metaphors’ were, but whatever they were, they were my favourite thing about my mom.
God, that awful fuzz. It shakes me back into the tunnel, forces me to breathe out.
I try turning the radio off. I can do without the unpleasant noise. But, the damn thing won’t turn off. Is the button broken? Or am I pressing the wrong one, turning it up instead of down? A horn honks, startling the crap out of me.
‘SHIT!’
The other car swerves close beside me, the passenger yelling a series of insults from behind the closed window. It doesn’t take a genius to lip read, ‘YOU CRAZY FUCKING BITCH!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I yell back, but the other car speeds off.
The radio will just have to remain on. I sob again, possibly with guilt at almost causing a crash, or simply picking up where I left off a few moments earlier. Heartbroken. And this is so unlike me, which makes me even more annoyed. The eternal optimist, that’s who I am. I love an uplifting quote, even if they are a bit five years ago now. Yesterday I posted, ‘Be the reason someone smiles today’. It still got about thirty likes. Katie wasn’t one of them.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I sigh, smiling and wiping my dripping nose with my sleeve.
There is light. Actual light at the end of the tunnel. And to top it off, Elbow has returned, still singing, the violins now in full force. It’s either a particularly long song or the tunnel was much shorter than it seemed. But, neither matters. I’m out.
I drive into a queue of cars, all waiting to get through some sort of toll booths.
‘Throw those curtains wide …’ I sing.
My heart still feels so heavy, but it makes a difference to sing, even if I do sound terrible. I tap the steering wheel, resisting the urge to break down all over again. There will be a sign towards the highway – well, motorway – soon, a way of getting back on track. I pay the tunnel fee and put my foot down. I approach a roundabout, continue straight.
‘… ONE DAY LIKE THIS A YEAR’D SEE ME RIGHT …’
Yes, I’m starting to feel a little better, just a little. So, I sing louder, and for the shortest moment close my eyes, take a deep breath …
And FUCK.
I fly straight into the back of the car in front of me. Even the damn radio cuts out.
10
Jim
The plus side to waking up in a posh hotel with a head as heavy as a bowling ball is, without a doubt, the pillows. And the duvet. Just the crisp, white sheets in general. They all feel like delicate fairies kissing my abused body.
The down side is being woken up by the bedside phone ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Until I muster up the energy in my arm to reach over and answer.
‘Mr Glover? Checkout was fifteen minutes ago. Please vacate the room or you will be charged another night’s stay.’
Fuck. That means I’ve missed breakfast, too.
Grabbing a complimentary water, I swill my mouth to stop it from feeling like a dried-out raisin. I’m still dressed, which softens the blow of not having time to enjoy the walk-in shower. The thought of taking my clothes off to wash and then getting back into dirty clothes is exhausting.
How much did I drink? I can’t remember getting into this room.
Reaching into my jeans pocket, I take out my phone. Dead. At least I’m off work today, but shit, this means I’ll be spending my day off in absolute hangover hell. And, fuck! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m meeting Griffo’s dad at noon. What time is it now?
I scour the room. The sun shines brightly through the warehouse windows and creates a mirror across the bedside table clock. Squinting, I try to read the time, my eyesight blurring. I close one eye and focus with the other. No use. I swap eyes. Oh, bloody hell, I just want to know what time it is. Everything today is already very, very difficult and I’ve only been awake for five minutes. Snatching the remote, I manage to get the telly on.
Thank God for Sky News. It’s twenty past eleven.
I’ll just have to rock up at Griffo’s dad’s house like this. I could get a Big Mac on the way. Maybe stop off at the Asda and pick up a deodorant and some chewies. It’s not as if Griffo’s dad’ll be shocked – or give a flying fuck – what state