The Function to Breathe

Seventeen

1999

By my final year at university I was doing well, regularly coming top, or near the top, of the class in all the assignments we were set. I had struggled in the months after my abortion and Ricky and I splitting up, but during my second year I'd got myself sorted mentally and I concentrated on studying.

I worked hard, both at my studies and my part time job in the box office at Sadler's Wells theatre; I socialised a bit and dated occasionally. My focus was on gaining the best degree I could. I dreamed of working somewhere like Vivienne Westwood or Alexander McQueen and knew that I had to do my absolute best to even be considered by either of these designers.

At weekends Tara and I would go out with a group of friends, or have little parties in the flat we shared. It was a lovely flat, quite small, with just two bedrooms, although they were decent sized; an open plan kitchen and lounge and a bathroom, in the basement of an old Victorian property.

Simon and Jo, our landlord and landlady occupied the rest of the house and kept an eye on us. They were recently married and youngish, so their attentions were more like that of an older brother and sister than parents. They didn't mind us having parties as long as we didn't make too much noise; they let us use the garden whenever we wanted. They were the best landlords you could ask for. We'd been so lucky to find the flat at the end of our first year.

All in all life was good.

Then at the beginning of October my carefully controlled life began to change in ways that soon bought everything crashing down around my ears.

One Tuesday evening I was alone in the flat; Tara was out on a date with a guy she'd had her eye on for ages.

I was quite glad of the evening to myself, much as I loved having Tara about the flat she tended to distract me and I wanted to concentrate on a design I was struggling with. It was a coat – one of the major pieces for my degree show collection – and I just could not get the collar to lay as I pictured it in my mind. I'd cut the pattern three times and it still wasn't right. In the end I decided to give up for the evening, try again the next day, and had just retired to the sofa with a mug of tea when the doorbell rang.

I was surprised, it was well after nine o'clock and I wasn't expecting anyone. Although Tara and I often had visitors, people rarely turned up unannounced and I was in two minds whether to answer the door or not. But after a few seconds the bell rang again, accompanied by a loud knock on the door, so reluctantly I put my mug down and went to answer it.

After putting the chain on I opened it a crack still wondered who on earth it could be at that time of night and was surprised to see my Auntie Pearl and Uncle Peter standing there, shoulders hunched against a miserable, drizzly rain. I spoke to them every couple of weeks, occasionally went down to Kent to see them, but they'd never visited me before. I wondered what this unannounced visit was about.

"Come in," I opened the door fully and allowed them in, closing it quickly against the weather. It had got colder the last few days and was now beginning to really feel like autumn. I didn't really mind though, I loved Autumn, the crisp bright mornings, the leaves changing colour on the trees, the chance to dress in cosy layers of clothing. It was my favourite time of year.

Pearl and Peter followed me through to the kitchen and I put the kettle on and took their coats. "This is nice," my auntie commented, looking round the space with an approving smile. "Is Tara here love?"

"No, she's on a date."

She nodded. "Peter, can you finish making the tea? We'll go and sit down."