Monday, 22 December 2014

Depressed, from London

I couldn't sleep the night before my first day at the biscuit factory. I felt ill and depressed when I realised that my days of being unemployed were rapidly coming to an end. Jill was asleep, next to me, snoring heavily and twitching violently. She must have been having a dream. Perhaps she was dreaming of me – her lover – and in her slumber she was elated that in a few hours I would be going to work for the first time in four years. I wanted to shit myself. I felt like shitting myself in the bed. That's how bad I felt. I looked at the clock on my bedside table. It was two minutes to midnight. In two minutes the wait would be over. I would be going to work today – in five hours – to earn some money, so that I could pay for things, just like Jill did. I didn't want to go to work. I wanted to stay at home and do nothing. I was a free man, and I could do what I wanted to do. I had fucked Jill enough, and now I was getting bored with her. Tomorrow, I thought, I would leave her, and return to the flat I once shared with Tony. We would then go to the pub, drink heavily, and I would pretend that Jill had never existed. But I couldn't do that, because I loved Jill too much. I looked at her as she slept and told myself that she deserved better that that. I then looked at clock again. It was six minutes past midnight. In just under three and a half hours I would be out of our bed and getting ready for work. I looked up at the ceiling and wanted to cry. It was all too much to handle.
Dave Cooper is sick to the stomach, for tomorrow he will start his new job in a biscuit factory. He doesn't want to go to work, but if he wants to keep his lover happy, bake cookies is what he must do.
Extract from "4 Years In London" by Luke Ryman - out now on Kindle.

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