I’m doing the early shift and I’m meeting Giles afterwards to head to the gym. I should be looking forward to it. I have my new clothes to wear, plus a bag I treated myself to once I got to the checkout in that fancy shop. I finally feel like I have some excitement for training and exercise and moving my body, but now I feel nothing but apprehension for seeing Giles again. Seeing Giles in his gym gear. Seeing Giles head to the showers like he always does after a session.
He’s asked me a few times if I was showering, but I’ve always said no. It’s not that I don’t need to. Nor do I want to get on the Tube all sweaty and smelly, but I’d rather do that than face my fears. Because they are fears. It’s one thing for Giles to see me in my gym gear – the ill-fitting stuff before yesterday and the stuff I’ll wear today – but it’s quite another to get naked in front of him. I avoid mirrors so I don’t have to look at myself. The last thing I want to do is impose that on him.
Not that I care what Giles thinks.
Do I?
Getting out of bed, I’m pondering on exactly this as I get ready for work. I jump in the shower, brush my teeth, realise I need to dig out an ingrowing hair in my beard and so spend far too long on that. Then I rush to my bedroom in my towel, as I forgot to bring my clothes into the bathroom with me, get half-dressed and then remember I didn’t take my meds so run back to the bathroom, swallow them down and then remember I need all my gym clothes so still with just my jeans on I pack that bag, then I finally finish getting dressed and make my way downstairs for a much-needed coffee.
I’m pondering so much, so heavily, so laboriously that by the time I’ve drunk my espresso, I’ve got a tension headache stretching across my forehead.
I can’t figure this out. At least not on my own. I need help.
And I know exactly who can help me.
I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and tap out a quick message to my good friend Kris. If I’m lucky she’ll pick it up on her way to work and message back.
I pocket my phone and move to wash up my cup but then feel the device buzz in my pocket.
It’s Kris.
I roll my eyes but also re-read my original message and realise it was a little direct. I’m about to type an apologetic reply but another message from Kris appears.
I sigh and realise I’m going to have to come clean.
Her reply is quick and should be reassuring.
I text back.
Then she leaves me hanging, her three dots teasing me.
Her reply finally arrives and it makes my stomach both sink and flip.
I tut and type quickly.
Is her blunt and very unhelpful response.
I point out and glance at the clock in the top corner of the phone’s screen. I need to get moving.
I see Kris’ reply as I put my trainers on.
I type out before picking up my bag, grabbing my keys and heading out of the door.
