‘A reminder of our main news again this lunchtime. The former president has been seen in public for the first time since leaving the White House, scientists warn that bees may face extinction in less than a decade, and we’ll leave you with some pictures of the baby panda born at Edinburgh Zoo this morning. You can see more over on the BBC News Channel, but from all of us on the One O’Clock News team, good afternoon.’
I smile for the camera, tap my papers on the desk, and wait for the little red light to disappear. As soon as we’re off-air, I swing by the debrief and listen politely to the rest of the team as they talk about today’s show. I’m so happy to be back where I belong, presenting the lunchtime bulletin. Nobody cares who you used to be; it’s only who you are now that counts. Like yesterday’s news, old versions of a person are easily forgotten. These people really are my surrogate family, but after everything that has happened, I’ve remembered that I do have a real one too.
As soon as the debrief is over – it’s Friday afternoon, so I’m not the only one keen to get away – I grab my bag and head out the door. I take a cab to save time. Home isn’t where it used to be and I can’t walk there anymore. I’ve started to think that home might not be a place at all, more of a feeling. You don’t always have to cross a bridge when you come to it. You can plan ahead, tunnel underneath, or even learn to swim if you have to. There is always a way to change sides if you make up your mind to do it.
I sold the flat near Waterloo, and bought a small house in north London instead. It feels strange sometimes, living north instead of south of the Thames, but it felt like I needed a fresh start. And a house with a garden. And a driveway for the brand-new SUV; I sold the Mini too.
I pay the cab driver, then head towards the porch, my key already in my hand so as not to waste even a moment. Once inside, I close the front door, then freeze when I hear footsteps behind me.
Someone is here.
But that’s OK, because they are supposed to be.
‘Anna, Anna, the bees are alive, come and see!’
My niece takes my hand, and drags me towards the kitchen window. I stare out at our tiny garden, looking at the white wooden box she is pointing at. My mother’s beehive was the only thing I kept from her house. Something to remind me of her.
I had to hire specialists to help me move the bees from Blackdown to London. They said winter was the best time to do it, while they were sleeping, but even then – and despite considerable cost – there was no guarantee they would survive.
But now it’s spring. Six months have passed and there are cherry blossoms on the trees, a little girl living in my house, and sure enough, there is activity around the old beehive. It’s far from a swarm, but there are definitely more than a handful of buzzing black shapes dancing to and from the wooden slats. They went through a life-changing journey, it was difficult and dangerous, but they survived. Now they are starting again in a brand-new home. Not unlike us.
Jack walks into the kitchen carrying a suitcase.
‘You’re back!’ he says, kissing me on the cheek.
It’s early days for us too. Jack and Olivia only moved in with me a few weeks ago. He got a new job in London, still with the police, but part-time and office based. We were all spending so much time together that moving in seemed to be the logical next step. Jack and I feel like a family again. While nobody could ever replace our daughter, Olivia is a beautiful girl, and I feel proud to be playing a part in raising her.
‘We should get going if we want to beat the rush hour traffic,’ he says.
‘Well, I better go and get my things then,’ I reply.
I stop in the doorway and turn to look at them both, as they point at the bees on the other side of the glass. Together we’ve created a little sanctuary in the city. What happened before doesn’t matter anymore. I did what I had to do.
Choosing to forget can be a lot less painful than choosing to remember.