I used to dismantle, remantle, unstock and restock the shelves of a tall wooden, cheap, bookcase every time I moved house. I think I’ve lived in 19 houses or flats, 2 countries, 5 cities. I think I might have got the bookcase when I briefly owned a house, and then when that didn’t really work out, I think what happened was that I felt dislodged, and as though I didn’t really live anywhere, unless the bookcase was with me.

It was pretty big, though. About 3 or 4 of my house moves happened within 18 months. The bookcase couldn’t survive that. Especially as at the time I was trying to let past things unfurl away from me, so that I could find myself again. Who knew where I’d gone? The bookcase, with its books, was like a tether. I used to look at it when I lived alone and feel at least something that I could recognise. But you can’t live in the past. And when some of the moves meant sharing a bunk bed with my mum, or renting a box room with just enough space for a child’s MDF bed, I couldn’t put the bookcase back together again. I wrapped the books in parcels of four or five, black plastic bags taped around them. They looked like packages of drugs I’d seen on TV. My grandma kept them in her loft.

Eventually I moved to a flat in East London. It was a corner flat, so the windows on each corner gave the impression of being on the deck of a cruise ship, the way the sunlight came in so liquid and filling. By then, though, the bookcase was gone. I don’t remember if I sold it. Maybe I gave it away. The book packages came down from Hull. I think they did, to that flat, I think it was to that one. Maybe not. That flat had no water pressure; we couldn’t shower there. The bed in that flat was provided by the landlord. Quite soon after I moved in one of its metal legs sheared off. So: I must have had my books, as I used a pile of them to prop up the bed. I don’t know. Despite the cruise ship feel it was a pretty grotty flat.

Two of the houses I lived in I think gave me respiratory illnesses. My clothes got mouldy in those places. The current flat is a bit like that, but not so bad really. It’s not making me ill. I circulate the clothes in the closet to air them. D’s dad sent us some plastic tubs that take humidity out of the air, and I have pot plants, and I think this all helps.

In a few weeks D and I will hopefully be moving again, this time to a high up flat. I’m so excited. The bookcase is gone. The books are still with me, but I don’t think I need them.