I go to the bathroom for a shower, let the water drum down fast and furious on my head. Things will return to normal soon. The news of poor little Elodie’s death will disappear from the headlines. Another story will take its place and the demons will hunker back down in whatever recess of my mind they inhabit. Until the next time some poor child dies on a railway line.

After I’ve had my breakfast and taken my medication, I potter about the house and make a halfhearted attempt to tidy things up. I’m procrastinating, I know I am. Putting off dealing with the contents of that box. There are still so many other boxes to unpack, so many things to find a place for, but right now, I can’t face any of it. I feel restless and out of sorts. It’s that nightmare. It must be.

When the phone rings I go into the bedroom to answer it. Recording an answerphone message is yet another thing I need to do. But all I can hear when I pick up is a weird muffled sound before the line goes dead. It’s like the one I had yesterday, which I assumed was Mum. Although I’m sure I heard a faint voice in the background this time, almost like a voice on a PA system. How strange. I dial 1471, but it’s a withheld number. Oh, well, if it’s important, I’m sure they’ll ring back.

I’m just about to do a bit more unpacking when a much better idea occurs to me. I retrieve the local paper from the small pile of junk I’ve left by the front door and turn to the advert I was thinking about yesterday. The one for the open day at Greenwich University. It’s taking place this afternoon. I read it again. Maybe noticing this was a sign. Serendipity, isn’t that what it’s called?

My epilepsy’s under control now and it’s time to make something of my life. Perhaps I could even do a PhD one day. Then there’ll be two doctors in the house. I smile. Getting ahead of myself, as usual. But I’ll definitely go along later and see what it’s like. It’s good to have something other than the past to focus on. It’s good to have a plan.

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