From a Sunday step.

It is inevitable that her recollections of those London days will differ from mine. Hers are memories spread over a wider expanse of time and she has more to take in, more to remember, more to forget.

There is a period of time that she carries alone; a bank of memories which I cannot help her hold and which sit in the three month pocket of London time before she entered my life and I entered hers. This time begins as she arrives at Heathrow airport, ends as she arrives on the steps of the Tate Gallery some three months later - and only at when she climbs those steps can I enter the scene, take up my share of the story and my share of the memories. Only from that moment can I pick up the pieces, fill in the blanks and help her carry our past into the present, into the future. That swatch of time which exists prior to her arrival on those steps, that is a period which does not involve me. The memories it contains are hers alone; a surprise birthday celebration in Venice, her son's first day at his new school, running through brand new surrounds and hurrying to catch a bright red bus whilst laden down with groceries. These memories and many more sit hidden in these months, this hidden period imbued with that strongest of undercurrents; the combined sense of elation, excitement and curiosity which is born when a life is plucked from its old existence, removed from its howling worries and its wailing ghosts - when it is taken to a new land and given that rarest of opportunities; a chance to start anew.

The howling and wailing in my own life had finally begun to subside some six months previously, gradually fading to the point where I could close my eyes and sleep soundly again. Those six months passed had been my own chance to start anew - a time to welcome a sense of belonging and security back into my days. Even before she arrived on those steps, this felt to be my first good time in what seemed like a long time; a sustained period of calm following a sustained period of turmoil, the peaceful months following on from years of disruption and displacement, transience and upheaval. Sitting on those steps and waiting for her on that Sunday morning late in spring, I had no idea of the impact her eventual arrival would have. I had no idea that her presence would change everything, bring disruption and upheaval back into my life. Back then I would have done anything to avoid more disruption, more upheaval - but back then I had no idea that the right kind of disruption, the right kind of upheaval could be actively craved, purposefully pursued, even welcomed with gratitude. Back then, that late spring Sunday morning I was just a man, sitting on some steps and waiting for a girl.

Eventually that girl would arrive. She would climb those steps, smile and apologise for being late and it would happen right there, right then. That would be the moment where memories began to collide, to coincide and to merge. That would be the moment I entered her scene and she entered mine. It would be our first, that defining moment which would give birth to new moments. It would be the day which created new days, new possibilities; the day which grew to days, then to weeks, to months and eventually to years - all of them packed with moments, with memories. It would start there, with that smile and that greeting on those steps. It would change so much, grow so quickly and become something unexpected, something welcomed. It would become something which exists to this day; which shows no sign of slowing, dulling, ending.

Many years and many miles removed from that Sunday on those steps, that girl and I continue to share our times, share the joint ownership of those memories. Our recollections will differ at times, each of us holding tight to different instances, adding significance and gravitas to different moments. She will take her stones, place them on certain recollections, certain memories, and when the breeze begins to rise it is those instances which are weighed down safely for posterity, for the future. Those that go unanchored, they will rise on the wind, fly away from her and it is these scraps of our time together that I reach for, aim to grasp and hold tight to my chest. Because when the winds subside and the air calms; when the breeze dies away and times are still once more; then we can come together, combine and marry these moments to form one expansive and illuminating whole. Then we can sit together on those steps, remember the past as we relish the present - as we look to the future together; with hope, with promise.