call in at a coffee shop for tea and a piece of stollen, and then it’s back on another of the same operator’s tour buses for the rest of the trip. The buses cease touring at three p.m. and it’s now two, so I settle down to see everything else.
I don’t know what I expected the Berlin wall to look like. As I listen to the guide on my headset, I discover it only went up in nineteen sixty-one. The image of families separated by this dividing line is haunting. Now only a small part of the wall remains, a fragment they call The East Side Gallery. The wall runs with picture after picture. Our bus slows so we can take in the view. I hold my camera to the window and record the whole way down the wall. We pause by the famous drawing of Brezhnev and Honecker by Vrubel and a shiver travels down my spine. I’ve never been particularly interested in German history before but as the bus passes Checkpoint Charlie it becomes real to me, what people had to go through who lived here. The view from the window is obscured by falling snow so I leave the bus tour and walk back to the hotel. I walk between the checkpoint and ponder on how many people must have wished to pass through and couldn’t, trapped.
As I return to the hotel, my feet crunch through the snow and I have to keep wiping snow from my eyelashes. I think of the walls erected by Adrian and myself, seemingly to protect us, but, in fact, serving to keep us on opposing sides of a fine line. This week I’ve taken a step to bring down the wall, but I’ve yet to see whether this leads to unification or complete devastation. However just two days into my fortnight to myself, I imagine small steps to freedom. I call back at the chocolate shop for one of their famous Hot Chocolates and choose some truffles to take with me.
That night I dine on my own in the hotel restaurant sampling different tapas, and then I retire to my room and eat my torte. As my fork crushes the structure it once again brings to mind walls coming down. I update my journal and pack my belongings, ready for the flight home the next morning. While writing, I reflect on just how much I’ve learnt about myself in these two short days, and how I’ve given myself time to both mourn and gain release without someone stepping in to protect me. I’m like a shadow becoming human, gaining structure, the bones building around the frame, awaiting solidification and some added flesh.
It’s time to rebuild Karen.
I lean back against the pillows and consider my next move. I’d booked a return to Manchester so I’m heading back there in the morning, but then where to?
Such a lot of my life has been spent within that city and yet I have hardly any roots there—even less if I’m no longer with Adrian. I pull my robe around me and think. Next I’ll go back and pack more clothes for a longer trip. Then I’ll have a day or so in Manchester to see if I feel any allegiance to the city, or whether I want to start again somewhere different. There’s one place I need to visit, one root in the city that will tug me back, that’s wrapped around my heart. I’ve not been back since her burial.
I need to visit my daughter.
Chapter 9
Amber
Will is quiet all evening, which is what I expected. It suits me though as I need time to think about what I want. Has Will changed and I haven’t? Am I stuck? Should I need to be moving on?
‘I’m sorry if I offended you with my behaviour, Will.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you mean it.’
‘No, I do. I don’t want us to fall out. I’m a bit confused at the moment that’s all.’
He sits up on the sofa. ‘What’re you confused about?’
‘The baby thing… whether or not I’m ready. I need to think about it some more.’
‘But I thought we agreed to try.’
I think about the pills lying in the bottom of my bag... ‘Yes, but, well, I feel a bit railroaded to be honest. You know I want kids, I’m just not sure I want them right now.’
Will rubs the
I don’t know what I expected the Berlin wall to look like. As I listen to the guide on my headset, I discover it only went up in nineteen sixty-one. The image of families separated by this dividing line is haunting. Now only a small part of the wall remains, a fragment they call The East Side Gallery. The wall runs with picture after picture. Our bus slows so we can take in the view. I hold my camera to the window and record the whole way down the wall. We pause by the famous drawing of Brezhnev and Honecker by Vrubel and a shiver travels down my spine. I’ve never been particularly interested in German history before but as the bus passes Checkpoint Charlie it becomes real to me, what people had to go through who lived here. The view from the window is obscured by falling snow so I leave the bus tour and walk back to the hotel. I walk between the checkpoint and ponder on how many people must have wished to pass through and couldn’t, trapped.
As I return to the hotel, my feet crunch through the snow and I have to keep wiping snow from my eyelashes. I think of the walls erected by Adrian and myself, seemingly to protect us, but, in fact, serving to keep us on opposing sides of a fine line. This week I’ve taken a step to bring down the wall, but I’ve yet to see whether this leads to unification or complete devastation. However just two days into my fortnight to myself, I imagine small steps to freedom. I call back at the chocolate shop for one of their famous Hot Chocolates and choose some truffles to take with me.
That night I dine on my own in the hotel restaurant sampling different tapas, and then I retire to my room and eat my torte. As my fork crushes the structure it once again brings to mind walls coming down. I update my journal and pack my belongings, ready for the flight home the next morning. While writing, I reflect on just how much I’ve learnt about myself in these two short days, and how I’ve given myself time to both mourn and gain release without someone stepping in to protect me. I’m like a shadow becoming human, gaining structure, the bones building around the frame, awaiting solidification and some added flesh.
It’s time to rebuild Karen.
I lean back against the pillows and consider my next move. I’d booked a return to Manchester so I’m heading back there in the morning, but then where to?
Such a lot of my life has been spent within that city and yet I have hardly any roots there—even less if I’m no longer with Adrian. I pull my robe around me and think. Next I’ll go back and pack more clothes for a longer trip. Then I’ll have a day or so in Manchester to see if I feel any allegiance to the city, or whether I want to start again somewhere different. There’s one place I need to visit, one root in the city that will tug me back, that’s wrapped around my heart. I’ve not been back since her burial.
I need to visit my daughter.
Chapter 9
Amber
Will is quiet all evening, which is what I expected. It suits me though as I need time to think about what I want. Has Will changed and I haven’t? Am I stuck? Should I need to be moving on?
‘I’m sorry if I offended you with my behaviour, Will.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you mean it.’
‘No, I do. I don’t want us to fall out. I’m a bit confused at the moment that’s all.’
He sits up on the sofa. ‘What’re you confused about?’
‘The baby thing… whether or not I’m ready. I need to think about it some more.’
‘But I thought we agreed to try.’
I think about the pills lying in the bottom of my bag... ‘Yes, but, well, I feel a bit railroaded to be honest. You know I want kids, I’m just not sure I want them right now.’
Will rubs the
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