There was room to breathe, with it's majestic hallway and stone flagstone floor, it's ancient oil Aga stove and a dressing room. My bedroom has lead framed windows and seat that looks out over the woods; with a decent sized office on the top floor, a play room of wonkiness and 6 large rambling bedrooms. It was so big that my children could grow into teenagers, without feeling like the house was shrinking around us.
As my marriage crumbled, my husband and I agreed that we could escape the scrutiny of living in the goldfish bowl of military quarters and find our truth together if threw everything we had at the Chateau and severed our life in half. We had both become lost in the endless treadmill of enduring operations in Afghanistan, Iraq and other dangerous volatile places whether death lurked around the corner. T'Chateau was a magical place and I am healing.
I hauled out the bedding; blankets, fitted sheets that are impossible to neatly fold (although I did watch a video on You Tube recently showing me how but then instantly couldn't be arsed to remember), pressed pillow cases, single duvet covers, double duvet covers, kingsize duvet covers and some curtains (they had to go). I'm hoarder. I can't let go. Not even bedding. Each pattern, each piece of cloth signifies a moment and memory that could be lost into the failing denizens of my mind if I was to discard them. It's not healthy. I need to let go. This was the first step.
The airing cupboard was tall and deep. It had a large top shelf spanning the entire cupboard. The substantial, modern sophisticated water tank was the same height as my chest and it occupied the lower half. Next to it were two deep shelves. They were half the size of the top shelf. I needed a stool to reach the top shelf and then next one down. There seemed to be a sheet caught at the back of the second shelf. I couldn't quite reach it. I was going to have to bloody well climb in to the cupboard to get it. I leant in and lay on my belly on the shelf. I was expecting to feel the back wall but it wasn't there. I edged in further like a sniper. I wasn't sure how but I was now lying fully inside the airing cupboard. Where was the wall? I pulled myself further along and reached out to grab the errant sheet. Suddenly, I was sliding with the sheet beneath me. I was accelerating face first, my arms stretched forward like Superman, down what felt like the slipperiest, sliddiest, helter skelter in the world. Round and round and round I slid.
Rock music thrashed in my ears, "When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide, where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride, till I get to the bottom and I see you again, yeah, yeah, yeah, hey. Do you, don't you want me to love you, I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you, tell me, tell me tell me come on tell me the answer, well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer. Now helter skelter, helter skelter, helter skelter, yeah ooh!"
I loved that song. In fact I loved that album. The Beatles, White LP. It was my dad's vinyl. I'd listen to it for hours, back to back, on my stereo, in my bedroom as a teenager. I even recorded it onto a cassette so I could play on it my tape deck when he reclaimed it back. I was beginning to feel a bit sick as hurtled round in the darkness and my upper back was hurting. I slid around a corner into a tunnel of light and landed in a crumpled middle aged heap of saggy, old bagginess on a doormat at the bottom of the slide. I was too old for this shit.
I dragged myself off the floor and looked up. I saw a red and white striped vintage helter skelter with a Camelot crown that disappeared into the clouds. "Curiouser and curiouser" I thought. "Where were the steps?"
From what I could see there was no way back to the top. Perhaps it was a dodgy Nespresso coffee that I drank this morning. Maybe it was actually laced with LSD? As I looked around I saw above my head a big fairground sign, written in red and yellow carnival font; "Welcome to BlunderLand. A place where you learn from your mistakes"
"Finally, you are here. The Rulemakers said you were coming. I have been waiting for you." A tinkly female voice said.
I looked around but couldn't see anyone.
"Who said that?" I snapped.
"I did. I am here. In front of your nose."
Ahead of me, I saw the most beautiful butterfly about 15cms wide, gently flapping above my face. The outline of the wings were like a shimmering, black ink blot but within was a candescent, glistening indigo blue. The body was black and covered in a silky, velvet moleskin, with a face that took a human female form. A face that seemed familiar to me. I raised my hand and the butterfly landed on my finger. As she closed her wings the underside was brown and her fine blue, radiant, livery vanished.
I was sure eyes were deceiving me. Was this butterfly talking to me?
"I am Papillion. I have been sent to guide you through Blunderland and help you get back to your fledglings. In return, you must help me find Mr Rabbit. He is wanted by the Rulemakers. You have been sent to help me find him." She said.
Down The Rabbit Hole
Start from the beginning
