This is slightly unusual for me but I think it is probably among my best efforts of the last few years.  I write here as a single man with no children, so the old adage about writing from what you know has well and truly gone for a burton!  However, I remain quite pleased with the result, and hope you will be too.

The English tutor is pacing the room as he reads TS Eliot to his small but adoring clutch of girls - more fans than students.  Lines from The Four Quartets trip off his tongue as he walks behind them, sat in a ring of chairs like a rehab group, the better to express their feelings about the poetry at the end of his recital.  He stops behind Juliet.  “We shall not cease from exploration……”  His hands fall lightly on her shoulders.  He feels, rather than sees, her smile of pride, and he watches the eyes of the others drop just a little.  “And the end of our exploring…..”  The firebell rings, and it is not a drill.  Sean, for such is his name, is the image of calm authority, ushering the girls from the room with soft commands.  His poise evaporates as they stand in the corridor, himself behind them, watching impotently as the back draft blows away their young lives, and the bell rings on…..

I awake to the alarm clock, and feel a knot in the pit of my stomach.  Andrea has awoken and slipped from the bed.  I can hear her out in the hall, knocking on Juliet’s door.

“Juliet?  Seven o’clock - okay?”

From beyond the door, (or is it beyond the grave?) I hear the familiar reluctant groan of acknowledgement, and wonder, for the first time this day, when I will hear it again. 

I knew a Sean at school.  It would be someone like him, no doubt.  Good-looking, his intellectual prowess combining with his oily wiles to weave a web that many a love-struck girl had already flown into and had cause to regret. 

Stop it, Simon.  She’ll be fine.

Pulling back the curtains, I see the sun bathing the garden in late September warmth, competing still with the early autumn chill that penetrates the room as I push open the window.  Car engines are starting all over the estate, like a chorus of disapproval at my lateness.

Breakfast is a quiet affair, the three of us at the table.  Andrea breaks the silence with maternal questions.   “Have you got everything packed?”, “Do you need any money?”  “What time do they want you again?”

Juliet’s replies are monosyllabic, but not rude.  She doesn’t want to talk.  As I bite into my piece of toast my mind drifts back, and I remember another day like this…

Aside from a couple of school trips I had never been on my own before.  There should have been a sense of freedom, of exultation in growing up and taking charge of things for myself.  That would come later, but on this day, the one I am remembering now, I was choked with emotion.  I hid my tears from Mum and Dad as I packed my things, played my Peter Gabriel LP’s and waited to go.  I didn’t want to talk either. 

Andrea begins to collect the plates from the table.

“I’ll do that if you like,”  I offer.

“No, you go and shave.”

That’s me told then.  But she is standing at the sink looking out into the garden, and I can see it’s Marlene Dietrich time.  She’s got memories too.  Juliet, well attuned to our moments of distraction, has used this one to flee up the stairs.

I follow, but take care not to intrude.   I close the door of the bedroom and look for my electric razor in my bedside drawer.  Where’s she put the bloody thing?  Oh, no, that’s right!  I left it out on the dressing table.

All our private moments over, we file out to the car.  I put Juliet’s cases in the boot, noticing as she hands them to me the little red rings around her eyes.  I want to give her a great big hug now, like I did when she grazed her knee on our trip to Bath when she was seven, or when that idiot Pete dumped her the day before her sixteenth birthday.  But somehow it’s not appropriate.  Stiff upper lips all round, we assume our positions in the car and begin the long drive.  It’s good to be underway, concentrating on the lunatic backing into the main road and keeping an eye on the car behind with the “Metallica” logo plastered all over it.
 
Time passes quickly and we all drift into our reveries, the noise of travel conveniently preventing speech.  I switch on the car radio, an old friend in time of trouble.  It’s a Beatles number.  Thankfully NOT “She’s Leaving Home”.

It is not long after lunch - another quiet meal in a Little Chef just outside the city - that we turn off the roundabout onto the drive of the student village, and once again the time machine takes me back... 

We had just arrived on the main campus.  I was drier-eyed now, surrounded by others like myself, confused, disorientated, nervous.  It was my second sight of the place, so the initial nerves were massaged with a little familiarity.  Bonds soon formed.  My room-mate, at first glance, not too dissimilar to myself.  He had a lot more hair, but he liked Marillion and Genesis, so we stood a fair chance of getting on.  Funny how important those things are at that time in your life.  But at any rate the break was made.  I waved goodbye to Mum and Dad and watched the car disappear to the end of the road and around the bend.  There was nothing for it but to carry on.  At first I was phoning home every night, but as the year unfolded and I found myself absorbed into the drama scene and the dubious delights of the college bar, the calls became less frequent.  I can only imagine the sadness mingled with relief that must have struck my parents at this stage, but now I am about to experience it first-hand.

This place is not unlike my old campus.  Surrounded by woodland, a miniature version of our own estate almost, the little houses giving an air of normal living to the place.  It is a little world of its own, and suddenly I envy Juliet.  She is going to have the time of her life.

We arrive at the house she has been allocated to share for her first year, number thirteen.  Ah well, I reason, there has to be one.  It comes between twelve and fourteen after all.  There is music coming from the upstairs bedroom.  I don’t recognise it but I know it isn’t Peter Gabriel.  I do my dutiful father bit, open the boot and carry the cases up the drive and into the hall for her.  And that’s it.  We’ve had lunch, we’ve brought her to the door, and we’ve put the luggage inside.  It’s up to her now.

We stand at the door, almost as if we are waiting for instructions.  Suddenly she throws her arms out and gives me a hug.  I feel my insides melting and everything is alright.  I haven’t lost her after all.  Then she hugs Andrea, and for a brief moment we are wreathed in smiles. 

And then we are walking back down the drive, waving as we go.  I notice out of the corner of my eye a male student approaching from the centre of the village.  Another wave at Juliet, and I climb in behind the wheel.  I check my seat, mirrors, gears, and click my safety belt into position.  I am about to turn the key in the ignition when I hear through my open window;

“Hi, I’m Sean.  I’m your link for the year.”

There is more silence in the car as we head back down the motorway.  It is beginning to get dark, and lights come on all around us.  Back to work tomorrow I suppose.  Another day at the office.  Once again I find myself envying Juliet.  She has it all in front of her, like a blank canvas.   How terrifying, yet how exciting.  And I wonder what picture she will decide to paint.

I turn off the main road and find our little estate illuminated by kitchen lights and streetlamps, as always at this time of day.  We pull into the drive and I stop, waiting for Andrea to get out so that I can put the car away, but she doesn’t.  She leans over, and gives me a great big kiss.  I’m bowled over.  She hasn’t done that in years.

Finally she does get out.  I watch her wiggling behind as she walks around to the front door, then I drive carefully into the garage.  The door slides closed behind me as I slip the car into place.  Safely inside, I get out and activate the central locking.  One last check to make sure the car is secure, before I use the adjoining door to enter the hallway of our house, as if for the first time.