Inside are so many things.
A list of phone numbers I took off of his phone, with ticks next to people I had told. A yellow book that obligingly tells me how I am supposed to be feeling and what I should do about it when I do. A list of things I should do, who I should contact, what I have to do. I have no idea if I did them.
I found it. I moved it. I made a cup of tea.
Earlier this week, I had to phone a company who had been taking money out of my account. I had had an membership with them, so I wasn't surprised, but didn't need their services. I couldn't cancel it - the chap didn't know who I was.
In the end he asked for 'the other card' on the account.
That's when it all became clear.
This wasn't my membership. This was Rich's membership.
I struggled to explain, I gave all the details, the dates, the mothers maiden name, the address, the everything that makes a person who they were as far as the computer is concerned. I sat on the floor in my front room, and I felt the knot come back into my stomach, and the panic flood my brain, and the world started to fold into the misty mess it used to be.
I carried on. We talked it through. I agreed to send a letter, a copy of the death certificate, a copy of my bank statement. He agreed to tell the computer not to take any more money, I said I'd go to the bank and find out what the hell had happened.
We said our good byes, I put the phone down.
I made a cup of tea.
Before that, or not, I don't know, because I'm crap at days during holidays, we caught up on Corrie. Dev's wife, Sunitta, was injured in a fire, and then she died. He had to tell the children. I couldn't watch it. We were having tea and I'd just finished mine and I took the plates out. J looked at me, he followed me out, and he held me whilst I cried so hard I almost threw up. Cried so hard, and so silently, because the boys were still watching Corrie, and they don't need to know that I'm crying again.
I made more tea.
It comes and goes in waves that crash over me and sweep me under, before throwing me up onto a dry beach of exhaustion and anger and fear and numbness.
It's everywhere.
I know, I know, that this won't last forever. It is different now than it was 3 years ago, two years ago, last year. Next year it will be different again.
Right now though, I am held together by tea, and by the love of J and the AC. If I didn't have that, I would shatter into a thousand pieces, like Mrs Dalloways mirror.
