was a very long way home. It was dark before I got there.
The lights come on when I turn on the switch. I sigh in relief. I don't know what I will do if they cut off the power. I try to count off the days until my next cheque comes in. I think I will be okay.
The first thing I do is check my wall. There are no new messages, which is disappointing but not really a surprise. She doesn't usually write until later.
I put on some music that I think she might like and then look around my room. I feel excited. I know she will like what I have in mind. There is a wooden bookcase there that might be the right place. I make sure to place the bag out of harms way while I unload the books off the shelf. I wipe away the dust with an old shirt. All my shirts are old.
I take the lantern from its bag and carry it carefully. It won't fit on the shelf. I place the lantern back in safety while I get a chair and clean the top of the book shelf. The wall behind it isn't pretty, but hopefully it won't matter, hopefully it won't even be noticed. Lighting the candle is tricky, I almost burn the paper.
At last it's ready. I pull out my phone and line up the shot. This is much better than the photo would have been in the shop. I am no longer tired from my journey, nor depressed about money. She will love this, I know she will.
She wrote to me again last night. She was as thrilled as I knew she would be. She gushed with praise of my artistic talents, and thanked me solemnly for the thought that had gone into such a gift. She said that she hoped I hadn't gone to too much trouble and expense.
Of course I told her it was no problem, that I just hoped it would help to cheer her up.
She said it had.
News came in about E. and she said she had to go. Apparently there had been a sighting in a neighbouring municipality. It sounded like E. might be in trouble again. I'm not surprised.
The photo she put up was sparkling in its beauty, and the smile effervescent as only hers can be. I mooned over it for hours after she was gone.
I was late getting up. That was going to be a problem. My interview was mid-afternoon and it would take me a long time to walk there. I shower and find my cleanest shirt. Jeans will have to do, I don't have anything better. I don't have time to shave. It probably doesn't matter.
The afternoon is hot and the air is thick with the smell of car exhaust and asphalt, for some reason it reminds me of the shop woman's perfume. I'm sweaty and breathless by the time I get there.
It's cool in the restaurant. Enough that I shiver. The young man that meets me surprises me when he says he is the owner. He's not much older than I am. He shows me through the front. It is very elegant. I think this is a place that she might like.
Through to the kitchen. You've seen them on TV, there's nothing unexpected here except the girl.
“Shauna is the one that will tell you what needs to be done when,” the young man tells me.
Shauna, of the ginger hair and sour expression, looks at me with disdain.
I try to look like I don't care.
The man's office is neat. He offers me a chair.
“What do you think?” he asks me.
I give him a blank look.
“Would you like to work here?”
I'm not sure how to respond. I don't really want the job. I don't have the time for it. “What days will it be?” I ask, trying to sound interested. It's important to seem like I'm making an effort.
“We need someone for our quiet week nights. Tuesday through Thursday.”
I nod and try to look thoughtful. “I'm not sure how it might work with my other job,” I lie.
The man looks surprised.
“But I'd like to give it a try,” I say.
He frowns for a moment. “Right,” he says. He rummages in a drawer and pulls out a form. He slides it across the desk. “I guess you'd better fill this out.”
It's an application form. All the usual questions: contact details, no problem; next of kin, Mum, we never talk but she won't mind this; references, none – or none that I want him calling.
Outside, the heat of the day hits me. Perversely, I shiver again.
I browse the shops that I pass on my way home, looking for fresh ideas on how I might make her happy. I can't buy anything, but maybe I can sneak a photo while no one's looking. But there's nothing special enough, not for her. When I get my next cheque maybe I can get a bus into the city, there are better shops there.
It's dark when I get out of the last shopping centre. I didn't realise it had gotten so late. The take-away food shops I pass make my stomach rumble. I'm tempted to check the bins outside to see if someone may have discarded something, but I'm not quite down to that yet. There's bound to be something still edible in the cupboard at home. I think there's still some breakfast cereal. The milk is out of date, but I don't think it's gone over yet.
