Bill - Part 1

The sunshine is warm and fuzzy, as though refracted through frosted glass, and makes everything appear in soft focus.

My hangover is not what I feared it would be this morning, and a couple of dry-swallowed aspirin should keep it at bay. But I still feel shattered and would give anything to still be sound asleep, even in my bed… so large and empty…

But that's not my decision to make. Arriving home late last night, I found a note through my letterbox. A single piece of plain white paper, folded over once, emblazoned with a single word: 'Tomorrow'. No signature, no return address, just a thumbprint in the same red ink. Bill Huntsman… It's been a while.

I stop off in town and pick up a coffee from Starbucks. Just going to such a chain makes me feel a dirty, but I only have a few minutes before the number 69 bus is due to arrive at the Arundel Gate interchange and without caffeine I'll be asleep before I reach Tinsley. Since I don't fancy waking up in Rotherham, I bite the bullet and order myself a large espresso and load it with four sugars.

I sip my coffee while I wait for the bus and I people-watch to pass the time. Spring appears to have sprung. Everywhere I look people have forsaken their heavy winter coats. Sunglasses have blossomed on the faces of passers-by. Young girls flaunt their legs.

And everywhere I look I see her. The same cropped bob hairstyle becomes a repeating motif. The same bouncy confident walk flounces past me from every direction. At first glance, her face superimposes on every girl I see. For a moment I feel like crying. A swell of emotion that rises up from my gut and threatens to overwhelm my very stoic public façade. I bite it back but my eyes still prickle and blur. I yawn, largely to try and hide my feelings.

I want a cigarette.

The bus is late and I really want a cigarette.