part0029

After bracing myself for Macy’s hurt, I’d arrived at their little corner of Hove to find Shane’s people carrier gone, and the door went unanswered. They’d managed to organise a perfectly good Saturday without me, apparently, and it was only the lingering remains of my hangover and the fact that I’d had to go past my flat to get to their house that caused me to have a kick of irritation about it. In the main, it is good that I don’t have to spend the afternoon apologising to Macy and avoiding Shane.

I shut my blue front door behind me and lean against it for a second or two, just drinking in the space, the only area of this whole planet that is mine, all mine.

That’s part of the reason why I usually go home an hour or so after I’ve been with someone. I love walking through my front door and knowing that whoever I have been ‘out there’ – worker, friend, lover – is not who I have to be in here. Whichever mask I am wearing comes off at the door and I can shed the persona I put on for the outside world and just be me.

I want a shower. I had a long one earlier in Zach’s hotel room, but I want another in my own home, with my own soap and body lotion. Then I want to put on my fluffiest pyjamas, top them with my furriest dressing gown, and then pick at leftovers from the fridge. I know I should get right at it, go straight to my desk and start this renewed search, but I can’t face it. Yes, I’ve been thinking about the Brighton Mermaid and I’ve been thinking about Jude, but the will to work at it is absent.

I shed my jacket and shoes, and this simple act causes a wave of exhaustion to crash over me. It’s not just being up late, or drinking too much, or even the physical stuff with Zach earlier. It’s the other thing. The thing that clings to every thing that I can’t shake off.