Kit: A Very Approximate Itinerary

I cleaned my room so thoroughly that Bex asked whether an inspector was coming.

“Nell.”

“Ah. More serious.”

I looked at the desk. The books were straight. The mugs were washed. The laundry bag was hidden inside the wardrobe, which was not the same as doing the laundry but would survive a brief visit.

“It isn't that bad.”

“You've dusted the lamp.”

“It had dust on it.”

“A controversial condition.”

She left me to it.

I wanted Nell to like the place. Not so she would approve my decision to come, exactly. More because this room and these people had become part of my days, and I wanted her to understand them without feeling shut out.

That desire kept turning into an urge to arrange everything at its best angle.

I caught myself moving the photograph of us so it would be the first thing she saw. Then I moved it back to where I usually kept it. She was visiting my room, not an exhibition about how much I loved her.

Asha helped me choose places within a manageable walk of the station and college. She suggested a café with good cheap soup, a covered market and a public exhibition she had liked. I wrote them down, then looked at the list and recognised the old danger: a day so full of worthwhile things that there would be no room to sit down.

“What does Nell want to do?” Asha asked.

“See me.”

“Then perhaps schedule yourself.”

I crossed out half the list.

We had permission to use a teaching room for a short visit during the open studio period. I wanted to show Nell the place where I'd made the sound sequence, not put her through a demonstration she had to admire. I asked whether she was interested before including it. She replied with enough questions to reassure me.

On Saturday, I woke before the alarm. The room looked unfamiliar in the early light, cleaner than usual and too quiet. I made tea, ate toast and checked the train updates without assuming the existence of a ticket controlled the railway.

Nell sent a photograph from the platform in Marden. She wore the effective coat. Her dad stood beside her holding a takeaway cup and looking as though he wanted to accompany the train personally to ensure it behaved.

Nell: Expedition begins.

Kit: Any essential equipment forgotten?

Nell: Dignity. Standard omission.

I laughed in the kitchen. Bex looked up from her cereal.

“Go to the station before you start pacing a trench.”

“It isn't time.”

“Walk slowly.”

I did not walk slowly. I arrived early and spent twenty minutes examining the arrivals board as if my attention could keep the times stable. People came through the barriers in waves, carrying bags, flowers, children, the various evidence of having somewhere to go.

I had lived in the city for only a few weeks, but this part was becoming familiar. I knew which exit to use. I knew where the floor dipped slightly by the door. I knew the sound of a suitcase catching on the same seam in the tiles.

Then Nell appeared, and all that useful knowledge became briefly irrelevant.

She saw me, smiled and sped up without quite running. I went towards her. We met beside a pillar where we were only moderately in everyone's way.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello.”

We hugged tightly. Her bag pressed against my hip. Her coat smelled of cold air and the tea she'd spilled a little on the journey. I had missed the physical fact of her more than the photographs had allowed me to understand.

When we pulled apart, she touched my face.

“You're real.”

“Mostly.”

“Excellent. The call quality was making me uncertain.”

I kissed her. Briefly, because a station was still a station, but not apologetically.

“How was the train?”

“A woman brought a plant taller than she was. It had a better seat than several people.”

“Did you interview her?”

“Nearly.”

We walked towards the exit. I reached for her bag, then stopped myself from assuming.

“Want me to carry that?”

“No, it's fine. I've packed for a day trip, not a colonial expedition. Eventually.”

Outside, the city opened around us: buses, voices, a tram bell, the smell of coffee and rain on stone. Nell looked up and around with the attention I loved, already noticing details I had walked past because I was late for class.

“What first?” she asked.

“Food?”

“Perfect itinerary.”

I took her hand and led her towards the café, leaving enough time to be slow.