I slip into the kitchen, quietly, after everyone has gone to sleep. The light is dim and I need to sit on a high stool in order to see myself in the small cupboard mirror.
Queens, New York City. It’s like a foreign country, so exotic and full of history. My nephew Luke puts us up for the night in his railroad apartment where the rooms lay long and charmingly narrow. The wooden floors and railings feel soft for the use and the walls must have at least a hundred layers of paint beneath the one I see.
Next stop, the Queen Mary 2.