MAY 1986: I look out of the window and see my father mowing the grass. He is cutting down the beautiful meadow with the daisies and the glowing yellow dandelions. Chernobyl.

AUGUST 1999: I sit with a colleague from work on a rock in Connemara, we are drinking cider, can see the sea on three sides of us and the Twelve Bens in the background. The sun paints the waves golden.

DECEMBER 1999: On New Year's Eve I stand next to Ross on Lambeth Bridge. Fireworks in the sky and in my belly. Everything is possible.

JULY 2001: I sit on a crane in the Rhine harbour after a bout of Campari poisoning, along with Sarah and a man with bread and jam. It's getting light already. We look into the sky until we're dizzy.

MAY 2004: I am sitting in a kitchen. The pizza is going cold. The pianist doesn't want the baby.

JANUARY 2005: My daughter is born. In the maternity house. I am happy.

DECEMBER 2006: Ross visits. The emotions of a whole year rolled into one week. He does not take me with him. I stay with the pianist.

SEPTEMBER 2007: My son is born. In hospital. The pianist is there.

OCTOBER 2010: I sit with Ross in his mother's garden in Knysa. We talk and laugh. He has cancer. I know he is going to die.

FEBRUARY 2012: I move to Basel with the children, the flatshare dissolves, the family too. In minus twelve degrees we load our belongings into an old van with clammy fingers.