Go away, George

Chapter 13

I gazed at the small, vacant house in front of me. After a long train journey, several taxi rides with dodgy looking drivers and a brisk walk, I was home. And to be honest, it didn't really feel good. It was raining, and not just the drizzly kind - it was pelting it down. I had tore an item of clothing from my suitcase and slung it over my head in an attempt to keep dry, but the cold water oozed through the thin cotton material and dripped into my hair. In a hurry, I ran towards the door and dropped the suitcase on the cobbled path before rummaging through my bag for the keys. Flustered and aggravated it took around four minutes for me to actually find them, and then another several for me to locate the right key and push it into the slot. Creaking the door ajar, I peered inside and the smell of my house entered my nostrils. Not wasting any more time getting rained on, I hastily grabbed the suitcase and ran inside.

Shutting the door behind me then leaning back on it, I instantly felt warmer. I flicked the light switch on using my nose as my hands were full and then flung my shoes off not-so-neatly on a rug by the closed door. The beige plush carpet of the small hallway felt soft underneath my socks, and the magnolia painted walls were easy on the eye. There was a single painting hung mid-wall, I remember when I brought it from a clearance sale at an old friends house.

Wandering down the small hallway I opened the first cream door to my left, which led me into an average-sized living room. The room felt inviting and friendly, the laminate flooring almost begging to be stepped on. The chimney breast had an even square-shaped hole in it where the floor was tiled and there sat a little log burner. I loved the log burner. Not only was it a great feature of the living room but on a cold day you could start a small fire inside, and the heat it produced would warm up the room almost instantly. I often sat on the rug in front of it and watched the flames lick and consume the chunks of wood.

On a small glass coffee table that was situated in the middle of the room lay a photo album and I remembered looking through my parents last anniversary just a few days before the bus crash.

Suddenly feeling exhausted and slightly dirty, I rubbed my eyes and walked back into the hallway and up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. I ran into the bathroom, which was a room full of shades of blue and turquoise, and tore my clothes off immediately. Making sure there was enough hot water in for a shower, I stepped into the small area and closed the glass door behind me, reaching forward and turning the shower on. I stepped back for a few seconds allowing the water to warm up before stepping fully underneath it and washing away the sweat, makeup and dirt on my body as well as any anxieties I had been feeling minutes before. I loved showers, it was always a time to reflect on my feelings, but I did over think a little too much. Would I ever see The Beatles again? Would they just forget about me? Would I ever call George like I said I would? Questions clouded my mind as I began to get flustered, flinging the conditioner bottle around and attempting to wash the soap suds from my eyes. Instead of thinking too much, I hung my head back and the let the water drain away any concerns as I relaxed.

After a long shower, I proceeded to wrap a warm towel that had come fresh off the radiator around my body and padded out into the landing and then into my bedroom. Easing the towel off my body I rummaged through my drawers until I found a baggy knitted jumper in a pale grey and a pair of light-wash skinny jeans. I slipped them on in a flash and stretched some white socks over my damp feet. I plugged the shiny black hairdryer into the wall socket and managed to dry my thick hair in five minutes which was an accomplishment in itself. I shuffled downstairs and into the still kitchen where I quickly fixed up a cup of tea.

"Nothing a cuppa can't fix." I joked to myself, but the words shared no purpose as they echoed around the room - it was only me who could hear them.

I sat down stiffly on the large cream sofa and let out a shaky sigh, my small hands wrapping around the hot mug as I brought it up to my lips and took a large gulp. The liquid was still very hot and it burned my throat but I didn't really care. Still feeling slightly cold, I slid the mug onto the coffee table and crouched down next to the log burner, opening it carefully and placing several chunks of wood in it. I then lit a match, staring contently at the flame for a few seconds, and lighting the wood inside the burner. I closed the door and sat back on the sofa, watching the flames roar against the wood as they slowly grew bigger.