102

shoes

"Joshua, get off me, I'm going to fucking work."

"Take your fucking shoes then, Jesus Christ. I'm fed up of your stuff lying around."

I'm already half way out of the door and dragging my cardigan on when he throws them, and they hit the door behind me. I pick them up and leave without looking at him.

"I, Amy, wait-" the door slams and the gravel crunches under my feet as I walk across the driveway of his house towards my car, which is parked on the opposite side of the road. He doesn't come after me. This morning's argument whirls around my head along with things I could have, should have said, and I stop to light a cigarette before I get into the drivers seat. I stand on the pavement for a few minutes with the cigarette at my lips, just breathing the smoke as far as I can into my lungs and holding it there. It became a habit of mine, not long after I started smoking. A friend of a friend told me it's better if you hold it in your lungs, instead of just exhaling it straight away. But I'm not sure what she meant by "better".

In the end I yank open the door and throw myself inside, collapsing onto the old and grey but soft seat, and throw my shoes behind me into the back. I spend another minute still, just inhaling and exhaling and reveling in the feeling of calm that seems to wash over me like a tide. I don't really know how cigarettes can do that to a person, but I don't care, and I let them do it to me.

I jump as my phone rings and my head immediately whips to my left, towards the house. I don't really know what I am looking for, but when I don't see Joshua there is a very quiet sense of relief, and I glance back down at my phone on the passenger seat. It's only Elsie.

"Hey," I answer around my cigarette, fumbling for my keys in my pocket.

"Hey yourself," she says, "are you actually going to turn up to work today or do I need to pretend I haven't spoken to you since Monday?"

"What do you mean? I always turn up for work."

"I know. I just had a feeling," she responds, and I roll my eyes. She always has a feeling.

"Well you're feeling wrong. I'm literally on my way right now," I say, turning to look in the back for my keys. They're with my shoes.

"Really? Then why can't I hear your shitty car making dreadful noises in the background this morning?" I picture the look on her face.

"Piss off."

My car rattles into the staff car park fifteen minutes later and the first thing I see is Elsie stood against the wall in front of my usual parking space. She also has a cigarette in her hand. Her blonde hair is in braids today, and there's a tiny pink flower hair clip holding some of the shorter strands out of her eyes.

She doesn't say anything as I climb out of my car and reach into the back for my shoes. I lock the door and sit on the curb to pull my shoes on, and she crouches next to me with another unlit cigarette between her skinny fingers.

"Breakfast?" I ask her. I'm used to her idea of meals.

Elsie doesn't answer but holds out her pack and I slide one out.

"Feeling good today then Ames?" she asks, sarcastically cheerful.

"I always am, Elsie darling," I grin, and we both smile and shake our heads.

We spend a lot of time in this car park, the two of us. But never anywhere else. I'm not one for keeping a hold of friendships. So we smoke together in the morning before we start, and usually for a couple of hours after, on the roof of my shitty car parked in a dark, damp corner of the dreary staff car park. I don't do shopping, or sleepovers, or eating out or going to the gym. I drive and I smoke and I sit on the roof of my apartment building, and that doesn't attract a lot of people. Which is exactly how I like it. People have never really been my thing.