Post seven – weekend
Every Sunday, Regina and Paul catch the tram from Salford Quays to my flat. I never have much to say to them. Regina and I usually go downstairs into the kitchen and drink tea. Paul normally watches television in the living room.
Regina and I never really have a lot to talk about. She normally asks me about my plans for the week and reminds me to go to the bereavement group on Wednesday.
Today, I told Regina about yesterday’s house-warming party. She seemed pleased that I had volunteered to go. I didn’t tell her I hated every second of it.
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I met my new next door neighbour earlier in the day. I had to leave the flat and she caught me on the way back in. I guessed her invitation was just a polite one.
She was standing on the balcony as I left to go to the station. She asked me in and I couldn’t really think of a reason to say no. We chatted for a few minutes about the building, the other residents and the area.
She had to go and answer the intercom and I spent the rest of the evening sitting in a corner and feeling guilty for enjoying a conversation with another woman.
When I got home, I bought the box of Samantha’s stuff down from the shelf in the bedroom.
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I think Paul and Regina visit because they are worried: That I drink too much. That I never leave the flat. That I have no one talk to. I wish they didn’t feel the need to come. I feel like I am imposing; taking away their free time.
Still, every week Regina gives me a hug as she is leaving and promises to see me next week.
