I double-check my suitcase, making sure everything is packed. I'm pretty sure that I hadn't missed anything out.
Turning way to face the window, I stare at the view that I've seen everyday for the last twenty-two years of my life. Waves gently lap at the stony beach as grey clouds lightly threaten to pour down later this afternoon. This doesn't seem to bother our neighbor, old Mr. Devonport. He strolls up and down the beach in his black raincoat, tightly gripping his weathered walking stick. He lifts his head to look at me, and raises one wrinkly hand in farewell. I gave a small smile and wave back, for the last time.
"Anna?" Mum calls from downstairs. "Are you ready to go?"
I spin around one final time, taking in the blue-tack markings on the wall and the peeling pink paint. I take a deep breath and suitcase in hand, march out the room, gently closing the door behind me.
Saying goodbye to my parents was hard, but nothing prepared me for the physical pain I felt in my chest when I hug Gemma goodbye at the station. Tears drip down her pink cheeks as she attempts (and fails) to hold in her sobs. I gently wipe them away, loosening my grip on her. "I promise I'll call you, okay? And I'll visit soon!"
Gem nods, and gives my hand a final squeeze as I step onto the train to London.
We pick up speed as I sit down, and Gemma runs along beside my train for as long as she can. I close my eyes. It hurts too much to look at her. I open my handbag instead, looking for something to distract myself. My fingers brush on a photograph of us, dressed up for Gem's sixteenth birthday, grinning at the camera. I smile at the photo, and I know that whatever happens in this new chapter of my life, I will always have Gemma back at home for me.
After a few weeks in my new apartment, I've settled into a routine. I go to work every morning, as an assistant to an author. It's not the most interesting job, but I make a paycheck and can afford the rent. I've made the apartment much more me, accessorizing with chunky knit blankets and indoor plants. Everything feels relatively normal now.
Jodie, a friend from work invites me to go out with her for a few drinks with some other colleagues of ours, to celebrate the recent publishing of a book from our company. I accept, knowing I haven't really been out much in the time I've been living here.
She takes us to a slightly old-looking bar, with dark booths and a live jazz band playing. We sit at the bar, sipping drinks and making small talk when someone bumps into be from behind, spilling a drink all over my white shirt! I gasp, and quickly stand to face whoever this dick is.
As I look up, I see a man holding a now somewhat-empty glass and looking embarrassed. His golden-brown eyes are somehow the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life . . .
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