October 20th, 1989

October 20th, 1989

At home

I didn’t sleep a wink last night and from the sounds of it, neither did dad. Several times throughout the night, I heard him moving around the house. I could tell it was him and not mum because mum is much heavier on her feet.

I can’t imagine how difficult it is for dad to see his wife in such a bad way (again.) Mum’s pattern is the same as it always is, which means she’s only going to get worse. Before dad left for work this morning, he knocked on my door and poked his head in. “Keep a wee eye on mum, please,” he said, his tone sounding flat.

I tried to sleep but my mind was too busy so I got up, made tea and toast and left the same for mum on the bedside table. Took Tini out but it started pouring so our walk was cut short.

Back in the house, I found myself pacing around in an agitated fashion and knew I had to talk to Ben. I went upstairs to check on mum; the tea and toast lay untouched on the bedside table and she was asleep.

After ten minutes, walking in the rain, I arrived at Ben’s door, drenched. I knew his mum and dad would be at work so I wasn’t worried about having to face them. When I rang the doorbell, it felt like my heart was beating outside my chest. There was no answer, so I rang the doorbell again and knocked a few times.

Ben opened the door looking bleary eyed, wearing only shorts. “You’re soaked,” he said, standing back so I could step inside the tiny hallway. I took off my coat, shook the rain from it and hung it on one of the hooks, just like I have hundreds of times. Ben closed the front door and as I followed him into the kitchen, I felt a strong urge to reach out and touch his beautiful, tanned shoulders.

I stood by the washing machine while he filled the kettle with water, then he stood across from me with his arms folded. We stared at each other and I could feel my heart racing. After a minute or so, he opened his arms to me and I fell into the all too familiar feeling of him.

I left three hours later, after much talking and crying. I have so much to think about that I don’t know where to begin. He said he loves me and always wants it to be me but after all that’s happened, how can I believe that?

I think the only chance I have of getting over him is to move far, far away.

Maybe, to France.


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