I discover a door in my flat and I step through it. It leads to a large garage. There are tools hung on nails on the walls as dad would do. There is the smell of petrol, of cut-wood. A washing machine rumbles and sudded water is leaking from beneath it. I have returned to Cliff House.
I enter the house. It is cluttered with everything my parents ever owned. Mum is watching television.
“I wondered if you were coming,” she says. She is in her early thirties, though I am still in my 50s.
I don’t know if I’m early or late or even why I’m here again at our childhood home.
Sean G and Sam F and me are in Axminster. It is raining. We’re in a side room of what was (in 1974) still the Town Hall (perhaps it still is?). We are practicing a sea shanty but as it progresses I feel more and more left out as I cannot follow the song structure.
Sam says quietly into my ear, “Shall I suggest you do some vocals?”
I decline. I go outside and smell the rain.
Surprised to find Jess C asleep in a forest. Surprised to find myself in a forest. The air smells of sap and pine. The underfoot is soft. She sleeps quite at ease beneath the trees. So I sit beside her and wait for her to wake up. The clouds move incredibly quickly above the tree tops and it soon becomes night. When she wakes she says, “My tights are like the stars.” And, actually, suddenly, they are – sparkling in the moonlight.