Day 99

My thoughts leap from here to there. Happily, for relief, there are gossip magazines. I watch as you select an armful of brightly coloured publications telling you all that’s necessary about Cheryl, Jordan and Jennifer. I flick through one and say aloud, Sex Text Saga. You reply, Excuse me, reaching for one more. I scoff but here I am admiring the free shampoo offer with Glamour. I ask you about Tess and Vernon. And then real life walks in through the double doors and says, now then you two. There it is asking, Who is right and who is wrong?

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Day 87

I’m walking in circles and you ask me if I find it hard to make a decision. I tell you I will answer you later. I have seen every shoulder bag on this street, I’ve asked a stranger where she purchased hers. You wait by the door, ready to snatch at shoplifters or to grab conversation. From my eyelashes, a drop of rain hesitates then falls. The tear of water slips down my face and I say, I never can find the answers. Sunshine on a grey day can be so strange and sad. I don’t manage today so well.

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Day 85

It’s fashion week and it’s right now. On the door you stand, poised clipboard, broad smile and chipped teeth. I tell you how beautiful I think Liberty is, the fourth floor regally looking down with a timber gaze. I could also tell you what I know about this department store: made from the timber of two ships, bombed for its Rushdie books once, tiers that look into a central interior courtyard. However, none of this is vaguely or voguely interesting. There are nude photographs to see, wine to sip, women with elongated limbs, anguished eyes and puffed fringes to sidestep.

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Day 84

I am in a rush, I hear the sound of my footsteps, the wheezing of the automatic door opening, the selection of a basket, the apology from a small child and then the crinkle of packets. At the checkout, you have a yoghurt and a bottle of water and tell me you don’t like to eat. This information invites discussion. I am tempted to comment on your hipbones and the strain of your cheeks but I smile instead, tell you I adore the taste of hot tea, creamy scones with jam. I watch you count out £1.39 in small change.

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