Finding myself reluctant to leave I wander again and again through the house. I have abandoned my holdall and I don’t know where I set it down. And although it now seems doubtful I will take anything from here I begin to search for it. Moving methodically from room to room I look almost everywhere, on top of this and behind that but I can’t find it. Making my way round again I shift the furniture and lift and pull back the rugs but it isn’t there. In the bedroom I open all the drawers and fling out my clothes. In the kitchen I take everything out of the cupboards, all the packets and the cans, all the pots and the pans and I place them on top of the work surfaces. I stand back, taking it all in, what I have done and it doesn’t feel like enough. I feel driven to remove everything from the walls and I begin in here. There is just the clock and a calendar. In the lounge I pile all the picture frames in the centre, an ungainly column, and I kick and watch it topple. In the hallway, heading for the stairs, I spot the holdall, it is sitting on the mat by the door, and I unzip it and peer inside.