Page 57 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘I don’t suppose you do. Not really.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

24

A new start in a new home

Friday. Moving Day. All hands on deck.

Mum, who insisted she came and helped, was ordering everyone about whilst Claire finished packing up the last few things in the kitchen. Sal and Mark were there, helping to ferry the light stuff out to the van that Mark had hired for the day.

Claire didn’t have an awful lot of stuff, she realized. Split two ways, there was not that much furniture left, but it was plenty for her needs and for the size of the new flat. Paul had taken away the king-size marital bed – she was happy to keep the spare-room double, less memories and significance – as well as his office furniture, the dining set, an armchair and some other smaller items. And so, the house and its contents were split; a marriage brought down to a division of possessions and a heap of ragged memories. But it hadn’t all been bad, she reminded herself, there had been good times too. It had just been brought to its knees these latter years. Time to get up and move on. She had seen him, Paul, just a few days ago, coming for the last of his things. It was all fairly amicable. She had felt a little empty if anything. She’d been through too much these past eighteen months to worry any more about this lost relationship. She’d done all her crying and hurting many months ago. Their marriage was spent. There was no going back. Trust had gone, and all their dreams from the early days were damaged beyond repair. At least there weren’t any children to split down the middle. Not that she hadn’t wanted children, she had always imagined they might be part of her world at some point.

‘Claire, can you give me a hand with this box of books? It’s a bit heavy for me.’ Her mother’s voice brought her back from her reverie.

Three trips in a stacked-up, white hire van, and her house was empty. Being the last there, she checked every room, making sure nothing had inadvertently been left behind. She traced a hand down the wooden bannisters, wandered into the kitchen, checked the cupboards were all emptied, went through to the lounge. It looked smaller without all the furnishings. She noticed the darker patches on the walls where her pictures had been.

She thought back to the day they’d moved in, full of excitement at their new home together – so much more spacious than the flat they’d rented together previously – a place of hope and dreams. She thought of the years drifting along. Then how it became a place of illness and recovery. Of lying in a stupor after the chemo cocktail, wiped of every ounce of energy, lips like parchment. It didn’t just kill the bad-guy cells, it killed the good stuff off too. But you had to deal with it, it was just something you had to do. He’d looked after her then, her husband, as best he could, tucking her in with a blanket on the sofa, carrying her up to bed when her legs couldn’t cope any more. He’d tried to do right by her through her illness, despite all his other failings. Relationships shifted like sand, and they had let theirs slip through their fingers. But, there was no going back.

Okay, stop dwelling on the past, Claire. Say goodbye to this house, lock the door. It’s time to move on.

She stepped out over the threshold and quietly closed the door on that part of her life.

Another set of keys. A new door.

Mark had got a mate at this end to help heave the heavier boxes and furniture in. No stairs this time – it was on the ground floor. She thanked God that she had her lovely family there with her, ferrying packets and bags and boxes like a mini-colony of worker ants. Even her nephews had cheery smiles as they passed with an ‘Auntie Claire, where do you want this one to go?’ Luckily Mum had been busy with her black marker pen back at the old house before most of the boxes had had a chance to escape, making the task so much easier. She spotted the large ‘K’ in Mum’s twirly writing. ‘Kitchen for that one, thanks Jack. You’re doing a great job.’

An hour or so down the line, Ollie had started to loiter, taking quick peeks at his Nintendo DS out in the back courtyard, and Jack commented that his arms felt like they were two metres long. She’d also noticed that her mother’s steps were slowing. They were nearly done – it was past five o’clock – and as long as everything was in the flat and the van was emptied ready to return by six p.m., they could all stop and she could unpack later in her own time.

‘A cup of tea is in order. I’ve found the kettle!’ Her mum shouted.

‘I have shortbread,’ came an echoey call from the bedroom. Sal, organized as ever.

She had rented the bottom half of a semi-detached Victorian red-brick house just at the Gosforth end of Jesmond. It overlooked the Town Moor and was near a little run of shops with a convenience store and a little teashop. It was also a couple of stops further along on the bus route for her morning commute – perfect. It was small, but cosy inside. She was pleased with it and was looking forward to settling in.

The daylight was dimming as Mark brought in the last box just before six p.m. Sal was going to follow him back to the hire place in Gosforth to drop the van off, and then they’d return. Claire felt shattered; a day of packing up and shifting it all out again taking its toll. Her energy levels were still not quite back to the good old days. But all the boxes were in the right rooms, and the main kitchen items were out. Her bed was all set up – Mark and his mate had done their best with a set of screwdrivers and an Allen key – and Sal and Mum had put all the pillowcases, a clean sheet and the duvet cover on for her.

‘Right, boys, there’s a fish and chip shop just along the next road and round the corner. The least I can do is get you all some supper. Who’s up for that?’

‘Yay!’ the boys said in unison, as everyone else said, ‘Sounds good to me’, ‘And me.’

‘Right, boys – we’ll give it five minutes to let your mum and dad get sorted. Then I’ll pop along in my car. Want to come and give me a hand?’

‘Yep!’

‘Yay.’

‘Mum, can I leave you in charge of finding plates and some cutlery?’

‘Of course.’

On the way back from the fish and chip shop, Claire nipped into the Co-op in her little run of shops and picked up a bottle of champagne. It wasn’t chilled but she’d pop it in the freezer, which she’d thought to plug in as soon as it was in place. It was definitely a time to celebrate.

So they sat on the floor of her new lounge, Mum, Sal and the boys squeezed on the sofa, she and Mark on the floor, eating deliciously salt-and-vinegared crispy battered fish and chips, straight from the wrapper with little wooden chip forks, the cutlery not having been traced yet. Luckily the champagne flutes had.

Sal raised a glass. ‘To your new home, Claire.’

‘Cheers, everyone! And thanks so much for all your help today. I really couldn’t have done it without you all.’