David E Balaam - Columbus Day

Yes, a new life. No more England, no more bad weather (hopefully), no more rush hours, no more overpriced everything. He was excited at the prospect of this new life, and what adventures lay ahead.

The most important decision this morning, however, was if he should shave. "What would it matter if I had a day’s growth?" But, thirty-eight years of shaving every day is hard to stop just like that. It’s like trying to stop smoking after many years, although he had gradually cut back over the last five years, to the point where he could have one every now and then and not feel guilty. "Perhaps I could shave every other day," he convinced himself. Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror he thought he had worn OK for his age.

He still had a good crop of black hair even if it did have some slight greying on the sides, but that was distinctive – wasn't it? No need to worry just yet. His boyish pear-shaped face needed some sun, but apart from that, all looked good.

Then what to wear? That was easily solved. He shaved, after all, and showered, and put on khaki shorts and a white cotton kurta shirt he had bought in India. He looked once more in the mirror, looking for self-approval. Aimee had been his best critic when it came to dress sense, and he missed the off-hand remarks from her about colour coordinating and shoe suitability. He smiled at the thought and saw her nodding her approval to his chosen attire.

What next!? Time to explore and to get know his new house, finish the unpacking, and wake one lazy son.

As most of the furniture had been included with the property there was not a lot to bring over, apart from the computers, his music collection and the aforementioned prized kitchen paraphernalia. He also had the usual linen, towels, books, personal things, favourite mirror, mugs, several ‘good luck’ gifts from friends and neighbours, plus several boxes containing things he could not decide whether to leave or discard - so he had brought them with him.

Six months after Aimee died he finally started to sift through her belongings. Bonnie and Alex had come over for the weekend to help – he could not have done it alone, and besides, girls know what’s what when it comes to clothes. Aimee had been a slim size ten, so many of her clothes would fit the girls. Bonnie, as usual, was more selective than her sister, and only took two recently new tops and a summer skirt.

Alex, on the other hand, seemed to take almost everything. She was organised. She had boxes for what she wanted for herself, boxes for the charity shop, and boxes for the dump, although that box was harder to fill. She found it difficult to throw anything away that could have a use, if not for herself, but for someone less fortunate. Consequently, the ‘dump’ box ended up being renamed ‘charity two’.

After that George found it easier to clear out odds and ends he may have otherwise kept, so by the time, nearly two years later, he came to move, much of what was left was a mix of essentials and memorabilia. A lot of the larger fixtures and fitting and furniture were sold with his house, so everything he ended up with fitted into the Transit van.

George found a pen and notepad and started to write a list. He had always been methodical. This came from his discipline working as a computer programmer. The mind has to work logically in his line of work, and this translated into his private life – something that infuriated Aimee he remembered. He stopped writing and smiled. "Sorry love, got to get organised," he whispered. By ten-thirty he had done most of the washing up and decided it was time to wake Chris. He made a strong coffee and took it to the downstairs bedroom. He knocked and went in. Chris had found the room hot, and with no window to open had kicked off the bedsheets and was lying naked in the foetus position. He was not sucking his thumb, but George thought it an amusing story if he added the sucking of the thumb at a later stage. "Your wake up call, young man." George put the mug on the floor next to the bed and rescued the sheet, and threw it over his son. "Not a pretty sight, Christopher. Long time since I’ve seen you naked."

Christopher was suddenly awake, pulling the sheet tight around his neck. "Hi, dad, sorry about that," dismissing the event as quickly as possible and changing the subject.

"What time is it?"

"Ten thirty . . . in the morning."

"Very funny – hard to tell down here in the bunker."

"Have your coffee, and a shower, and come on up for some breakfast."

George left his son with an echo of complaining mumblings and smiled to himself. He was glad Chris had come out with him, even if it was only for one day. Waking up alone in a new home, let alone a new country, was something he knew he would have to do tomorrow, but for today, a friendly face was comforting.

Christopher eventually made it to the lounge. He was wearing the same faded Jeans and T-shirt he had worn for the journey down. "Didn't you bring a change of clothes?" George asked although it was more a statement than a criticism. "I’ve just showered and everything, so I do not smell," he said, lifting his right arm and sniffing his armpit. "May have to pinch some deodorant before I leave."

"OK, but borrow some shorts. Jeans will be too hot in this weather, especially if you are working."

"Working! You said nothing about working, dad. Driving yes. Working, no!" he said defiantly, with hands-on-hips.

"OK, how about you help me finish unpacking the van and we may have time for a game on the Wii before you leave."

Christopher suddenly became alert. "Excellent. I’ll take you for a few rounds in the ring."

"Or maybe a gentle game of golf," George suggested.

"You wimp. Just because you have never beaten me at boxing."

George smiled. "True, but you have never beaten me at golf."

The next couple of hours were spent tidying up and unpacking most of the remaining boxes.

They were working outside in what was the old barn where the van had been parked overnight but was now used as a general storage building. It was a good size; around one hundred feet deep by fifty feet wide, and the open beamed roof gave it some character. The previous owners had used it more recently for building materials, and olive storage, but given time it could even be transformed into a self-contained living apartment. For now, it still had the musty smell of a barn. Wafts of diesel fuel seeped from the walls, and nesting swifts had taken residence in the eaves.

George had been methodical as usual. Boxes had been marked according to their contents; ‘Kitchen’ or ‘Spare Bedroom’ or 'Garage.’

"I didn't see a garage, dad, where do you want this box?"

"For now son, that can stay here. This can serve as my garage and workshop."

Christopher then found the box marked ‘games, CD’s and leads.’ "I’ll take this one in and set up the Wii."

"OK, but how about some lunch. I think we should take a walk into town and see what we can find. I still need some provisions."

"Always time for a quick game, dad, then we can eat. Anyway, I think we deserve a rest, don’t you?"

George had to agree. Work and routine were going to take on a new emphasis here. Getting used to the heat for one thing. The house was cool and had some air-conditioning in the main lounge but not in the bedrooms. Acclimatisation – that was the word someone had said to him. ‘It could take a year or more – if you survive that long George.’ George had promised himself he would survive. Day two and he was still here.