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Sunday 11 November 2012


The city is changing again. Just when I think I have a grip on it, something shifts. Last night's fitful sleep leaves behind a shadow of drowsiness. I should be closing my eyes but something pulls me out of bed. Shuffling into the lounge, I make my way towards the balcony door and pull aside the blinds. I have seen this hazy sun before. Everything around me glimmers; Canary Wharf, the crane which popped up from nowhere, and the green watering can filled with rain water; all bathed in the bright Sunday morning light. Reaching out, I touch the glass and immediately realise it’s cold outside. Warmth washes over me as I reach to take a sip of fresh coffee...something else catches my eye. A bundle of paper held together with a bulldog clip. Basking in the sun, it sits there on the side. Waiting, watching; my unfinished book.
The Christmas channel has started back again; 24 hours of non-stop made-for-TV movies. My mind leaps back to last year and the week I watched nothing but festive films back to back, wrapped up in a feather duvet. I smile as I look up at the pale blue cloudless sky. For some strange reason I jump to the cemetery in which my mum's body lies. There is no headstone. I try to picture the morning sun splashing through the trees and onto the damp grass below. She's out there somewhere, the woman who lives in my dreams. And as I take another sip of coffee, I can't help but wonder if I will ever stop looking for her.