surprisingly stops, despite us not waiting in line. I guess I’m going to see where Jim lives, which will be interesting. I love seeing people’s homes, although it always makes me daydream about what my home will look like when I’m in a place where I truly belong.
Inside the cab, we sit together on the backseat and grasp the suitcases between our knees. Ridiculous as it is, I suddenly miss the mop. It seems so far away now, and so long ago since I held it. Oh God, my mission has failed in all its forms, hasn’t it? I’m only realising that now, somehow. Jim gives his address to the driver, and the driver whistles before repeating a word Jim said; ‘Caldy’. That must be the name of the town we’re going to.
‘Is that the house next to the golf course?’ the driver asks.
‘Yep. Sure is,’ Jim says.
Holding back tears, I try to feel good about the progress we’re finally making. But, as the taxi crawls through the rain-sodden streets, up a hill lined with small pubs and even more kebab takeaway places, I spot the hostel where I stayed last night. Through a window dancing with a million raving raindrops, I see large posters for club nights plastered against cafe walls and bus stop shelters promising the biggest party on the planet. I wonder where the Tate Liverpool is, not that I’ll be paying a visit anymore. The plan to finish my degree here is now in the past. Taking a turning into a more sophisticated area of town, I see an intimate Indian street food restaurant beside a bustling wine bar with wicker lanterns and fairy lights, vibrant and pretty, even on a miserable Friday afternoon. Oh, these are the kinds of places I would’ve loved to socialise in, talking the night away over lots of wine and nibbles. I think about the friends I was looking forward to finding, the ones I’ll never meet.
‘I missed out a small part of the deal,’ Jim says, jolting me back to reality.
‘What?’
‘You’re also paying for this cab fare.’
Un-fucking-believable.
We go through that tunnel again.
The cab driver isn’t much of a talker, whistling along to the songs on the radio, and Jim is having forty winks. Then the radio crackles with interference and the driver switches it off, discontinues his whistles. Wow. It’s so lonely in the back here now, a vacuum of car engines and tyre tracks, two vacant people in my confined space.
What am I doing? Where on earth am I? My hands cover my eyes and silent tears fall, trickling in between my fingers, soaking my cheeks. I can feel my scar, its rough edges impossible to ignore.
I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be with Nick.
From fighting, to fainting, to figuring out how to leave Liverpool, there hasn’t been any time to grieve the loss of my love, or what I believed was love, until now. The mop is in some strange old woman’s house. And my heart is aching.
God, it hurts. It really hurts.
It should be Nick inside this cab with me, not Jim. We should be on our way into central Liverpool, to some place called the Pier Head where he wanted to take me on a ferry across the Mersey. Apparently, that shows the city in its finest glory. Then, we were going to go to a Lebanese restaurant on Bold Street – wherever that is. Nick wanted to take me there for our first date, hoping I’d find the food authentic. Except he’d had no intention of taking me on a ferry and eating shawarma with me, had he? He’s a total liar. Were the signs always there, just like Mary had suggested?
‘You alright, love?’ the driver asks, looking at me through his rear-view mirror.
I dab my cheeks and nod, not wanting to indulge, as the tunnel comes to an abrupt, but most welcome end. I close my eyes, too, thinking it best to avoid seeing the scene of my crime, and possibly my abandoned little Peugeot. It must still be there. I’m tired, so, so, tired …
Next thing I know, the driver shouts ‘wakey, wakey’, and demands to know how to get through the gate.
The gate?
I bat my lashes, stretch. We’re stopped before a set of electronic double gates with a fancy sign on the front saying, ‘White Oaks’. Through the intricate metal frame, I can see the house in the distance, standing tall, wide and ever so grand behind a