Guilt Complex

Linny’s been great, but I can’t stay with her much longer. Her place is too small for both of us. Her bedroom is also the living room and kitchen, there’s a tiny bathroom, and that’s it. You couldn’t swing a cat in there.

I got to know her bathroom pretty well yesterday- it was the only place to go when her new boyfriend came over. With his hands all over her, he was giving me this look- he definitely wanted me out of there. I made an excuse up about wanting to paint my toenails and not wanting to risk spilling any on the white sheepskin rug and took my coffee into the bathroom. I was glad to be out of the way, what with all the heavy sighing and moaning that was going on, but I didn’t count on it being the Whole Morning. But hey, it’s not my place and she’s doing me a huge favour, so what can I say. She’s opened up her home to me, she’s given me food and shelter and a shoulder to cry on and all without batting an eyelid. She hasn’t even asked how long I’m staying.

Which, as I said, can’t be for much longer.

Anyway, I didn’t feel quite so magnanimous about an hour later when a huge row erupted between them over who spilled red wine on the couch. I mumbled something about not liking the colour of the nail varnish I just put on and did she have some remover and beat a hasty retreat. I had to sing all four verses of the National Anthem to drown out the yelling. Did you know that if you stare at cracks in a wall long enough, they start growing? Then the glass started flying and I made a mental note to find myself a job and a place of my own tomorrow.

It only ended when a glass she threw at him missed and hit the wall instead. It shattered all over my rucksack which just happened to be open at the time. He stormed out and Linny and I spent the next hour on our hands and knees picking shards of glass out from my clothes.

As I type this I’m propped up on the sofa bed, devouring toast and hot chocolate she’s just brought me. Blobs of butter have dripped on to the duvet and there will be crumbs everywhere by the time I’ve finished, but she hasn’t complained.

I think she’s feeling guilty.