The first few weeks

Settling in, school and self-igniting bonfires

We arrived with our lives in a 7.5t truck. Everything we owned packed up in boxes. Every inch of space taken, like a giant game of Tetris. We’d been living out of suitcases all summer long, a six week gap between homes. 

It was a September Sunday, grey but mild. The house looked lonely and sad as we turned into the grounds, her shutters closed up, her facade grubby and the garden over grown. I wanted to feel excited, but the enormity of what we were doing was sinking in. The questions were spinning through my mind, each one flashing up momentarily like the symbols on a slot machine.

What are the children thinking? Are we doing the right thing? Could I feel anymore tired? Are the cats going to get lost in the garden? Will anyone sleep tonight? Is this château really mine? How did I get myself into this? The discomfort was huge, the feeling of the unknown was terrifying all of a sudden. I tried to harness the feeling of adventure, tried to find the thrill of it.

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the questions and tried to smile. My parents were arriving, Dad driving the truck full of all of our belongings. We all stood outside and looked at one another in stunned silence, no one quite knowing what to do next. Where to start, what should happen first?