Shuffling his backpack onto his left shoulder, he skipped down the steps, dancing to his new found freedom. By the time his feet passed the last step, his mind questioned his destination and he quickly lost the skip. The white door looked blankly at him, mocking his indecisiveness and weak nature. ‘It’s really quite simple, you either open me or you don’t’ the dead wood whispered to him. He hated inanimate objects talking to him, it made no sense and he was sure it was deemed to be a sign of pure insanity. Refusing to acknowledge the door his cheek swiftly turned to the side, his ear tuned into the silence that roared like a lion through the house.

Without consciously thinking of her he could feel her, her confusion and her own denial. He would have dropped the bag and sprinted back up the staircase if his hand hadn’t lifted up a small Moo card to his eyes. He registered the words ‘Yorkshire Cathedral 14th November 2009’, he read it six times and although he found little comfort in the Arial font he knew what he had to do. Adjusting the backpack so the weight was evenly spread across his back, he turned to face the white door with a balanced mind. ‘Open’ he said. The latch released itself without any help from him. As he stepped out into the windy Camden street he was overwhelmed by the clarity. The sky was grey but when he looked up all he could see were hues of gold.