Page 7 of The Last Kiss

My fingers wind into the wool of my coat, pulling it tight around my chest, holding all my broken bits together. It doesn’t work, the indigo wool doesn’t even keep out the January chill.

I should have bought a better coat.

Should have spent more money.

I gaze down the river watching the tide.

My coat will be the first of a long list of things that I know I’ll come to regret.

The swell and ebb of the river is like my life, but I can’t look too deep beneath the surface of that thought because then I’d know my swell hadn’t been high enough, and my ebb had lasted too long.

I can only wonder if my last few months will be full of random thoughts where I consider if anything I’ve ever bought has served any purpose.

It takes a moment for me to realise the ringing I can hear isn’t internal but coming from my bag. Unzipping and peering inside, I pull my phone out and glance at the screen; a small, icy bloom of exhalation frosting in front of my face.

Olivia.

I tighten my grip, thumb ready to swipe to answer, but I can’t. Won’t. So I shove it back in my bag, hoping the ringing will be drowned out with the zip of the fastening.

It rings again. And then again.

All the while I watch the river flow. I could pitch the phone in the swelling tide, but I’d only have to organise a new one which seems rather a waste of precious minutes remaining.

“Miss, you okay?”

I blink up in surprise. There’s a man in a dark-green uniform. Parked behind him on the path is a dustcart, a broom poking from the top.

“Oh. Sure.”

I swipe at my face, my cheeks stinging from the cold, sticky tracks having now dried to almost icy rivets.

“You’ve been sat here for hours, Miss. I’ve been circling around not sure whether to say anything.” He pulls on the edge of his beanie. “You know. It’s not my business and all that, but I’d hate to clock off for the night and leave you just sat here still.”

“But you haven’t?”

He casts a quick gaze over me, and I tug at my coat. Small particles of icy droplets have formed on the surface, turning the purple wool into a layer of mush. Should have bought a better coat, fact.

“You’ll catch a death out here.”

I nod. God, is that what I’m doing? Waiting for the Grim Reaper to find me on a pigeon poop splattered park bench? That’s an unimpressive way to go. I could imagine the newspaper headlines: Woman freezes to death in pigeon shit. A story like that would make the papers; a trashy one, with red title fonts. It would be my fifteen minutes of fame. But I’d be dead.

“If you need somewhere to stay, I know there’s a shelter down the road. I think they’re still open for the night. I can give you directions if you want?”

He thinks I’m homeless.

Lifeless yes.

I have a home.

With plants in pots. Ferns in the bathroom. A cat that farts.

Oh, no! Barney. Who will look after Barney?

“Miss, are you okay?” He’s fingering his walkie talkie like he’s about to call for back-up support.

“Sure. Thanks for getting me moving. I could have sat here all night lost in my thoughts.” I smile and get up on stiff legs.

My phone rings again. Olivia is almost shouting through the ringtone that I should answer. And I so should. So, so, so should.