She wrote to me again last night. I think she's flirting with me! The photo on my wall is so coy and cute. I want to kiss the screen. She says she's been looking forward to hearing from me.
I feel bad that I didn't have anything for her. She knows me so well that she asks me what's wrong. I tell her about the job interview. I pretend it's for a waiter's position. I was going to tell her the truth. Maybe make fun of it, say I was going to be vice-president in charge of dirty dishes or something, but in the end I just couldn't do it – it's not that funny.
I don't know what got into me, I hadn't meant to, but I asked her about E. She said she hadn't heard anything more. Then she said she had to go. I didn't sleep much. I was worrying that I'd upset her.
It's not a good day. I'm still depressed about being so stupid last night. There's no place I have to be today, and nothing I could do anyway. The milk has definitely gone over. Water on breakfast cereal doesn't work very well, and instant coffee without milk just tastes sour.
I try to think of what I could do for her. Something to make up for last night. I look around my room. The lantern is still there, but I've already done that. The books are still on the floor. I'll get to them later. The only other pretty things in the room are pictures of her. My printer didn't do a very good job, or maybe the paper is wrong, the colours are all flat and washed out. I look at the poster I tried to make, the sticky tape is showing where I joined the pages. Maybe I could fix that, but I don't know how to do it better.
There's nothing new on my wall. I remind myself that she doesn't write to me during the day. I look through my music.
That's an idea. Maybe I could write a song – I know she loves to sing. I can't do the music, I never learned what all those dots and lines on the page mean. But maybe I could do the lyrics. It can't be that hard.
It's dark in the room by the time I realise that the day has gone. The screen is mostly blank. Words came and then went again. Nothing seemed right. Not good enough. Not for her.
The night passes without any message from her. I don't sleep. I sit there waiting. Sometimes I restart the computer to make sure it's working properly.
My cheque arrives.
Not far from the bank I see a DVD shop. Her movie is in there. I buy another copy. I get outside and my phone rings. It's the guy from the restaurant.
“Can you start next Tuesday?” he asks.
It takes me a moment to take it in.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah. You mean … I got the job?”
He laughs. He's a nice guy, I think. “If you still want it. So, is Tuesday okay for you?”
“Sure, guess so.”
In my surprise I had stopped walking. I'm next to a bus stop. A bus rolls up and I remember that I wanted to go to the city. Food shopping can wait.
She wrote to me again last night. In the photo she looks to be in deep contemplation, and I can't help wondering what is going through her mind. She apologises for not being able to talk last night, her parents needed her to attend something or other. I tell her that's fine, that I was
pretty busy last night anyway.
We chat for a long time, as intimates do. I have a hard time keeping my secret from her, I want it to be a surprise. I bought her something. It took almost everything I had. I know I can't give it to her yet, but when I saw it in the city I just knew she would love it, and I know we will meet soon. It must be soon or I think I might go quite strange. The gift sits up on the bookshelf – next to the lantern – I get a little shiver of excitement every time I think of how pleased she will be to receive it.
Breakfast is better this morning. I will have to ration the food, it's a long time until the next cheque. I force myself to go out and buy the few essentials that I can afford, things that might last until I get money again. It takes will power to do, but I have a plan. This time it's a gift for both of us.
I rush back home and carefully lock the door behind me. It's quiet in the building. Everyone else is off at work or shopping, or whatever it is they do to fill their lives. I feel sorry for them.
I pull out the DVD I purchased yesterday. I know just the thing.
It takes a long time to find all the software I need. It has to be free. I have no more money left, and no working credit card anyway.
First I watch the movie again. And again. She is just wonderful. Beautiful. The only thing that spoils the movie is E. I will change that. I will make it perfect. And she will love it.
This is not going to be easy. My first attempts are a disaster. I had hoped I could simply change his
Unravelling Page 2