Chapter 47
Pissed wet through, I drag myself up Sackville Street until I get to Bloom Street, where I cut across the car park and head straight towards China town.
My head is a whirlwind of emotions. How have I let Liam control me again?
As I walk through St Peter’s Square, The Manchester Library looks down on me like it has words of wisdom to share.
I’d welcome the advice. I carry myself up the tram platform and wait for the Bury line to arrive.
Why is it that when all you want to do is curl up in a ball that the journey home seems to take twice as long?
The tram is empty, but in my haste to sit down I’ve managed to put my foot in a puddle.
I’m hoping it’s nothing more sinister than a spilt can of Irn-Bru.
The driver makes an announcement that the tram will remain stationary for a moment as there are youths playing on the track.
I’m all for him running them over if it gets me home quicker.
As soon as I put the key in the lock of the door, Soumia is stood waiting. She reads my expression.
‘Cup of tea?’
Why does everyone in Manchester think a cup of tea is the cure for everything?
Nuclear attack? Let’s have a cup of tea.
You’ve lost all your possessions in a house fire?
Don’t worry, let’s have a brew. You’ve ruined a new relationship by judging it on the past?
Forget about it over a pot of Earl Grey.
Maybe if the politicians drank more tea, we’d have world peace.
‘Thanks.’
I head into the front room and reach for the remote, turn on the tv and stare dead ahead.
I don’t pay attention to what’s on the screen.
The background noise is comforting. I look at my phone, no messages.
I throw it to the side of me on the sofa, sink back into the cushions, close my eyes, and dream of a lottery win which will take me far away from here.
I could sit here all evening and wallow in self-pity, but tomorrow’s flight is on my mind. I’ll have to get ready for it soon.
‘I did you some toast as well.’ Soumia hands me a mug and plate.
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘He’s angry I didn’t believe him over Liam.’
‘Can you blame him?’
I take a sip from my tea, it’s still boiling as it touches my tongue. ‘Ah fuck.’ I waft my hand in a futile attempt to cool my mouth. ‘No, I don’t blame him. Seeing him with Otto just melted my heart for him even more.’
‘What you going to do?’
‘Honestly, no idea. Hope he cools off.’
‘It’s not like you can avoid him.’ Soumia takes charge of the remote. ‘Do you want to watch a movie?’
‘Yes, you choose, I’ll end up scrolling for hours.’
Soumia has cut my toast into triangles like I’m a toddler and covered it in strawberry jam.
It takes the same time for me to eat my toast and finish my brew as it does for Soumia to decide on a movie.
As expected, when Soumia is in charge of our viewing, it’s a horror.
I’m not embarrassed to say I’m a shit bag when it comes to slasher movies.
I make sure there’s a pillow close by to put over my eyes at the jumpy bits.
The killings and the blood and guts don’t bother me, it’s the surprise when the killer jumps out making me shoot into the air in shock.
I’ve been like this ever since I watched Paranormal Activity in a dodgy hotel in Saudi Arabia.
One of the crew got a pirate DVD from the man who was selling them in reception.
We watched it together in the crew lounge.
I slept with the lights on that night, and the night after that.
‘Ivy’s just emailed me. She’s asked me to go into work for a meeting tomorrow then work on your flight to New York.
’ Soumia’s reading from her screen. ‘We’re delighted to inform you of the reinstatement of your duties, effective immediately.
Please report to the crew room tomorrow at noon to meet with the Base Manager before you operate flight TW672 to JFK.
’ She looks at me, ‘I bet they’re short of crew.
It won't be because they actually want me back.’
‘What about your eye?’
‘I’ll cover it with makeup.’
‘Have you got enough for that?’
‘Fuck off.’ Soumia throws a cushion at me.
‘It’ll be nice to have you on the flight. It’s a two nighter. We can go downtown without having to rush back.’ Plus, it won’t hurt to have Soumia distract me from thinking of Olly.
Why do the heroines always lock themselves in the house and run upstairs in horror movies?
Why do they never run to their neighbours for help?
I’ve got the pillow poised ready to cover my eyes.
The blonde actress with huge breasts is hiding in a cupboard whilst the man with a knife hunts for her.
She’s holding her breath, I’m holding mine.
A banging on our front door makes me jump into the air as the killer’s knife slashes down on his victim.
Soumia’s laughing her head off. She looks at her watch. ‘Who the hell’s that at this time?’
There’s an instant recognition that there is only one person who would turn up uninvited at this hour.
‘Liam,’ I say.
‘Do you want me to get it?’
I pull myself up from the sofa. ‘There’s no point. He’ll only refuse to leave until he’s seen me.’
‘Don’t be letting him in.’
I walk through the hallway and shout through the door. ‘When will you take the hint and fuck off and leave me alone.’ I turn the key to unlock the door, the metal cold against my fingers.
A figure is illuminated by the porch light. Wild hair like Cruella de Vil glows in the brightness.
‘I hope you weren’t telling me to fuck off. I’ll wash your mouth out.’
‘Mum?’