One Step Too Far by Tina Seskis Read Free Book Online Page B

side of the mug and pull it out and rest it on top of the overflowing bin.
    “That room is a bit of a mess,” continues Chanelle, a bit less hostile now. “Fidel left it in a right state. I was going to sort it out before someone else moved in.”
    “I don’t mind doing it,” I say eagerly. “I love doing that kind of thing. I need to get some bedding and stuff anyway, so I could pick up a few other things, and I’d pay of course. Is there an Ikea or something near here?”
    Chanelle seems to like the turn the conversation is taking, and she’s almost friendly now. She gives me detailed instructions on how to get to somewhere called Edmonton and even lends me some of her milk, which she’d brought down from the fridge she has in her own room. I consider myself blessed.
     
    Ikea is just opening when I arrive and as it’s a Tuesday morning it’s virtually dead. I feel minuscule and alone as I head up the travelator into the vast blue building, pick up a big yellow shopping bag and head off on my retail adventure, following the arrows, Dorothy-like, past bright space-optimised kitchens, through ingenious storage solutions, skirting cosy inviting sitting rooms, and I’m doing OK, feeling almost normal, like I’m just another shopper – until I turn the next bend in the magical path and find myself suddenly, without warning, in the children’s section. Car-shaped beds and dragon toy chests and pastel-hued wardrobes mock me from every angle, storage boxes full of cuddly toys are stacked high all around me. A little girl is toddling about, holding a monkey, grinning at her mother who’s telling her to put it down. An image of my boy explodes into my mind, and the pain in my chest reminds me that I am still alive after all, not stuck in a primary coloured dream, and I continue along the path, fully running now, head down, and I don’t look up until I’ve reached the end. I lean facing the wall next to the lifts panting, and yearn in this moment to give up, not be here, melt into nothingness.
    It’s all too much.
    It seems I can only run away from myself if I keep tighter control, keep every aspect of my previous existence in the past, become immune to children. I stand up straight and square my shoulders and try to breathe deeply. Fortunately no-one has witnessed my panic attack this time, but I must be more careful, I can’t keep acting like a maniac. The cafe’s in front of me and despite the thumping in my heart I find that I’m hungry, so I load up my tray with a full English breakfast, a banana, an apple, a yogurt, some kind of Swedish pastry, a carton of orange juice, a mug of tea, and I sit alone amongst the stretch of tables overlooking the car park and devour the whole lot, every last bite. The concentration of eating helps me cope somehow, helps put things back in the past. When I return to the store it’s busier than before: there are plenty of little children around now, but this time I’m ready. I study the map and head straight to the beds section, ignoring the arrowed path, cutting my own swathe through the sofas, short-cutting behind the mirrors, blanking out everyone. I pick out a cheap white single bed, too solid and stylish for the money, and I write down the code on my pad. I choose a mattress, then I look for wardrobes, and handily they’re just a little further along the path, and I pick a simple rail with a white linen cover. I’ve been to Ikea many times before, so I know the routine, and I whizz through the marketplace filling my yellow bag with home-making essentials, and the more things I pick out the easier it becomes to do this – it’s hypnotic, compulsive, supermarket-sweepish. I carry on to the self-serve warehouse, my codes ready, then head round to the large item pick-up area to get my bed, where a young Asian man with kind liquid eyes helps me load my trolley. I finally reach the checkouts and there’s hardly any queue, it must be still early. My bed, mattress, clothes