Creative Writing, Venue



That’s the only word I have for today. Sure, it’s been in the works for months – I signed the agreement weeks ago – but nothing can prepare you for the moment the once empty, internet-trapped room becomes your castle. 

Billy cried this morning. He – and I quote – wanted to know why ‘Mummy was packing his life away’. Ever since I gently told him we had to leave (or ‘go on an adventure’ as I’d phrased it then), he has been smaller; like he could sense this isn’t an adventure you can return from.

I couldn’t believe it. My bundle of joy. Gone.  

So, rather guiltily, I have placed Billy upstairs in his bedroom of our new home: 87 Park Lane. He seems more at peace here. I wish I could say the same for me.

I should probably check on him. I place my peppermint tea down and run up the stairs, take a sharp left turn and there he is.

It seems he has found the toy truck he so aptly called his ‘life’ this morning, and is playing with it avidly on his new bed. The natural light streaming in from the window frames his innocence: it shines on his face and accentuates his blue, blue eyes. My eyes, meanwhile, are on the new wooden floor.

I wish I knew his mind. Is he OK? Does he know I love him? Does he realise why we’re here? 

I have an urge to go and kiss his beautiful blond curls, to tell him I love him. But I don’t want to disturb him, so begin to tread away quietly down the stairs. 

‘Mummy, I know you’re there.’

I retrace my steps and poke my head round his door. ‘Is that so?’ 


He smiles. ‘Mummy, I like it here.’ 

I smile. ‘I’m glad.’


About Author


Amy Bush