I was asleep on the floor in the corner of my empty studio when the front door opened and the estate agent, Gerald, walked in accompanied by the two new owners.
There have been better moments in my life.
I shouldn’t have been there. The new owners were well within their rights to be put out. We’d exchanged contracts; it was no longer my studio.
Gerald said something to the new owners that I couldn’t make out and ushered them back into the hall. Then he came over and crouched beside me. I was sitting up and wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth by this stage.
‘Sometimes it’s hard to let go,’ he said, as if finding the previous owner sleeping rough on the floor of their sold studio was a common occurrence.
I went with it. It seemed a good option, in the circumstances.
‘I’ll miss this place so much, Gerald,’ I lied, getting to my feet. ‘After the removal men left I gave the place a thorough clean and then I just couldn’t leave. I must have fallen asleep.’
‘They say that moving is one of the most stressful things we do in life. You were probably more exhausted than you thought.’
Gerald was a good agent; he’d got me a great price for the studio, but he wasn’t too bright. Which was fine with me. He did what he did well and looked good doing it. That’s enough in this world. More than enough.
Having sold the place, I’d been living there to sort through my crap and either throw it out or pack stuff up. But I could easily have hired someone to clear it out. I was really avoiding Helen and Malcolm and Max. Mostly Max.
I left Gerald’s side and walked quickly into the bathroom, checked my face in the mirror, pulled my hair back in a ponytail. I still looked like I’d slept on the floor.
‘Amy,’ said Gerald from the other room, ‘I came over about seven last night to check everything was in order for this morning. You weren’t here then. And the power was off.’
‘I was taking the last bits and pieces to my new place,’ I said, making it up as I went along. ‘I came back around nine.’
I returned to a puzzled Gerald and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Sorry about this. Apologise for me, won’t you?’ And with that I got the fuck out of there.
I had ended up sleeping on the floor of my studio because I’m a drunk. No other explanation will do. And I’m cool with that. It’s me. It’s what I do. But I had intended doing something completely different. After sorting the studio out, I had intended heading straight to Helen and Malcolm’s place. It was my fault Julia had Helen’s manuscript, and I wanted to tell her. She had said no digital copies and I’d ignored her.
But on my way I stopped off at the Regency for a drink. To fortify myself. One drink became two. And even though I wasn’t looking very glamorous in my cleaning gear – faded, paint-speckled jeans, stinky T-shirt, ugly grey sweatshirt and old trainers, all of which I had commandeered from Max years ago – I was invited to join in on a game of pool. Then dinner was ordered. More drinks. A bit of flirting. Then the boys’ girlfriends turned up. More drinks. Jealous words. A bit of a fight. More drinks. Then the pub closed and I staggered out onto the street friendless.
Once I opened the door of my studio I knew I had made a mistake. I should’ve left immediately. But I was tired and drunk and I really couldn’t face the stairs, the street, the search for a cab, the talk with the receptionist at some hotel, the going up the lift to my floor, the working out how to open the hotel room door, the pulling back of the tightly tucked-in sheets and then the undressing and the climbing into bed. So I lay down on the bare floor. Just to rest a while.
The floor wasn’t very comfortable but I slept soundly enough for a time. In the middle of the night I woke shivering. I looked around confused, then pieced things together. I was sleeping on the floor, in my studio. I sat up and checked the time on my phone. Four.
I felt stiff and sore and nauseous and drunk. I sat up and leant against the wall. There were no curtains on the windows. The yellow glow of London lit the room. I checked my phone. A message from Daniel. I’m sorry, it said. I replied, For what? And one from tattoo boy, which was a surprise.
Josh hadn’t been ignoring me after all; he’d been in Greece. A writers’ retreat. No internet, no phones, no TV. He’d finished a novel he’d been writing for years. Could I help him get it published? He added a link to a Google doc.
I crawled into the very clean bathroom and threw up into the toilet. I rested my head on the edge of the bowl. I felt much better. I flushed, then switched on the heat lamp. No electricity. I sat on the loo. No toilet paper. I flushed again and pulled up my jeans.
I took myself off to the corner of the room and sat on the ground.
For the briefest of moments I thought some gold had fallen into my lap, a writer who could replace Liam in work and pleasure, but my hopes were quickly dashed. Josh was talentless. The novel was atrocious. It wasn’t a novel, really. More a collection of thoughts, none of them interesting. And worse, they were poorly expressed. It was embarrassing.
Then I wondered if it was just literature. Maybe he was an artist. Maybe he was inventing some new form of expression. I read on. Nope. It was shit. But just to be on the safe side, I emailed it to Max with the question Is this avant-garde or just shit? I’m drunk and can’t tell.
If it was literature then that was something to work with; if it was shit, and I was pretty sure it was shit, then seeing him again just wasn’t an option.
I lay down again and rested my head on my arm. I opened the video Liam had taken of me sucking his cock. I stared at the screen. I wished I had the video Daniel had taken. I wanted to watch that again. I should have sent it to myself before deleting it. Now it was gone. Liam was gone. I’d never experience that again. At least I had this little video. I replayed it again and again. I just wished I could see more of Liam in the video. I should have taken the camera from him and filmed him.
I wondered what Max would make of the video. I was tempted to send it to him. He said he’d never be with me again. Maybe I could torment him. Maybe he’d change his mind if he saw me at work. Liam had intimidated the hell out of him. And Max had left me because he had discovered I was fucking Liam.
Sending him the video was an idiot idea. I was still drunk. How would Max watching a video of me sucking and fucking Liam help me in any way? I watched the video a few more times, trying to get myself off, but only ended up frustrated, sore and angry. I watched the video one more time, deleted it and then fell asleep.
Only to be awakened by the new owners.