Three months, three weeks, and four days. “First things first. Let’s get you an Oyster card”. Katie was practical and organised, but not in a neurotic way; she was just as calm and reliable as she had been when we studied linguistics together back at uni. Within minutes of arrival I was already a cliché: a freshly arrived Aussie in her 20s, freezing, but ready for her working holiday in London. I’d hopped off the train from the airport and walked straight into a pub, luggage and all. Katie, having arrived months earlier, was the quintessential expert antipodean. “Yeah you’re gonna need a coat, not just a jumper. Like a proper winter coat.” “This one is a 10 pence, but nobody says pence, they just say p.” “We don’t go to Europe EVERY weekend, but almost.” When I finally got into bed that night, I spent my first quiet thoughts alone pondering my next move. “I do love Katie, but I cannot be spending my time here hanging out with other Aussies in a bar, and there’s no way I can stay in this tiny flat with ten people crammed in. I can’t believe they are too stingy to turn on the heating. It’s bloody freezing!” The car ride over felt like we were moving in slow-motion. I think it was because I knew this was the beginning of something big, so much more than just a fresh start. I looked out the window drinking in the sights and smells of South East London. The radio was blaring with Live it Up, a reminder of home, and perhaps an omen of things to come. At that exact moment, I just knew everything was okay. I was going to be okay. I wondered whether I should reveal to people the real reason I was there. Would it influence how they formed their first impressions of me? I’ve always been notoriously private, so why should that change? “Yeah, nah, I’m just your typical young Aussie. Not like in a bogan way though. I’m here to teach and travel. I want to explore. Discover myself.” My 73-year-old landlord wiped a raindrop from her weathered face. “Bogan?” she scrutinised in a thick Caribbean accent. “Well anyway, this courtyard you can use, we’ll go back inside”. Zero missed calls. Zero text messages. It was a new sim, so it’s not like I could have expected anything anyway. I knew inside what I was yearning for. It was the longest I had ever been without speaking to my father. Four months, three days. I was sitting alone in my newly-rented basement flat in Brixton when I realised that every day for the rest of my life, I’d be breaking that record. The reality of grief hit me once more, just like the cold London air hit my skin afresh each time I stepped outside, shocking me to the depths of my core. South-east London was everything I wanted it to be: dirty, smelly, irreverent, and full of culture. It was simply electric. My first half-term break came just 5 weeks into my teaching there. I was itching to explore the city more, but there was something far more urgent consuming my thoughts. I had an address and it was now or never. Six months, two weeks, and one day. I made the short climb up several steps to the door of a well-maintained, black and white terraced house in Belsize Park. It took me about an hour to get to this other side of London, but it was as though I changed worlds in that time. The streets were cleaner, the smells were more defined, even the houses looked different. And the people, they spoke completely differently to the folk on my side of town. The man who answered the door was short in stature, both by nature, and because he was hunched over. His hair was coarse and white. He wore a grey suit, but his body language did not suggest he was on his way out. “No thank you,” he puffed, as he started to close the door. “Wait. Please!” I protested, “I’m not selling anything, and I’m not trying to get you to sign anything.” “I was wondering if I could come in, and speak to you about your son,” When I said the word son his eyes narrowed in a curious way. “Are you a solicitor?” he enquired. “No. Not quite. I’m someone who knows your son. Knew your son,” I had to start somewhere. It had been six months, two weeks, and one day. But that day, I started a new count. It was day one.