Abbey House

Flashback more than three decades this afternoon, following a long walk along the river in the alternately misty, then driving rain. I found the flat where we lived for a summer when Mom and Hal spent a year in Cambridge in 1977. I glanced inside but could not conjure images of its interior. Nor could I remember the elderly woman’s name who lived next door. She used to give me chills when I caught site of her sneaking a cigarette in her garden. Not sure why that frightened me, but she seemed altered while smoking; the activity had a clandestine feeling.

I wandered up Priory Road, just following my nose, and rounded the corner onto Abbey St where of course the Abbey House sits. Here, memories came flooding back. For an instant I even thought I saw Lavenia’s hand waving from the window. In my mind I saw the dark weathered furniture, the haphazard array of things, worn floors, the luscious back gardens, and Wren polishing silver for spending money. And then there was the stealing (borrowing without permission) of the Dankworth car during a party, which went unmentioned for years.

I stood at its gate scanning the compound, reveling in mental images. When I realized the hairdressers across the street were pressed up against their storefront glass, staring at me, I moved along.