The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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Josie Charlotte Jackson was born in 1992 in Christchurch, New Zealand, where she still lives. She says someday she is going to move to Paris, take a suite at the Ritz, fill her rooms with flowers, write several masterpieces, and be wooed by the crown prince of a minor European country.
The last conversation I had with Hamish when he was alive and well — or seemed well, because even then the cancer had begun its work — would’ve been about nine months before the funeral. About nine months, two weeks, five days, and thirteen hours. About that.
Normally I wouldn’t have found them, because I am an exceptionally lazy housekeeper. Or maybe I’m not so much lazy as inept. I discovered in my teens that if you didn’t know how to do housework, you wouldn’t have to do it, and now that I’m living on my own and have to do it, I don’t know how. Anyway, one summer morning I had the day off. I woke up, saw my messy flat as if for the first time, and got a shock.