The beginning of another new academic year, and in the swimming pool a group of young men throw each other around in the general section, making a lot of noise and treating the pool like a pub. They won’t be back once freshers’ week is over, but the rituals or a new semester and freshers’ week change very little as the years go by. I’m always one year older and they’re always a fresh faced eighteen.
At Winterbourne afterwards, I sit on a bench in a quiet corner and feel the sun on my face, enjoying the final warm afternoons of the year and reflecting on all the events and losses of the past twelve months.
One year ago, Minou was still alive. One year ago, Mum still recognised me as her daughter.