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Day 2907, 30 May 2026
"Attenborough Alley" in Haringey, London.
This mural is by James Straffon. This area featured in the BBC documentary Wild London but I guess l missed the part with the wild elephants roaming the great plains around Turnpike Lane.
Portland Rise, Haringey, London.
Harringay station, London; 5.7.2020
Date: March 15th, 2025
Location: Berat's Grave
She hated this period when the Earth was beginning to thaw from Winter's icy grasp. Oh, it would be cold in London for a few months yet, but the give of the ground under her boots told Nevra that warmer weather was coming. She always welcomed the sunshine and the inevitable shedding of seasonal depression that came with it; or maybe that was just normal depression. She really couldn't tell and care to.
Both would be gone by the time she descended the hill again.
Mud inched its way up her boots as she made her way across a small expanse of grass on a small hill on the outskirts of the borough she used to call home. The place was quiet, no one else there except for the yard's caretaker. It was a miracle the borough had enough money to employ the man, given the sorry state Haringey had always lived in. Surely the money could have been spent on something better. Then again, the salary was likely so meager that it wouldn't have made a difference if it had been used for something else.
Tomorrow this place would be host to a fair amount of people. It's why Nevra had come today. Tomorrow would be a years since Berat's passing. Today was just another day. Tomorrow a year before had been just another day too, until it hadn't been. Funny how that is.
Not funny at all.
Berat's gravestone came into view far faster than Nevra had been ready for. Hell, she'd waited a whole goddamn year to visit him. She was never going to be ready.
It was clean and there were flowers on the grave, likely Emine or Adya. They were always good with that kind of stuff. Knowing someone had been taking care of him bloomed in her a small kind of comfort. Their people always stepped up when someone needed help. It was yet another characteristic that distinguished them from her.
She'd let herself become selfish in the years following her departure from the Turks. The Rutherfords lived by different standards and Nevra had sunk into them like a duck does into water. Then, when her and Berat started seeing each other, meaning more to each other than they'd ever think they would, she'd stepped up again; started to care more for those around her. It was an enlightening time for her.
Fitting, then, that it was his departure that broke that habit in her. She spent the past year cocooning herself in her own wants and needs until she felt whole again. Time would tell if it had done her any good.
"Miss? Can I help you find someone?" She hadn't heard the caretaker come up behind her. Turning her head, Nevra caught him squinting at the stone before them. "Ah, did you know him?"
"I-no. I just came up here to walk around and pay respects. You never know who gets visitors or not." Her eyes dragged back to Berat's name and the sad truth finally hit her. "I didn't know him."
If she had known him, she would have known what day it was. She would have known how much he was hurting. She would have known how to help him. All of that time spent together, all of their whisperings and jokes and love exchanged, and Nevra still hadn't really known him.
"You don't need to worry about this one. He never lacks visitors. He's one of the lucky ones." He smiled a sad smile and Nevra echoed it, genuinely happy that Berat wasn't lonely. She nodded at him, turned around, and walked back down the hill without glancing back.
A car which hadn't been there when Nevra ascended the hill idled by the curb. The woman next to it stood by the open back door. Of course she was here. She'd been the one next to Nevra on the plane a year ago. The woman gave Nevra an appraising look and once satisfied, nodded.
"You're done with it now." Medea's voice cut through the air.
It wasn't a question, nor was it a command. Simply a statement that they both knew to be true.
Nevra slipped inside the car and listened as the older woman listed the things that needed to be done this month. There was a familiar rhythm to the act and Nevra settled into it with something akin to lightness.
She was done with it now.
Muswell Hill. February 2024.
Private companies are stealing public parks
Across London, cash-strapped councils are signing away people’s gardens to entertainment mega-corporations – forcing small community groups
“For years now, entertainment mega-corporations have targeted cash-strapped councils as amenable, affordable hosts for their events. From Clapham Common to Glasgow Green, city-dwellers across the UK have become accustomed to basslines vibrating their windows, five-metre fences encircling their playgrounds, and security guards policing what are effectively their gardens.
“Yet as entertainment companies try to recuperate massive pandemic losses with aggressive multi-year deals, while the climate crisis renders urban summers increasingly unbearable, the privatisation of public parkland is becoming harder to swallow.
“In April, dozens of Haringey residents descended on FoFP’s biggest-ever meeting to vent their frustrations, while a recent petition demanding private companies keep their hands off Finsbury Park was signed by thousands ... For the most part, the work of groups like FoFP and FCC is polite engagement with the council to ensure the park is properly maintained. Yet as councils’ approach to major events has become more aggressive, so have the friends groups’.
