I paced around my living room, jittering with a nervous excitement. Was I really going to do this? Pack up my whole life and move to a new country? A new continent?
I couldn’t for the life of me think of a reason why not.
I had no family anymore, no friends to speak of. A couple of ex-girlfriends (who would probably pay for my ticket if I mentioned it to them) and that was it. I began to sketch out a plan in my head, already mentally boxed up and landing in Highett.
The name just felt right – I hadn’t ever set foot on the cobblestone streets, but I could so clearly see myself living there. Highett.
I’d have to sort out some kind of conveyancing firm to help buy a home in Highett, of course – I’m not a total amateur. But what else?
Oh, I realised with a start, as I stopped myself from stumbling into a couch. This house.
I looked around my glum little room with a sigh, taking in every harsh edge of the mantlepiece, the faded stains on the carpet and the upholstery. The thought of leaving it behind, of starting fresh somewhere new, brought a huge grin to my face. I half worried my mouth would detach from the rest of me in protest, to sit sullenly by the fireplace until I asked for a more reasonable expression.
My thoughts briefly flashed to my mortgage, but I turned those dark clouds away. Conveyancers! I thought again, dwelling more on the profession in the last few minutes than I had at any point in the last ten years. I just needed an expert hand to guide me through the conveyancing and settlement process, then I was free and clear.
Free and clear to begin again.
To start a new life, somewhere far, far away.
To never look back, to never wonder what I might have turned into if I stayed in this house and never sold it.
My fingers practically blurred as I picked up the phone and began to dial.