We went to a wedding on Saturday, on the train.
Lost my phone, before we left the house. Of course it was in my bag all along, ringing merrily in silence as Bill called it repeatedly and I flung duvets and drawers about the place. So, we ran to the station, me in a cross silence at my own failure to know where anything is, ever. And then through the ticket hall, with form filling and ticket purchasing and slippery ticket hall floors.
Ten years ago, my dad took me to Paris on the Eurostar. I had looked forward to the trip for months before – Paris was foreign, Eurostars were new, and I would be missing the last week of term to go on our European jaunt. Between the ages of twelve and fifteen we’d been popping up to London together for day trips, but Paris was a big far away deal. I’d only ever been abroad once before – and that was probably twenty years ago now. In preparation, I spent days online, on whatever it was back then – Yahoo! or maybe Alta Vista, or some other long since forgotten search engine? Wherever it was, I spent much of the weeks before our trip churning out directions, addresses and facts about Paris. I researched it all thoroughly; which shops were where and all the various ways to contort the whole city into a 5 day trip. Read More
A half sister of my mum’s died a few weeks ago; a heart attack, in her seventies. Seventy’s not that old anymore, it was unexpected. My mum’s other half sister has been emptying cupboards, attics, boxes. She will come one day this week, with a package of letters for my mum, uncovered from a shoe box in an attic on the other side of town. Read More
The small hours
3AM
“Shhh, it’s okay. We’ll change your nappy and you can go back to sleep. Shh. Shh. Shh.” The nappy’s not actually dirty, I realise after turning the light on and waking you even more. With you returned sleepy to your cot, I creep out of your room, wondering when my pyjamas became so noisy. The material on my trousers swoosh swooshes against itself, whilst my feet make a noise on the carpet, and some joint clicks in my knee. That’s it, you’ll wake up now and I’ll be back to hovering near your cot and stroking your back. But somehow, I get out of your bedroom. I close the door so delicately, the click is nothing, and that’s the cat kept from joining you. Free.
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