“In 2016, FoFP took Haringey to court over its outdoor events policy. The group lost the case – though it did win an agreement from Haringey that the money made from the park would be spent on it. Haringey claims to have done this, though to FoFP, the numbers don’t quite add up: while in information obtained by Novara Media via an FoI request, the council claims it spent £871,626 on staffing Finsbury Park in 2020-21, many have questioned where the money is going: the park has had no park ranger since late October, no on-site manager since May. ‘If you’ve got this money […] you sure as hell didn’t spend it here,’ says Simon, pointing to the chipped paint of the bench on which she’s sitting.”
Till Death Do Us Part Part II - Oct 4th, 2023 tw: mention of death
It had been a few days since the shooting at the bakery. News spread quickly around the borough, shocking the community. Mrs. Aksoy had left herself a legacy and Mr. Demirci had been known for his excellent talent when it came to suits. It left people uncertain on what their fate would be in their own home. Ayda tried not to think about it, it left her feeling the weight that was now placed heavier on her shoulders. She wanted to protect them, but it was growing harder to find the confidence that she could.
Ayda stood outside of the bakery for ten minutes replaying what happened that night. She had been asked to come over to the Aksoy’s. The window had already been fixed, but nothing had been touched on the inside. Glass still scattered across the floor, tables and chairs turned and the faint mark of where the bleach was placed to cover up the blood. Taking a deep breath she walked around to the side to where the other entrance to the flat was, stepping inside, locking the door behind her, making her way up the stairs.
“Hello,” she calls out softly, eyes meeting ones she hadn’t seen in years. “Kemal?” She knew he would come. It was their mom that passed. That meant Ela would be here too. “Is your sister here?” She asks, her eyes falling on Mr. Aksoy sitting beside him.
“I got in late last night.” He gives her a faint smile, a hand gesturing to the lounge chair beside them.“Ela is here, she went out to get some food.” Ayda returns the smile, taking a seat.
That is when she notices the box sitting on Mr. Aksoy’s lap, a shoe box and it catches her attention. Careful hues study the older male, taking in his features. He looks paler, a tiredness in his gaze and his shoulders sink. Skinnier, he looks much skinnier than the last time she saw him which wasn’t long ago.
“I’m sorry you are here for this.” There would always be a part of her that would feel it was her fault. She should have never put that gathering together. It was a lesson she should have learnt from the engagement party failure, unable to look him in the eyes.
“Not how I wanted to come visit, but we will manage to get through this.” There was a defeatness to his tone and it made her worry. Her hands fold on her lap.
“Let me get to the point,” Mr. Aksoy says, a weakness to his tone. His hand trembles while taking the envelope from the top of the box. “This is the deed to the building, along with the rights to the bakery.”
A dumbfoundedness seeps into her features. “That should go to Kemal or Ela.” She quickly looks at Kemal, seeing him shake his head at her.
“We don’t want it.” He speaks before his father could. “Neither of us have the desire to run the bakery and we don’t want it sold. Ma always talked about how much it meant to you. We want someone to keep it running, in her honour.” He blinks back the tears.
“Oh,” Ayda couldn’t hide her emotions, a hand coming up to wipe the tears, the other reaching forward to take the envelope from him. “I don’t know what to say.” There is a small pause whilst she looks it over, not opening it. “Thank you.”
“This is for you.” He then holds out the shoe box with her name on top of it. “All the kids have one, she thought of you as her own. Things she kept over the years.” Ayda takes the box, holding both on her lap. This was something she would look at later when she was alone.
“I miss her,” her voice cracks, fingers curling around the box.
“We all do.” Kemal adds, a hand reaching out to take hers, giving a small squeeze before pulling back. “She always talked highly of you. You meant a lot to her. I want to thank you for being there for her when we were gone.” His words touched her more than she thought they would.
“I’m stopping with treatment.” Mr. Aksoy states, both of them looking at him stunned.
“Pa, you can’t.” Kemal interjects, his attention turning to his dad.
“I can’t lose you too.” Ayda adds in, moving to sit beside the old man’s other side, leaving the box and envelope on the chair. “I have already told the doctors and refused treatment on Monday.” He looks between the both of them, and now it made sense why he looked the way he did. He was slowly dying. “I was only fighting this for her.”
21 January 2022 – Harringay
