The End of an Error

By SimonLWriter All Rights Reserved ©

Mystery / Humor

Sunday 11th January

Today we decided not to leave too early in the end so we could have another mooch around the city and have brunch at the Vietnamese restaurant we visited the day we arrived.

We have breakfast at the hotel first, nothing heavy this time. The sawdust pile has gone from the hallway, which is good though I think they might charge me for that. As we booked the room online and it’s paid for they have no chance of getting any more money from me.

When we check out and leave I can feel the relief of the receptionist behind me: ‘Thank god that Englishman who can’t handle his beer has gone’.

If I were them then that’s what I would be thinking. If I’m honest I’m a bit ashamed. I feel like I’ve let my country down.

We walk around the shops for an hour and then head to the Vietnamese restaurant.

At two o’clock we’re in the car and heading out of Edinburgh when we hit traffic. Shit. I’m never going to get home. This three and a half hour journey just got a lot longer.

I can see the traffic in front of me stretching pretty far. I can see gaps in the queue where people can’t be arsed to move up to the car in front. I’m not one to move a couple of feet to the car in front but I won’t leave a gap you can park a bus into. Don’t those people realise that if they moved up then the queue can fit more cars joining at the back? It really pisses me off. Then again it can’t do the clutch any good either moving every few seconds.

Forty minutes later we finally get onto the A702 and are soon drifting through the country like a rewind of Friday’s journey. Everything looks different on the way back.

I go into autopilot when we reach the A74 (M) that turns into the M6 and keeps on going south. Mei and I chat about Emma and who we think might have done it. We both think either Amy or Bret or Alan. We think they may have done it because Emma recorded something she shouldn’t have. We joke about Harold doing it then we shut up because the things we say start to make sense. Perhaps he got a taste for it after murdering Jason? No. That’s stupid. He couldn’t have murdered either of them, not being as thin as he is.

Mei goes on to chatting with her mum about something I can’t understand.

When I finally pull onto Bournemouth Avenue, it’s dark and I’m tired. The white Fiesta is still there in the same spot it was before we left. I wish she would just fuck off.

We head inside the house and I was expecting something to be amiss. Another smashed window or something. But everything is as we left it. What kind of mind game is she playing? Nothing is worse than something. She knows this will be driving me crazy. It’s mental torture. She’s clever. She knows she’s getting to me and not doing anything is her way of doing so.

I look though the back window to see if there’s anything in the back garden that might have changed. In the dark it’s too hard to see anything, but the outlines are where they’re supposed to be.

We head to bed at ten. I’m just about to turn off the light when it comes: another text message. Please don’t be another nude. It says: Welcome back!

Mei sees it. She gives me that deflated look and lays there watching the ceiling while rubbing her belly. Enough is enough. I block Amy’s number on my phone so she can never get in touch with me again, like wiping her out of my life.

I drift off to sleep feeling slightly elated like I’ve finally taken a stand against her.

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