David E Balaam - Columbus Day

Now, after nine months, and a three-hour drive, he had arrived at his new home. Carlos was waiting for him with his wife Alyce, to greet him, and help him unload his entire possessions from the back of a Transit van.

To some people, the house may have looked much the same as when they first saw it, but there had been some significant alterations. George had agreed to buy most of the furniture from the previous owners; beds, wardrobes, lounge sofa and chairs (although not to George’s taste, but ideal for a while), and rugs and chattels, as they were described in the agreement. But the major alteration was the sealing off of what was once the dining room adjoining the lounge area. This sanctuary was now his office and music room. George had built solid louvre style doors, which looked elegant when closed, but was far stronger than normal wooden doors, and had an electronic locking device and alarm fitted. The room was wired with the latest broadband connections so he could continue his highly sensitive work, and communicate with the outside world.

When his computers, music systems, monitors and other 'important' items, including; cooking utensils, a set of Sabatier chefs knifes, his favourite saucepans and a set of La Creuset oven to tableware, had been unloaded, he left Chris to unpack them while Carlos showed him over the house again, pointing out all the work that had been done. As they walked through the hallway to the lower ground floor, George noticed on one of the walls a set of Toreador Picas in a cross swords display.

"Ah," said Carlos, "the previous owners left these as a gift. They are highly prized lances belonging to some famous Toreador from many years ago." He said with some pride.

"They look dangerous, but they do add a flavour of Spain to the décor," George said as they continued their tour. Very little, in fact, had needed to be done in the rest of the house. Some paint here and there and some window shutters repaired. On the balcony, Carlos pointed out a loose section of railing that still needed to be repaired and promised George he would send someone round soon.

Later that evening they had a wonderful meal cooked by Alyce, to welcome George to his new home.

George had managed to unpack the iPod speakers and set it up. He played Gotan Project while they ate, much to Christopher’s annoyance, but he was on his best behaviour today, so allowed his dad some indulgence.

Alyce did not speak English, but she had some French, which both George and Christopher appreciated, so they managed to have a conversation of sorts. Carlos was also translating, and seemed to enjoy it, and was very proud of what he had done for George. They drank more wine and talked about George’s new life, their lives, and everything else people do over a good meal, and several bottles of excellent Pesquera Ribera del Duero Crianza 2005, which Carlos had provided as a welcoming gift. George slid out through the open patio doors and smelt the warm evening air tinted with scented pine from the nearby forest. The sun had set hours ago, but there was a full moon and a clear sky with many twinkling stars which lit the view he had first seen those nine months previous. If he had any doubts it was too late, but he did not have doubts about the decision to move here. Maybe about leaving his children and friends, but he had to leave England and start anew – to be reborn as he kept telling himself. Here on the 1st March, his life begins again, and he raised a glass to the heavens and whispered a toast.

"To you my love – I miss you."

Christopher walked over carrying a bottle of wine. "Top you up, dad?"

George shook his head. "I think I’ve had enough for one night, son."

"I thought I heard you talking to yourself just now. What were you doing - toasting the night sky?"

"Something like that." George left it at that, and Chris did not seek further explanation, mainly because he was not thinking clearly, and because it would not have occurred to him his dad still talked to his deceased mother.

In the lounge, Carlos was asleep on the sofa, and Alyce was clearing the plates.

"No, no, please, por favor, Alyce. Mañana si." She smiled, and reluctantly stopped, and sat next to Carlos, who stirred. "Sleep well my love," she whispered to him in a strange mix of Spanish and French. He was not drunk – just happy and content. They carried him up to the guest room on the first floor and placed him on the bed. "Gracias, George." She turned and kissed George on one cheek. "Gracias, buenas noches," she said with a sweet smile.

"Thank you, Alyce, thank you both, for everything," George whispered, and gently closed the door as he left the room. Chris took himself off to the lower ground bedroom, but not before hugging George. He looked at him with that slightly satisfied, blurred expression you get after a few drinks. He hugged him again and staggered tentatively towards his bedroom. Nothing needs to be said on occasions like this between father and son, except, "That’s the front door son, your bedroom is downstairs to the left."

"I knew that," Chris replied, raising his left hand as if to steady himself, then turned left and disappearing downstairs.

Back in the lounge, George sat alone. It was 11.45pm. He was exhausted. He had meant to call the girls but sent them a quick text instead. "We made it. Had a good journey. Will call or email tomorrow. Love dad xxx."

He started to clear away some more of the dinner plates but thought better of it. He was tired, and fatigue was overtaking rapidly. Alyce and Carlos had made up three of the beds - the guest room on the first floor for themselves, the basement for Christopher, and the master room on the second floor. It was just as well, as George had no energy to make a bed. He got into bed and lay there staring at the ceiling picturing Aimee’s face for all of sixty seconds before he fell asleep.

The next morning, George was woken with a shake of the shoulder. "Hola, George, are you sleeping all day?" Carlos was standing over him with a cup of coffee and a smile.

"What time is it?" George managed to utter.

"Late, 7.45, and we must leave for work."

George suddenly cleared his head and remembered where he was. "So sorry, Carlos. I meant to put the alarm on, but I don’t think I have unpacked it yet."

"No problem my friend. But we must go. Alyce says good-bye. I will call you later in the day to see how you are. Also, I have left a note in the kitchen about Senora Torres, the house cleaner you asked me to find. She is coming for an interview at around twelve o‘clock."

"Carlos," George said, half sitting up in bed, "thank you, my friend. I could not have done all this without you."

"I have enjoyed it, George, and anyway, you will soon get my bill, si," he smiled and winked, and left George to his coffee and thoughts.

George heard the car start and drive slowly down the gravel lane, fifty yards to the main road.

All was now quiet. It’s the one thing he noticed right from the start. The quietness and stillness of this place. Not just the house, but the surrounding area. Life was lived at a slower pace out here, and George was going to have to get used to it very quickly.

He stood in the bedroom, looking out of the window at that beautiful view. "I’m never going to tire of this," he promised himself. He stretched and sighed, ‘today is the first day of the rest of your life, George.’ Not very original he admitted – but at least true.