On the house
On Coping #152
I go back to our old flat.
The one we bought just after we were married.
That our twins were born into.
That they grew up in.
.
The one we left behind us when we moved to be near the sea to start a new chapter of our life.
.
A chapter that was ripped to pieces the day, several months later, when you received your diagnosis.
.
I come out of the station
cross by the new Gail’s
and the old pub which held our birthday parties.
I walk through the park
past the walled garden we sat in with our friends the day we came out of Brixton registry office as newlyweds
walking the path out children took their first steps on
then scooted along
then cycled down
.
Around the basketball courts and tennis courts and playpark and splash pool that were our weekends for over a decade.
.
By the square of grass where
during lockdown
I instilled in them all a love of football
.
Back out of the park and past the tree
the blossoming of which
would announce the arrival of each of the nine consecutive springs we spent there.
.
On the road towards the nursery and the school
and up to our old flat.
.
I pop in to the cafe next door that opened not long after we moved in and that has somehow survived amidst the onslaught of high end bakery chains.
.
Our friends the owners - from whom we adopted our cat - are rarely there, so I am somewhat surprised when Sarah pops out from behind the counter.
.
It takes a moment for her to recognise me so out of the blue and out of context but then she greets me warmly with a hug and the offer of a coffee on the house.
.
How are the kids
she asks.
.
They’re good thank you
I say.
13, 11 and 11 now.
She pulls a shocked face.
.
How are the girls I ask?
Lucy is 18 and Amy 16 she says.
.
Wow I say.
.
And Suzy is 9.
.
Of course
I say.
.
I’d forgotten they had a baby just before we moved out.
.
How is Imogen she asks casually as she locks the handle of the coffee filter into position on the machine and presses the two shot button.
.
She died Sarah
I say.
