I finally saw inside our new house on December 20. There was a charming card from the vendors, a bottle of wine and some chocolate polar bears. It is a lovely, lovely house.
We decided not to tell the children until after Christmas because I knew Michael would be upset. On St. Stephen’s Day we took them to see it. The Princess was pleased; Daniel was indifferent; and Michael was distraught. He spent the duration of the visit sitting in a fetal ball crying. When we got back to our own house, he threw himself on the stairs and said, “Goodbye stairs”, then he turned to the wall and said, “Goodbye wall.” “Sweetheart,” I said “we won’t be able to take the walls and the stairs to the new house but we will be able to take all your things.” “Will I be able to take my pear tree?” he asked.
Over Christmas, however, Michael became resigned to his fate and even began to run around the new house as though he might be able to contemplate living there. He has a couple of months to get used to the idea because we won’t be moving in until we get central heating.
The vendors have left a book of old postcards in the house with cards dating back to the 30s sent to this address. The house hasn’t changed hands much since it was built in 1890 [I find the title deeds fascinating in a way I never did when I had to deal with them professionally – I’m going to get copies and read the title] and I really hope that we will be there for a long time too.
Wish us luck.
