loaf of bread and a tin of dog food. I donned my jeans, T-shirt, trainers and my jacket and walked to the shops with the little bugger.
He enjoyed the fresh air as much as I did. I met an ex-girlfriend on the way, who asked how I was and what I had been up to. I just told her some non-committal ‘ins and outs’ of life and she soon went on her way.
The assistant in the local shop was somewhat unpleasant; she looked like a drama queen on cocaine. As I walked to the exit, she called me back. “Excuse me, babe!” I turned and looked around. “You forgot your change, babe.” She smiled and then turned away. I felt like a right plank, but at least she had been honest and not pocketed the change.
When I eventually got home, I headed straight to the kitchen, sparked up the toaster and slid in four slices. I flicked the kettle on and sat at my breakfast bar watching the box. As usual, there was sod-all on. I really did have to stop watching Jeremy Kyle; it was becoming a habit now, and I couldn’t even stand the bastard! I finished off my toast and downed my tea.
Tomorrow I w ould be burying my wife. Fran would be there, escorted by undercover police, for her own protection. I couldn’t wait to see her and give her a big squeeze. I still couldn’t believe my Hannah was dead, or fathom out how it had happened. I had so many thoughts in my head. Why me? Why did this have to happen to the one girl I loved? She was so innocent and never harmed a fly.
Pete knocked on the back door and let himself in, making himself a brew. ‘Just help yourself Pete’, I thought. I spent most of the day thinking, or staring out of my kitchen window. Our Pete got bored and headed off home, I couldn’t blame him really – I wasn’t the best person to hang round with at the moment – still, he had time to eat all my cakes though, the bugger! I felt like a window licker on a school bus staring into oblivion. I pulled myself together realizing I had unwittingly been sat there staring for two hours: the neighbours must think I was a right sad bastard. I wasted no more time, and started thinking about bed. I was knackered and couldn’t be arsed to go out again, not even to the boozer with Pete. All I could think of was Hannah, and tomorrow meeting our Fran. I felt nervous and I didn’t know why. It was still light outside and I was already getting into my bed. The sheets were clean, the pillows were nice and fluffy: shame my Hannah wasn’t there. “I miss you, babe!”
Before I knew it, it was morning. I stared into the mirror and tried shaving. Bloody hell! I had drawn blood on the first swipe: every bloody time , man, every bloody time! I continued to rip away at my face, patted on a finger of aftershave, and then cringed when it burned like hell. Pete picked me up in his Jaguar XJ. He tooted the horn and I made my way outside. My suit looked tidy, and Pete smirked at me. He had not seen me looking so good in weeks and he seemed impressed with my attire.
“Come on yo u bugger, let’s get you there, mate.” Pete was trying to calm me down. We continued driving towards the crematorium, which was about six miles away, my hands shaking with nerves. I hoped Griffer was behaving himself! I’d left him for the day with an elderly widow, Mrs Jones, our next-door neighbour: she enjoyed his company.
“I’m looking forward to seeing my baby girl, you know.”
“I bet you are, buddy, I bet you are! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Nearly a week and half now.”
“You’re kidding? Has it really only been that long? It feels like a life time.”
I continued to stare out the window of the motor. Pete put on a CD, which we used to listen to when we were in the Regiment; ‘Get me out’ by New Model Army. We both sang all the way to the crematorium as loud as we could.
Pete pulled up: I could see lots of family and friends of Hannah’s, not one of them knew how she really died. I felt a tear fall from my eye when I saw my
He enjoyed the fresh air as much as I did. I met an ex-girlfriend on the way, who asked how I was and what I had been up to. I just told her some non-committal ‘ins and outs’ of life and she soon went on her way.
The assistant in the local shop was somewhat unpleasant; she looked like a drama queen on cocaine. As I walked to the exit, she called me back. “Excuse me, babe!” I turned and looked around. “You forgot your change, babe.” She smiled and then turned away. I felt like a right plank, but at least she had been honest and not pocketed the change.
When I eventually got home, I headed straight to the kitchen, sparked up the toaster and slid in four slices. I flicked the kettle on and sat at my breakfast bar watching the box. As usual, there was sod-all on. I really did have to stop watching Jeremy Kyle; it was becoming a habit now, and I couldn’t even stand the bastard! I finished off my toast and downed my tea.
Tomorrow I w ould be burying my wife. Fran would be there, escorted by undercover police, for her own protection. I couldn’t wait to see her and give her a big squeeze. I still couldn’t believe my Hannah was dead, or fathom out how it had happened. I had so many thoughts in my head. Why me? Why did this have to happen to the one girl I loved? She was so innocent and never harmed a fly.
Pete knocked on the back door and let himself in, making himself a brew. ‘Just help yourself Pete’, I thought. I spent most of the day thinking, or staring out of my kitchen window. Our Pete got bored and headed off home, I couldn’t blame him really – I wasn’t the best person to hang round with at the moment – still, he had time to eat all my cakes though, the bugger! I felt like a window licker on a school bus staring into oblivion. I pulled myself together realizing I had unwittingly been sat there staring for two hours: the neighbours must think I was a right sad bastard. I wasted no more time, and started thinking about bed. I was knackered and couldn’t be arsed to go out again, not even to the boozer with Pete. All I could think of was Hannah, and tomorrow meeting our Fran. I felt nervous and I didn’t know why. It was still light outside and I was already getting into my bed. The sheets were clean, the pillows were nice and fluffy: shame my Hannah wasn’t there. “I miss you, babe!”
Before I knew it, it was morning. I stared into the mirror and tried shaving. Bloody hell! I had drawn blood on the first swipe: every bloody time , man, every bloody time! I continued to rip away at my face, patted on a finger of aftershave, and then cringed when it burned like hell. Pete picked me up in his Jaguar XJ. He tooted the horn and I made my way outside. My suit looked tidy, and Pete smirked at me. He had not seen me looking so good in weeks and he seemed impressed with my attire.
“Come on yo u bugger, let’s get you there, mate.” Pete was trying to calm me down. We continued driving towards the crematorium, which was about six miles away, my hands shaking with nerves. I hoped Griffer was behaving himself! I’d left him for the day with an elderly widow, Mrs Jones, our next-door neighbour: she enjoyed his company.
“I’m looking forward to seeing my baby girl, you know.”
“I bet you are, buddy, I bet you are! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Nearly a week and half now.”
“You’re kidding? Has it really only been that long? It feels like a life time.”
I continued to stare out the window of the motor. Pete put on a CD, which we used to listen to when we were in the Regiment; ‘Get me out’ by New Model Army. We both sang all the way to the crematorium as loud as we could.
Pete pulled up: I could see lots of family and friends of Hannah’s, not one of them knew how she really died. I felt a tear fall from my eye when I saw my
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