I decide to leave.
The urge to run – figuratively, of course – almost overwhelms me. Fighting that urge is not something I feel I have the energy for.
I look at our accounts and the savings we’d made for our retirement now seem to have been a pointless exercise. What good will it do the two of us now that one of us is dead?
I find myself, a week after Caroline’s funeral, at a complete loss. It’s been a week of tears, loss of appetite and forgotten medication. I’m tired, listless and a little disorientated. My body aches. Only my cat, Titus, has given me any kind of grounding but even he senses that not all is well in the Knight household.
As fond as I am of Titus, I find that I increasingly resent the fact that he’s not Caroline.
I rub at the still-itching scar on my right temple and try to make a decision; something that gives me more bother than it should considering that I’m being dragged in one direction by my wayward emotions. Getting away is my only option.
I visit Henry, my neighbour, and give him a couple of hundred pounds. A cheque, of course. I don’t have large amounts of cash in the house. He stares at it like he’s never seen a cheque before and I explain that I want him to look after Titus while I’m away. He’s a little taken aback at the thought of how long two hundred pounds worth of cat food will last.
I shrug. I have no plan that enables me to explain to myself, let alone someone I only know through the times he’s looked after the cat.
I fall into bed after doing some packing. My mind is a jumble of nervous thoughts.
