Page 31 of Take a Moment

Once inside, I cross the foyer and get into the waiting lift. As it ascends, I inspect my appearance in the mirror, noting that I look a bit off colour. Not surprising really, given the way I felt before in the station. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had that second gin and tonic after all. Nor so much fun on the train.

As I tune in to my inner voice chiding me – something it never used to do – I stop and take a reality check. What’s the real situation here? Stairs were never my best friend. Now they’re my worst enemy, alcohol or no alcohol. And if I can’t have a bit of fun occasionally, then what’s the point in anything?

The lift arrives at the fifth floor and the doors spring open, bringing me back to the moment. I find my apartment and unlock the door, which opens into a tiny hallway. Closing the door behind me, I dump my bag on the floor, keen to explore my new habitat. It’s more compact than my apartment in Glasgow, but it does have a small balcony to enjoy the warmer weather the West Midlands enjoys over Glasgow.

My furniture and boxes greet me in the kitchen-living room and the bedroom, giving the place a welcome sense of familiarity. It’s just as I’d hoped. Aside from unpacking my things, which I can do gradually, I’m already moved in.

While exploring the kitchen, I find there’s a surprise waiting for me. The fridge is filled with some basic essentials, including milk, butter, bread and a block of cheese. Confused, I look around me. There’s washing-up liquid and a sponge beside the sink, and a pack of teabags on the counter.

‘Where did all this come from?’ I ask the empty room.

Then I spot an envelope propped up against the wall near the kitchen’s electrical sockets. Ripping it open, I find that it’s a ‘new home’ card from the removals company.

‘Dear Ms Morton,’ I read aloud. ‘Thanks for using Bridgeton Removals. We hope you had a smooth journey. Thought you’d appreciate not having to visit the supermarket as soon as you arrive. All the best for the future.’

In perfect synchrony, my stomach emits a hungry grumble. I cross the room and place the card proudly on my round glass dining table.

‘How nice is that?’ I continue my conversation with the empty room. ‘Probably the only card I’ll get.’

Digging a plate, a mug and some cutlery out of the brown cardboard box marked ‘kitchen crockery’, I give them a quick wash and make myself a cheese sandwich, which I hungrily wolf down with a cup of tea. Then I look around at the brown packing boxes and feel immediately exhausted. There’s no way I’m dealing with them now. Instead, I go through to my bedroom, make up my bed and switch on my small flat-screen TV, which the removals men have helpfully tuned for me. Lying back, I start watching a film that’s just begun, but it’s not long before my eyelids start to feel heavy, so admitting defeat, I climb under the covers and allow myself to drift off.

Having arranged not to start at my new job until midweek, I spend the next few days unpacking and familiarising myself with my new surroundings. This includes basics such as finding the closest supermarket and testing out the walk to my new office, as well as the essential task of signing up with a GP – something my neurologist suggested I do immediately, so I can access help quickly should I need it.

Being a high-calibre example of life’s ‘doers’, my natural instinct is to rush around like a hummingbird seeking nectar, getting everything done as quickly as possible. But, aware of my limitations and the potential to set myself back, I force myself to work at a reduced pace. This doesn’t come easily, and on several occasions, I find myself starting to flag the way I did at the station. While I’m becoming more attuned to the warning signs, it seems that only when I’m hanging by my fingernails do I take proper notice. It will take practice to learn to hit the brakes sooner, but at least I’m no longer soaring off the cliff edge Thelma and Louise style.

By the time my first day at my new job comes round, I’m properly settled and ready to get going with my new career challenge. As I stand in front of my full-length mirror, assessing the suitability of my ‘day one’ outfit, I’m a jangle of nerves and anticipation. This is where my brand-new start really begins. No more awkward conversations and pitying looks. No more being kept away from tasks considered too challenging for me while my boss tries to dress the alternative up as a ‘development opportunity’. I will just be Alex, the experienced project manager who’s moved down from Glasgow. Full stop.

The only downside to this experience is that I have no one to share it with. My previous firsts were something I did with Dom by my side. He was my biggest supporter, as I was his. It makes me wonder whether he’s felt it too. Or if he’s already moved on, relieved at the second chance he’s been given by walking out of my life. As this thought buzzes around my head, attempting to hijack my positivity, I mentally swat it away. That’s part of my old life now. It’s locked away in a box and I’ve hurled the key so far into the sea of forgotten experiences, it can’t be opened again.

Back on track, and happy that I look the part, I grab my bag and head out of my apartment. When I emerge into the still morning air, I can’t help thinking that the spectacular sun for my first day is a good sign.

As I reach Sheepcote Street, the strip of road that separates the quiet of my residential area from the urban buzz, I receive my first reminder that I’m in a large city. The huge modern commercial buildings of Brindley Place stand regally, like huge chess pieces, and heavy traffic signals that the morning rush is very much in progress.

I cross the road and make my way to the main plaza of Brindley Place, experiencing the same bubbly, energised feeling I’ve had each time I’ve walked through it over the last few days. The design of the space, the splashing of the fountains and the cafe situated in the centre all give it a bit of a European feel. Just beyond the water features, there’s a cluster of bars and eateries, housed in more traditional, red-brick buildings. And beyond that, an entry point to Birmingham’s canal network with its fascinating reminders of the city’s industrial heritage: the old cranes used to unload narrowboats, the charming cast-iron bridges, and the renovated canal house, now a pub, but with its beautiful original features retained. An open-air warren of pathways just itching to be explored. It’s an area that’s already stolen my heart. I just know I’m going to love living here.

For a moment, I just stand and take in the large office block that is home to my new employer. It’s about eight storeys high, with a glass-fronted facade made up of individual floor-to-ceiling windows that allow passers-by to see the workers at their desks. Taking a final deep breath to ground myself, I walk inside and approach the reception desk.

‘Good morning, madam. May I help you?’ an attractive blond woman wearing a headset greets me.

I give her my most confident smile. ‘Hello, yes, please. My name is Alex Morton. It’s my first day at Fletcher & Co.I’ve to ask for Emmanuel Akintola.’

The woman types something into her computer at lightning speed.

‘Perfect. Just give me a second and I’ll call her.’ She punches a number into her desk phone and waits for an answer. ‘Ms Akintola? Hello, it’s Lara from reception. I have Alex Morton here waiting for you… OK, great, thank you.’ She disconnects the call and returns her attention to me. ‘Just take a seat. Ms Akintola will be down shortly.’

‘Thank you.’ I give her an appreciative nod and make my way to the seating area, perching myself on the edge of one of the charcoal-grey armchair-style seats. A few minutes later, my new manager appears out of the lift and enthusiastically click-clacks her way across the tiled floor towards me. She’s about ten years older than me, with beautifully braided dark hair tied up in a ponytail, make-up that looks like it’s been applied by a professional, and a very stylish dress sense; she’s wearing a figure-hugging caramel-coloured faux leather pencil skirt and a cream asymmetric sweater.

‘Alex, hi. It’s so great to finally meet you in person.’ She extends her hand and I get to my feet and shake it vigorously.

‘It’s great to meet you too.’ I smile at her. ‘I’ve never done the whole interview process by phone before. It’s a different experience.’

‘It is that. But no point in dragging you all the way down here with the technology we have available to us these days.’

I’m expecting us to head for the lifts, but Emmanuel gestures instead to the main entrance.

‘How about we go for a coffee first? Get to know each other properly. Then you can meet the rest of the team. We can sort your staff pass on the way back.’

‘Great.’

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