Breakfast In Bed (Fully English Sequel)

Chapter 21

The urge to smite Reece disappears as soon as it comes. After being tended to by Prudence, I leave her premises with a full belly and empty head. On the streets, I am walking, dazed and disbelieving. None of this can be real. This perfect storm of what could've and what would've and what should've been are corners of an equilateral triangle: each side the exact same distance from another. I however move in circles at fast, taking circuits around the park I used to meet Reece at as a teen. Here was our convention, where it was just us, no Tasha, no mum, no Wren. This was before everything. Now it was abandoned – gate closed with rickety swings. The local council had closed it indefinitely due to frequent violence. Three months ago, a fifteen year old girl was slain here, a knife punctured her abdomen, back and right leg after midnight. She lay bleeding for five minutes before someone called for an ambulance but by the time they arrived, she was DOA.

I scale the tall gate, my legs eager as I gather impossible footing on the poles. There is no barbed or concertina wire at the top. Instead a row of spikes that look like sharp spades line the top in formation. I jut my hands within the interstices and heave myself up and throw myself over. It is gone 6 now but winter is near so the light is dim. When I am officially inside I end up on the roundabout, my head in my lap as I think in the darkness. There is not much to consider except that my life is over. I cannot be saved. Wren will be taken care of by Reece who will most likely divorce, date then marry someone else and that lady will step-mum. My mum and Uncle Eugene will have occasional visiting rights to see Wren but the Beauforts will be the primary grand-parent figures she has and will recognise. Prudence will pop in too. For some reason, I don't see her and Reece as a couple but she may continue their affair for kicks, have access to my child. Damon and Otis will remain locked up, biding their time to destroy me more than they have already done. Frieda will remain out here, shameless, doing God knows what. And I? Well I will most likely end up like Frieda – alone and scared in this world with nobody to fall back on.

The roundabout creeks as I move it a few inches, change my vantage point. I go from looking at a canopy of trees to watching people's houses like a faraway peep-tom. One family has its curtains wide open, a TV in the far right corner and plates on the dining table. It's not long before a woman emerges with over mitts and an oven tray which she places at the centre. I forget that it's Sunday until I see it is a roast she has prepared. Two children scramble to the table and I wait for a father figure to appear. That's what happens in the adverts: the nuclear unit of a mum, a dad, a daughter, a son. One for each like Surah An-Naba 78:8 – And (have we not) created you in pairs.

I wondered where my pair was. The yin to my yang, alkaline to my acid. When would I be neutral, fulfil Eudaimonia and encapsulate equilibria. It did not seem tenable anymore. Like the cold wind that could only be addressed with touch or the taste that was only informed by name in the brain. The world seemed like something I did not know. All of my senses were foreign to me now. Hence, when my phone rings I don't recognise where the sensation is coming from until I process the light flashing from my phone.

When I see it is Anna calling I reject it but she calls again immediately.

"Yes Anna?"

"It's Yves," her husband tells me.

The exasperation I beheld lessens as I realise I am talking to someone I am less familiar with and thus, cannot express my true feelings of depression.

"Yes... Yves, how can I help?"

A scream, most likely Randolph, erupts in the background, only to become quieter as Yves creates space between him and his child, perhaps behind a wall or door, until the little boy is just a muffle.

"Are you local?"

I almost say yes, until I realise that my local neighbourhood is not home anymore and I realise I am not.