Relabelling and memories.

Labels were important to him back in those days. Removed from his extended family, the country he was born in and had grown up in, it was hardly surprising that he gave things names, imbued them with identities and forged new connections in this brand new land where the people he knew could be counted on the fingers of one seven year old hand.

I first met his mother in the July of 2003. It was a love affair worthy of a film script, played out through the perfect summer; a season that defied expectations, fulfilled fantasies and dreams on every possible level. We did not hang about, her and I. We met for the very first time on a Sunday, spending the day walking and talking, reluctantly parting some eight hours later in Trafalgar Square. From there we moved seamlessly - quickly and fluidly, flowing together in one inevitable direction. Within the week I had met him and he, in turn, had met me; had someone new to talk to, play with. Within the week there was a new face for him to label, to factor in and try to fit into his small new world. He called me Matthew to my face, introduced me as 'my mummy's boyfriend' in polite company.

One night that summer I filled the balcony of our small Hammersmith flat with candles, as many as I could find. I summoned her out there under some pretense or another, dropped to both knees, asked her to marry me and from that moment onwards my label was crossed through, scribbled over. From that moment onwards I was upgraded. He would introduce me as 'my mummy's engagement' and I found myself torn. Part of me - the established adult who knew nothing of life with children wanted to train him, to introduce the word 'fiancée' to his rudimentary vocabulary. Then there was this newly emerging part - increasingly influential and outspoken - which suspected that these crude tags were more important than correct word use; that they should be remembered and cherished, not brushed aside in a rush to correct and educate. This emerging part of me had a feeling that there would be years ahead when this boy was all grown up; that this time would arrive in the blink of an eye - soon enough and all-too-soon combined into one. I suspected that a time would come when his words would be more considered, more appropriate - and I would find myself missing his non-words, reminiscing fondly on those childlike mispronunciations from years ago. I suspected that I would find myself smiling as I remembered those manglings and hybrids that only young children can create; as I remembered that perfect summer where I was her lover and his mummy's engagement all at once.

Six years on and he remembers little of that period; has misplaced large swathes of a time I will never, never forget. It is to be expected, how it should be - and all being well his recollections of that time will become more vague as the years pass; shrinking to the merest of whispers, nuances from a time long since passed - from a time when he was a little boy living on the other side of the world. This is as expected as it is regretted, but surely still the only way, surely still how it should be. Because all being well, his will be a rich life which generates a multitude of new memories to carry, to make room for. All being well he will celebrate more than he commiserates, laugh more than he cries. All being well he will be happy more than he is sad, sample elation well in excess of despair and all being well he will love fiercely, be loved fiercely in return, find his own version of the Summer Of 2003 and remember it for the rest of his days, as I know I will remember mine.

It is a long time since my label was last crossed through; since I moved from being an engagement to a husband, a stepfather. Since then it has not been replaced, only added to. I have inherited additional labels alone the way: friend, confidante, holder of memories - and when he comes asking in those years ahead, when he wants to pick through those hazy recollections of childhood, of London, he will find this book of memories open, pages brimming with detail. Her, him, me; together we will sit, review the years passed, add to the years ahead. It is how it should be.