We are inside my mother-in-law’s NZ apartment, working swiftly and, for the most part, silently. I’m packing up the kitchen, my sister-in-law is in the bedroom and our husbands are carrying furniture downstairs. Whenever we hear a siren go past, we dive for cover.
It’s autumn 2012, more than a year after the 6.4 magnitude earthquake that devastated Christchurch and lethally damaged my mother-in-law Eleanor’s apartment block. We are here illegally, trying, at last, to retrieve Eleanor’s remaining belongings. Eleanor was out shopping when the quake struck, killing 185 people and destroying the heart of the city. Apart from going home to pack a small overnight bag, she has not been back since: the block was damaged so badly it was feared a bad aftershock