There are mattresses in my childhood home in Terschurenstraat. One directly in the hallway in front of the door to my children's room. Somebody was lying further down the corridor on another mattress or vice versa. The group is leaving again. I walk forward to a woman and a man who are sitting with other people and having a drink. The woman leaves, so I talk to the man and ask if they need help with their return visas. I can't think of the second question and go back. I say that the little pointed mountains you can see from the path look great. I walk in boots, take them off and continue barefoot. I think I can cope well with the pain of the small pebbles. Back in the house, I start stripping the mattresses and bed linen. I have to wash them all before my parents come back. But I wait until the group has left so that the washing doesn't get crumpled in the washing machine. I find an open Nutella pot at the back of the hallway. There are also two shallow bowls and a written notepad from my mother.