look into my daughter's curious gaze. "Why do you want to know?"
She taps her table - the one she uses for her schoolwork. "I'm supposed to do a project on the days before ... ." She catches herself, an expression of concern on her face. "Sorry," she mutters, and turns back to her homework.
I smile and reach out to touch her. "Ray. Don't, If I was your grandad it would be different. He lived all his life outside. The things he could have told you."
Ray puts down her tablet and folds her arms attentively. "Well, what can you tell me?"
"You've seen pictures - right?" I wait for my daughter to nod before continuing. "I lived with your grandad in a town. There were lots of buildings, all clustered together in the open air. We had a garden where we grew things. I could go out any time I wanted and play in the sun or lie on the grass. And we would go out into the country ... ."
As I tell my girl what life was like, the memories come flooding back. Warm summer days. Cold winter rains. They are so old that I can't be sure what is real and what is my imagination adding colour to my long-faded childhood. I finish with a lame-sounding, "But you probably think I'm exaggerating, don't you?"
Ray finishes tapping something on the screen of her tablet before putting it to one side. "A bit," she says. "But I'd love to see it for myself one day."
I give her a sad smile. "So would I."
