Breaking the Mould

Anne

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ I mumbled, jamming my bags onto the tube before the door slid shut. What is it with people these days? Why do they have to stand right in the door when there is plenty of room right behind them?

Shopping is one of my favourite past times and late night shopping makes it even better. Tonight I have literally killed Westfield and spent all of my money. So worth it though, especially for the new haul of La Senza lingerie that I just bought. Though come to think of it there’s a very good chance I’m going to end up leaving a lot of these knickers in other people’s houses. Hmm, maybe I should have just stuck to Peacocks, at least that way losing a £2.50 set won’t hurt as much as a £12 pair of knickers. I love travelling on the Tube home – people watching is another of my favourite past times. I enjoy guessing whether the men are taken or single on the train. You can’t always tell by the absence of a ring, surprisingly enough.

I slump into a seat right next to the carriage door and bunch all my cardboard bags under my legs. Westfield was ridiculously overcrowded for a Tuesday evening. I always thought they’d built Westfield in the wrong place – completely wrong demographic for a start. They would have made a killing had they included a Primark.

The tube skids to a stop at Ealing Broadway and I hoist all my bags up to leave the train. I am so looking forward to getting home and switching Eastenders on at this point. Charlie keeps texting me and asking when we can next meet, saying he needs to speak to me, and I haven’t the heart to point out that when I went back to his it was a one off. I don’t understand how men lately seem to want commitment just because you sleep with them. I am definitely not interested in committing. To anyone. Ever. What would be the point? They’d only leave anyway.

Mind you, I mentioned that once to a man I had met twice (a feat for me!) and he told me I was dead inside. Slightly harsh, if you ask me. I didn't think it was anything unusual. Usually it’s the men who want a quick fumble and to forget your name, what’s wrong with me having the same practice?

All I did was explain that watching the breakdown of my parent’s marriage and my dad walking out on me when I was fifteen made me want to protect myself. Lying in bed night after night listening to my mother sob her heart out, drink straight brandy, lose 4 stone, end up depressed and committed into a hospital wasn’t exactly fun for a fifteen year old. No way was any man going to make me feel as helpless and needy as my father made her feel. She was more in love with him than Romeo and Juliet, Brad and Jennifer, Rosie and Jim...and all of those couples split. Romeo and Juliet died for their love.

I know I’m a psychiatrists dream – the amount of money they could make out of me is ridiculous. Probably necessary, but sod it. I can’t be bothered when everything is already under control in my life. I don’t need to worry about anyone but me and that’s exactly how I like it.

I climb up the two flights of stairs to my little Ealing flat and let myself in. Dumping my bags in the living room I shrug off my coat and hang it up. Kicking off my shoes I reach over to my shopping bags, eagerly groping through them to line up my purchases. Gosh I’m hungry, need to make some dinner soon. Before I have a chance, the doorbell rings. Confused, I look at my watch. That’s odd, I think, as I slip my brand new Uggs on, I’m not expecting any visitors.

I open the door to find a very wet, very desperate looking Charlie on my doorstep. I sigh heavily and close the door slightly so he doesn’t assume an invitation into the flat.

‘Charlie, what are you doing here? How did you know where I live?’ I can hear the impatience in my voice, and for once I don’t care to feel guilty.

‘Well,’ he says, slightly breathless, ‘You left these behind and I thought you might want them.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of lacy red French knickers, holding them off one finger, and my planner in his other hand. I can feel my face heating up as I take them from him.