Forty years earlier, on New Year’s Eve, I woke up so early I thought I was still dreaming. I remember the scent of my mother in my room and her dressing gown at the foot of the bed. What was it doing there?
And then the snow on the window sill, the lights all on throughout the house, a sound of feet dragging along and that howl, like some wounded animal:
I pushed my slippers onto the wrong feet, but there was no time to correct the mistake. The...