The house...always growing, adding to itself, blooming, decaying, becoming reborn...But Susan doesn't live in the house of Catherine, her grandmother. Instead, she grows up in a one parent family, with her mother, the glamorous and determined Anne. And Catherine, old forbidding and unkind, is only a nuisance. When Catherine dies, no one mourns. Why is it then that whenever some new problem swamps Susan's far from calm existence, she is driven to revisit the house? As when her mother takes up with the worrying Wizz. Or years later, at the end of a deeply-felt and broken love-affair of Susan's own. The house is always changing. As if at last it must achieve some irresistible transformation. Frankly, there is something uncanny about the house. Isn't there.