I wake up alone, which is not unusual, but the feeling of dread that I fell asleep with has only intensified after a restless night of vivid dreams. The apartment feels empty, almost musty, in Taylor’s absence, and there is something else I just can’t pin down. A sadness that seems to have seeped into the walls. My phone tells me that eight o’clock is fast approaching, and I need to get my butt out of bed soon or I am going to be late for work. My head is filled with the memories of Genevieve’s party and my confrontation with Richard, which I have yet to tell Taylor about. I sigh out loud and promise myself that I will bring it up with Taylor as soon as I see him; if I don’t tell him, I can’t think what the consequences will be. Despite the warmth of the apartment, I feel chilled to the bone and find myself dressing accordingly, wrapping up in some dark-grey cord skinny jeans and a black cashmere cowl neck jumper over a grey silk long-sleeve T-shirt. The choice of colours reflects m

I raise myself off the cold floor to find my limbs stiff and aching, mirroring the state of my heart. The sun is only just rising, so I make myself get in the shower in an attempt to soap away some of the tension in my shoulders. The warm water is soothing, and part of me wishes I could just stay in this tiny cubicle and forget the rest of the world. Eventually, the water turns cold, and I jump out, drying myself briskly before pulling on an old faded pair of jeans, a bulky hooded sweatshirt and my trusty Converse trainers that seem to have made their way back. I look at the beautiful black cashmere coat that Taylor bought me but immediately snub it in favour of my duffel coat. It may be worn and old, but at least it was bought and paid for by me. When I am finally ready to leave, I take a look around, knowing in my soul that this is the last time I will step foot in my flat. I admire the effort that Taylor, or rather, Mrs Harris, made in restoring my flat into a home, and under any o

At some point I must have slept because I wake with a start in the early hours of the morning. I realise the faint noise I hear must be Andreas starting up for the morning, so I lie in bed listening to the sounds, feeling less alone. When it is clear that I am not going to be able to go back to sleep, I get up and make a coffee. I am tired but antsy, so I do what I always do when my life spirals out of control: I bake. Muffins are my friend this morning, so I find myself making several batches. I know I make mean apple and cinnamon muffins, but this morning I go further, adding lemon and poppy seed, carrot and pecan and savoury bran to my repertoire. I also make a couple of chocolate fudge cakes to take down to Bea and Andreas later as a thank you for helping me settle in. Time flies and I realise that it is five to seven, so I put a selection of muffins on a plate and wander down to the back of the shop. The door is just being unlocked by Bea, so she ushers me in, chatting at a hundr

I am standing in Nonna’s kitchen, desperately trying to avoid looking at either the spot where she died or at my mother, who is currently raging in Italian. Despite my heritage, I have never managed to master much beyond the odd holiday phrase, so I really don’t have a clue about what she is saying to me. My dad popped out for a pint of milk, and it was at that point she started grilling me about what I was going to do about Bread. I am a terrible liar, so I came clean and told her my situation, minus the stuff like sleeping with my boss, his psycho brother and the all-round fucked-up-ness that is my life currently. Needless to say, it was like waving a rag at a bull, and I am now standing here waiting for her to calm down. Which doesn’t seem like it is going to happen anytime soon. “Gina, just shut the hell up, will you?” My dad’s normally quiet voice booms across the room, and we both stare at him, silence descending at last. “Stop for a minute and look at what you are doing to ou

I slowly climb out of the darkness, and the first thing I notice is a steady beeping sound. I can feel crisp sheets and an ache in my wrists. My mind flicks back, and I remember the drinking, the singing, the cutting of my wrists. With a sigh, I realise that I survived, and now I am probably going to be in a world of trouble.Taylor! Shit, pieces start coming back to me, and I am sure that I heard Taylor’s voice. My heart starts to hammer, and the steady beep increases in pace until I hear someone enter the room. Efficient, cool fingers touch my wrists, well, the parts that aren’t bandaged up, and I hear quiet murmurings. I try to open my eyes, but nothing seems to be cooperating. A warm, sluggish feeling creeps up my limbs, and then once again the darkness descends.~*~Beep. Beep. Beep. I want to shout at the fucking alarm for waking me up; I don’t have to be at work until seven, so why did I set it so early? I crack my eyes open, expecting to see my bedroom ceiling, but instead, I