The bump and I made it over for a media conference – a very good media conference – but its contents sadly don’t fit the format of this blog, though they do fit the format of my work.
It was good to wind up back in London precisely at that moment, reminding yourself that London exists, that your friends are still your friends, that men in suits are capable of saying interesting things, that Europe is a small place, that Oxford Street is as exasperating at rush hour as Fulham Road is joyful at exactly the same time. There are annoying bankers with their girlfriends at PJ’s on Fulham Road, and proper people down at the Hour Glass pub – a place of power, Helen and I agreed. Every time I wind up in Britain, I seem to discover a new place of power. I collect them. I also made it in time to buy Kate Atkinson’s new book in paperback, with full report coming, and have Lola’s cupcakes with an old friend at Selfridges. The tube made me appreciate the Moscow metro all over again. I talked to the bump about the things I could see and realized, suddenly, how much I want his father to see London the way that I see it. I peered up at glowing windows at night and made plans for the future.
Arriving back at pretty Domodedovo, I walked through the place where Anna had died. I told her I was sorry. She’d loved London too, I remembered. But I didn’t feel sadness, I didn’t feel as though I was passing through ghosts, gossamer or otherwise. I just felt the time, moving on.