I handed a set of keys in to my estate agent today. I have only five more nights in my house and then, if everything goes to plan, I will never set foot in here again. I have a potential buyer (two actually) and the process of drawing up contracts and selling the house has begun. Today I went to talk to my solicitor about what I can do if anything delays or prevents the sale and I am out of the country. We came up with several contingency plans that are all workable but for the moment are proceeding with the sale to a nice young couple buying their first home.
After seeing my solicitor I went to hand in a set of keys to the Estate Agent and when I returned home, I turned into my drive and for some reason it felt, for the first time, different. It felt as if I was going into somewhere where I was just visiting, somewhere that was nothing more to me than an anonymous hotel room would be. It didn't feel like home.
It prompted todays entry for A River of Stones on the official opening day of the project.
Here it is:
the backdoor key and the frontdoor key
are joined on an unfamiliar blue keyring
that bears the estate agent's name
and a code number
when I unlock my door later with the duplicate
it no longer feels like coming home