00:00:01:08 - 00:00:05:24
Bron stepped back and drew the window shut, having finally decided.

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Upon arriving in Cambridge, he would take a taxi from the train station

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to the address on the envelope, a certain Greenwood Manor, which sounded very grand.

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Google Maps estimated a near two hour walk to the manor

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marked by a red pinpoint, and the weather forecast threatened

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the usual early September drizzle, so there was no chance of walking.

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He couldn't show up to his new place of employment drenched and smelling of sweat.

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What would his employer and new pupil think of him then?

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He had to make a good first impression.

00:00:39:07 - 00:00:43:02
The television flickered scenes from Merchant Ivory as he dressed

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The boys with whom he used to share these quarters had long since

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returned home for the summer holidays and were due back in the coming days.

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the place stood barren.

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No trace of character or belongings left behind except his own.

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Most of which
had already been packed away.

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He could only carry so much, and the remaining boxes would come to him at a later date,

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set aside and taped as they were in the furthermost corner of the room.

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Inside them were an assortment of clothes, alongside his most prized possessions.

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Sets of books by the Brontë Sisters, a collection of Austin novels,

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those of Hardy Forster, Wolfe and Shelley.

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All of them collected, over the course of his life, from the High Street

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second Hand bookstore, accompanying him through his years like a friend.

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He opened them up again and again for comfort.

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He'd highlighted his favourite passages, written notes to himself

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in the margins, and learned to turn his favourite quotes,

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“Reader, I married him”

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into a digital scrawl of black calligraphy,

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which he and thousands of others would post and share across their social media channels.

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His most cherished book, a hardback edition of Jane Eyre

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with foiled spine, lithograph illustrations, and a ribbon to mark his progress

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was comfortably tucked away in the bag he’d be taking with him.