Katy Colins - Destination Thailand

‘That’s brilliant news! Well done you.’

‘The bad news is I won’t get to see Cole for a few more days, which is killing me, but Mike said he’d keep hold of him, with his mum’s help, till I get back so FaceTime chats will have to suffice till then,’ Marie said sadly.

Considering Cole’s dad, Mike, had just been a one-night stand, he really had manned up and between them he and Marie had childcare duties perfectly organised. I often caught Mike’s longing look at Marie when he brought Cole back from a weekend at his house and wondered if they would ever make a go of it, doing the whole parent thing together. From the outside they seemed perfect for each other and both totally adored Cole, but whenever I questioned Marie she changed the subject saying that just one man in her life was all she needed.

‘Well, fame comes at a price,’ I smiled, ‘but hey, it’s not too much longer and imagine Cole’s face when he gets to see his mum on the telly.’ Marie shrugged, but secretly I knew how much this childhood dream of becoming an actress meant to her, especially as she has Cole to provide for. She had fallen into mobile hairdressing as a means to pay the bills but her heart lay in drama and plots, not dye and perms.

She chewed her lip. ‘So that means we need to get your things from Chez Prick this evening as I won’t be able to help otherwise.’ She was right. Damn it.

I couldn’t ask my mum and dad to help, especially with my dad’s back. I scrolled through my phone contacts list mentally calculating any possible candidates whom I could call to help move my boxes. Skimming past the names of Alex’s friends, distant relations, old schoolmates with whom I hadn’t had contact for years bar the annual Facebook happy birthday posts, I realised that there was nobody.

Nobody.

I had never been a popular child, but I had imagined that in my glamorous late twenties I would at least have a circle of friends so close-knit that they would make the cast of Friends look like they were sharing an awkward lift ride. Another thing to add to the travel wish-list – make more friends.

‘Sorry, hun. Moving my paltry boxes is the last thing you need to be doing when you should be packing for your new role.’

‘Nah, it’s fine. I’ll just chuck a few clean knickers into my case and I’m good to go,’ she smiled. ‘It’s more important that we get you away from that knob. You ready to go now?’

It took all my strength to nod. I didn’t want to go; I didn’t want reminders, to see our small but sweet house where the kitchen tap leaked unless you jammed a teaspoon under it, the floorboards which squeaked if you stepped on them in certain places and the comforting sound of the central heating when it whirred into action. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the house. But it wasn’t my home any more. It couldn’t be. As much as I wished that none of this had happened, something deep down in me knew I wasn’t going to be the wailing woman scorned, begging for him to take me back. My parents raised me better than that. No, I needed to go grab my stuff and move on with my new life plan. Baby steps and all that.

It was dark outside when we pulled up. I held the front door key in my unsteady hand as Marie guided me to the door, swearing as she stumbled over a wonky paving slab. No one was home. We walked from room to room in silence. I smelt our smell and felt my resolve slipping.

‘So where do you reckon he’s piled up your stuff?’ Marie broke my pathetic thoughts.

‘Probably the spare room and under the stairs,’ I guessed. They were always the two places we would dump stuff we didn’t need any more.

It’s just bricks and stone, Georgia, get a grip. The house represents all the lies that he has spun. The future you can’t have and don’t want any more. Nothing more.

I opened the door to the box room, surprised to find neatly stacked and packed cardboard boxes labelled with my things. ‘Winter clothes, books, CDs, other,’ Marie read with a similar shocked expression. Alex was messy, disorganised and allergic to cleaning. I’d expected my possessions to be stuffed into bin bags, but this? This was new.

‘I’ll get these in the car, you carry on looking around,’ she instructed.

The smell of bleach and lemon hit me as I slowly walked into the master bedroom. The bed was made, an empty glass lined the dust-free bedside table, and without my things – jewellery strung over the mirror, shoes lined up against the wall and books piled on the floor – it looked bigger and barer. No pink pyjamas on the creased pillow, no used make-up wipes in the bin and no magazines dropped on the floor.

‘I think he’s put your joint things down here, hun,’ Marie called up.

She was stood in the doorway of the large cupboard under the stairs holding out a scribbled note that Alex had tacked to the door. ‘Here’s most of the joint stuff I thought you’d want. The bigger items like the fridge and bed I’ll leave to you to decide ownership of. Alex.’

I looked around at unwanted Christmas presents, board games, and garden furniture that had been piled up in the far corner next to the ironing board and hoover. It was depressing to see what five years of a relationship looked like: a cracked photo frame, potato masher and an expensive but hardly used smoothie maker. Was that it? I felt my eyes prick with tears. I didn’t want to sort out ownership , to saw things down the middle. I just wanted to be out of here.

‘I’m not sure I can get all that in the car, hun,’ Marie said softly.

‘I don’t want it. Any of it. I’ll buy new things. Things that are just mine with my own money.’ I roughly wiped my eyes.

‘OK…if you’re sure.’ Marie stroked my arm protectively. I nodded before placing my house key on top of the kitchen counter, the spotless kitchen counter. I didn’t leave a note. I had nothing more to say.

I started crying as soon as we shut the front door. Sadness that I’d never watch TV settled on the comfy sofa or use the oven to cook again. Stupid small things. Shutting that door felt more symbolic than it should have done. I felt exhausted, even though I knew it was the right thing to have a fresh start and let him live here with the joint memories taunting him, it still felt like a heart-wrenching big step into my new life. A life that I had no idea how to function in.

CHAPTER 4

Epiphany (n.) A moment of sudden revelation

The city centre was full of harassed office workers and early-morning shoppers. Three strangers had almost collided with us on the busy street already, their eyes glued to their phone screens, including a huge stocky man who barged into me almost knocking me to the ground.

‘Where did your parents say they were meeting us?’ Marie asked.

‘Err, Kendal’s,’ I said absently, rubbing my shoulder.

‘Ah, should have known. Remember when your mum used to take us there as kids? We felt so posh! Desperate to spot a Corrie star before drowning ourselves in the perfume samples. Look, there they are!’ Marie shouted, waving excitedly up the street.

My smiling but tired-looking dad waved back, my mum had her hands full gripping her handbag to her chest warily glancing at a Big Issue seller huddled under a nearby shopfront.

‘Morning. Sorry we’re late.’

‘Oh there you are, lazy bones. You never were an early riser, I said that to your dad, didn’t I, Len?’ My mum clucked, not letting her husband answer before she busied past, giving me a peck on the cheek and shooting a look of suspicion to the seller.

‘Morning love, good to have you back.’ My dad hugged me, enveloping me in his familiar smell of soap and washing powder.

‘So, what’s this about you going off to be a huge star!’ My mum turned to Marie.