Introductions are made. Almost a dozen of us. Women with stories. Lives shattered. Scattered fragments of dreams that could have been, should have been, etched on their faces. Caricatures, all walking with a stoop. Me too?
A bed, a chair, a table. My new home.
I sat on the mattress, still clutching my black sack. Peace, silence, alone. What had I done? This was good, this was right, wasn't it? The more I thought , the more I worried. Stop it! Stop it!
How long had I been waiting for this, planning for this. Why was I feeling this way? I expected to be relieved, even happy, instead I felt as unsure as a toddler taking his first faltering steps. Do something, anything, keep busy, unpack! I tipped the bin-liner onto the bed:
1 pair of jeans, 2 T-shirts, 1 sweater, underwear, 2 towels, toothbrush, soap. £3.20 in a sandwich bag.
A sob was rising in my throat even before I was aware of it. Collapsing in a heap, curled up with my possessions, the tears wouldn't be wiped anymore. Stop! Don't cry! Don't lose control, keep it together! But emotions had overtaken my reasoning.
I must have fallen asleep. Dawn was breaking as new sounds disturbed my fitful rest. Still in last nights clothes, a stranger stared at me from the mirror opposite the bed. Face puffy, black ringed eyes, hair dishevelled, Shirt crumpled. Was that me?
Is he trying to find me? Had I been careful enough with my plans?Did I mess up, leave clues? Maybe he is already on his way. Don't! He can't get you. You are free of him. But saying it was one thing, believing something entirely different.
I got off the bed and walked to the window. If I craned my neck, I could just make out the harbour a few hundred meters further along, though metal grilles obscured the view. Safety precautions! How safe was safe? I would find out.
