I recall the cloak br of perfume she always wore br which lingered br when she left the room. br Mum used to say she laid it on with a trowel, br but I liked it br and the glamorous way br she smoked, br biting the end of her long gold tipped holder br with perfect teeth. br br Her voice was smoky, br like lauren Bacall. br She adored art br and poetry - br sentimental br in the nicest possible way. br She would read Dr Dolittle and Peter Pan br and get all choked up at the sad bits, br embarrassing herself and us. br br Their wedding photo shone from the mantelpiece. br They were so beautiful, br she and Tissie, my curly headed uncle br with his ukulele and his perfect pitch br and his melancholic disposition br and his love of chooks. br br She asked us to call her Aunt Jean br but we never did. br She was always Jeanie br and young, br much younger than the others. br (Mum was forty when I was born) br Beautiful and elegant br with pencilled brows br that she would raise disapprovingly br when she was cross. br br After Tissie died br there were years of osteoporosis br and emphysema, br but she always had friends in for drinks at five br and she painted her nails br even on the day she died.