I ascended the staircase, it’s old tiled walls reminding me of going to the indoor swimming pool when I was young. There’s a faint smell of cleaning products, beer and other people’s cooking clinging to the air. When I first stepped into the old flat it somehow seemed to get even darker than the poorly lit close. I remember being confronted by a long stretch of hallway, bedrooms branching off, with a murky green carpet and no discernible natural light. However, this led to a large, and suddenly bright living room with high ceilings. The windows were old and rattling. The view was a jigsaw of cityscape. This was the middle of the city centre and many of the buildings here were designed by the same architect in the late 1800’s. Many of the buildings were listed, deemed important links to the past. The flat was empty so I had plenty of time to look around; armed with an old digital camera I began to collect my evidence.
It was May, nearly Summertime and I was hunting for our new home. This was where our future was going to begin, but we were just starting out so we couldn’t be picky. Imagination of possibility was key here. As I moved through the space, I noticed there were remnants of the previous occupants in nearly every room; mismatched relics from the past. A cracked and coffee stained mug reading “World's Best Teacher” sat alone in a kitchen cupboard, a lipstick stained Camel cigarette in the fresh ashtray just outside the window and a bold nursery motif was painted inside a built-in wardrobe. When I’m in an old building I can’t help but think if walls could talk, how many fragments of how many pasts might they recall? Everything creaked. The pipes rattled. If it wasn’t for the aroma of the pub below, hops and fried food, I could’ve sworn I smelt damp. After taking my final picture, stood in the corner of the grand living room, I had come to think that despite its quirks this was the one for us. It was one of those moments where your subconscious has decided before fully letting your conscious in on the decision. I remember feeling my feet just for a moment sticking to the ground. And this wasn’t the old shabby carpet. Something was calling out to me here and I’d be a fool not to listen. Green tendrils were rising, wrapping around my legs already forming roots. It would be our work in progress. By the end of the day we’d had a phone call to tell us it was ours. The future begins.
It’s May again and many years have passed. The future, as it tends to, keeps unfurling ahead in front of us. Darting and weaving, changing trajectories based on our decisions. The boxes are packed, the removal vans outside waiting and we have our new home securely in our sights. We will finally have our own outdoor space, no neighbours above or below. A lovely school is nearby. Our duo became a trio as our decade here drew to a close. I’ve been taking breaks from packing up our belongings to take more photos again. There is a palpable tinge of sadness as I move from room to room, documenting our existence here before it's over. This is the place where plans took hold and we learned that our futures were entwined. I reminisce on late night parties, early morning coffees and everything in between. This is where we took our son home after leaving the hospital and it feels strange moving when he is still so young; that he may never remember his first home. I move through the now very open spaces, void of our relics, recalling first steps, last bottle feeds and that long hallway perfect for little legs learning what they are built for; crawling, then walking and running up and down. I lovingly document it all as it is dismantled, collecting evidence again. Although it looks unrecognisable to how it did years ago, it’s our home. I want to sit down with our boy one day, with a photo album, point to these pictures and say, “Look, this was part of your past before you even knew what your future might be”. We left our mark along with the others.
As I raise the camera to my eye, I pause and look beyond the lens. In amongst the chaos of preparing to move we had placed our son’s bed in the big living room and as I look down, I realise I’m standing in the exact spot I stood all those years ago. A chance occurrence that makes me feel as though I’ve entered a hall of mirrors, only instead of being distorted, I’m looking at my younger self. She’s looking out into the unknown, a void of possibilities, much like I am now. To her the space is empty but I see the faint outline of a cot bed, then the colours pop from the small duvet and the mountain of teddies beckons for a cosy sleep. A warmth rises within me and suddenly I don’t feel sadness to be leaving this behind when I see where it has taken us. We’ll always have the memories of our past selves, fluttering pages of the photo albums. But it’s where we’re headed that’s the really exciting part. I feel like reaching through the mirror, taking my hands in mine. Calling out, telling her what lies ahead. As I stretch my arms out, she turns and walks away, an untouchable shadow. She’s a part of my past before I even knew what my future might be. I feel the roots loosen gradually as I turn the key for the last time, ready to be replanted. It’s time for a new tomorrow.