Saturday, July 14, 2012

She's come, new and wait for me.

1. When Alec wakes from his nap, he discovers that my mother has come. He is shy and thrilled at the same time. He can't stop handing her things -- mostly nappies -- because he is so pleased to see her but doesn't have the words to explain himself.

2. I stroll out to the park with Helen and her brand new twins. I remember being just as happy and just as fragile and just as unworldly. Our first walk was like a walk on the surface of another planet.

3. I leave late and when I get to the station Nick has already set off up the hill because he thinks he's missed me. I spot him in the crowd by his grey head and his sand-coloured man bag. I hurry after him, but I know he's too far ahead to catch. Then he turns and sees me.


  1. It was like a walk on another planet for another reason: the preparation that went into it. It was a ten minute walk around the park; we spent an hour getting ready, and took a change of nappy and a change of clothes. It's not like that now: Alec's lucky if I remember to pack a couple of biscuits.


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