Five years ago today, it was a Thursday. At least, I remember that the subsequent two days were Friday and Saturday. So this is one of those odd combinations of years when the days are the same after five years, not six – a moment’s thought makes it obvious, because those five contained two leap years.
I remember taking Flick to school and walking the dog. Laura must have been working an early shift at the care home, and I would have stayed at hers the night before. I sat in my car outside her house and thought – this is it. It may have been drizzly – I don’t remember the drive – I would have been concentrating because it wasn’t familiar then. There were road works on the A34 at Milton, south of Oxford – they went on for years – the southbound traffic was diverted off the dual carriageway, and I stopped at the Costa.
In Southsea, the sun was shining. I went straight to the agent’s, signed the paperwork, picked up the keys, drove to the flat. The doors were open, the landlady was there with her little dog, and someone was putting up a curtain rail. It was the first time we’d met, so introductions and a few minutes of polite chat were obligatory, till I walked out, turned right, found the alley between the houses, where the wisteria wasn’t quite open, a quick right and left at the end, crossed the esplanade, through the rock gardens, and reached the sea. I could hardly believe it was so close.
I walked along the seafront as far as the Coffee Cup, then turned inland down the quiet road that leads to Eastney and the Highland Road roundabout – I remember passing the strange cake shop. Turned left onto Highland Road, past the cemetery and the junk shop, then onto Albert Road, the bike shops, the crystal shop, the church with the Italian bell tower, on the corner of where I live now. I was looking for a road leading towards the sea, but I’d missed them all, until I came to the traffic lights which I knew would take me back to the flat.
I had the small fold out bed (or maybe just the mattress), a camping chair, kettle, toaster, radio, laptop (but no wifi) – microwave? I couldn’t carry much in the Micra. I walked the empty rooms planning where the furniture would go. I must have eaten that evening – fish and chips, of course – did I know the chippy was there, just round the corner, or was it instinct? There was bound to be one, and I had the car, I would have found something.
Next morning, I drove back to Beds, collected and loaded the van with Laura and Chris, and on Saturday drove back with Murka in a basket on the passenger seat, via Guildford where I picked up Simon.
In memory, banal days become significant, and significant ones banal. Thirtieth April 2015 holds both in balance.