Marjorie positioned her wheelchair by the window.

She should have been able to see out across the city to the park in the distance and the birds gliding upon the breeze. Instead the view was a grime-smeared abstract.

It had been like that ever since Charlie had died.

Ever since the council had stopped cleaning the windows of the 13th floor flat.
She’d nagged him relentlessly for weeks. He was a lazy so-and-so but eventually he relented. It wasn’t like she could lean out the window herself, was it?

Charlie hadn’t been too recognisable by the time he hit the concourse below.

Despite the accident Marjorie still wasn’t moved to a ground floor flat.

She sighed.

She needed another lodger again.

Still, there’d be a suspect electrical appliance to fix; or another window to fall from. After all, a woman in her condition needed a ground floor flat!