It was the big day. Finally after months they were moving.
It had been such a hard thing to say. It would have been so much easier to drift on, living side by side, often amiably but mostly with tension and remorse for a life they had dreamed of but which did not materialise. And so with the backing of her mother and children she said “I’m leaving” to him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing so she said it again and then again until he understood. There was no discussion, he finally realised it had gone to far, no stitching would make good the damage.
So they sold off their surplus baggage, their tools and furniture and today was moving day. Everything was in the car, he even offered to help with moving stuff. The dog, the cat in a cage, the precious items, the crockery in bubble wrap, the immediate items all packed into the tiny car. She just needed to collect the key from the estate agent for Willow Cottage. Feeling pretty tense, she pulled into the car park from where she could run round the corner to collect the key. No spaces. She waited and waited and finally a space was there but another car that had just arrived pulled into the gap. She was livid! She jumped out. ‘I’ve been waiting for that space! You can see that I’ve been waiting!’ The woman backed off, feeling the energy coming her way.
Key collected, off they set. Up the hill, past the stone walls, the green fields with small sheep. Into the village, turn right by the pillar box.
Down the lane, cottage on the end of the row, last but one.
Already in the house were her children. 16,18 and 19 years old, ‘Its ok Mum, you need to leave him, we know that.” Thankful of the furniture men who lifted the heavy items as if they were made of paper, negotiated the stairs and the corners, quickly, quietly, efficiently moved all their bags and baggage into this new place.
New life, new start.
“Do you need any pots love?’ Next door – meaning mugs not saucepans. Kettle on, cuppa, sigh, made it!