When The undertakers came they found a box with lots of papers in, some were diaries. Others had been taken away and were found in a CPS archive. Some were used against Lucy in her trial. Her poems for him were there too. 



One seemed to be very old, the words were faded. It seemed to have been written in a hurry. There is a dark red, almost black stain on one side. It is legible. 


This is how it'll be:

I sell the furniture. I sell the jewellery too. The worrk I never get paid for, do I wait for that or not. Probably I'll wait. But once I have five thousand pounds. Then. Sell any designer clothes. The big Gucci bag. I can't part with my cream leather Louis bag, he bough that fo rme when he loved me. So I thought. I've already lost my mother's rings and my own locket. He bought it from an antique hop in London, its three different golds, with blue in their too. Blue Gold exists so I can fuck off. I'm going to pack all the remaining things. My radio, the dog and my make up . Those three are my main decent possessions. Then I'm going to run. The phone is going in the river, except I'll tell my Dad and Brother where I am. Everyone else can go and jump. I won't jump but I can feel the sky closing in on me here, with these angry surroundings and moody people. So before you drain the blood from the veal calf, I've bitten the owner of this Abattoir. The calf couldn't speak. I can't speak either. Everything I want to say is turned somehow into a smile. I really would like to go away. Everyday is so awful. I dare say there isn't a true friend around, despite the way they take money and laughs. It's too late to patch anything up wiht them. As for him, he has a chocolate box full of choices, including several of the better looking 'friends' of mine. Thanks. Bet it seemed like you are something secial. I know you are, but why did you? None of this matters as I wait for the bus. The bus leads me to the train. On the train I head for London. From the Smoke I head to Waterloo, then the suburbs of Paris. Fucking cold just like before, but not there. With those witches waving their arms at me, glass in hand. Wine splattering me as you slate me to my face. No more. Here I am. You aren't even a thought anymore. Just a recollection that you caused me so much pain remains. Like a dog from a shelter, I know not to trust, but i can't remember your face or what anyone saw in you, as they say. 

That would be the perfect day. But I'm stuck here, no money, no conspirator. Pete wrote a song for lovers running away just for one day. But there is no one to plot with. Maybe running away would be easier this way. What about the ones who rely on me and my too fat shoulders, to make sure they are ok? Thats why i can't go and why we have to endure the temper of that woman. Is this why people kill/ no where to run to anymore. 

There was a poem tucked into a little shoe box. It was written in a calmer script. The handwriting was quite girly and bubble like. 

You were the one who protected me, for so long.

Why didn't you keep me and her like everyone else? like John?

She wanted to be in your car, safe.

Listening to you sing to the songs that were the anthem of our lives me and you.  

Today, I heard some Irish drinking songs. 

Yesterday, I heard some Neil Diamond on Radio Two. 

Whenever I heard those songs in your car I cringed. 

Then I was left by you, 

And now they make me cry every time.

There's no way back,

You had a kid with her this time, the pig ugly slag. 


Another had been written out many times, as if it was meant to be put inside an envelope or a present. One copy had lipstick kisses on it, how the hell they survived it's not sure, all the beeswax in lipstick maybe. 


There's something wrong. Very wrong

You've gone

away forever

and I can't remember 

The passion I felt 

Not anymore. 

Too many nights, journeys, days

I know it was always meant to be this way 

I meant nothing, am nothing. 

Why can't I be every little thing again? 

There is no escape this time, you've flown away 

and I love you so much 

Too much to run anymore

Beauty all around me 

In my soul there is coal 

like a deep pit 

stopping me from being free

to forget

Regret you? 


Let me hold you on one afternoon, 

stir my tea anti clockwise

you be you and i'll be me 

too bad to be faithful, both of us 

too driven to be happy, ibid. 

But you know I am your equal sometimes 

and you are my master. 

Faster, faster, faster

faster faster,more

and more that wasn't all 

But I can't explain 

the pain in the peach pit of my heart 

whenever I see you with her, holding her hand

as I stand alone. 

I vow to kiss you on the mouth again before I die. 








As they move boxes and books, another page catches the removal man's eye.

I have to win this time, 

it might be the wine

but i never do

It's because you

hypnotise me

and I lust after your consonants too. 

So here it goes:


















Erotica Erotica. 






Green eyes
















This is for Lovers running away just for today 

































Running away together










Will you let me?

When will you let me kiss you? 

X X X 

You are so outdated

You are not there 

You're the one for me. 



Yellow Yellow Yellow Mustard Paler like cake, sort of beige




I love you so much 

but let me win next time.




Tasting Menu ( I love you J, Let me hold you)

One singular Lobster Ravioli, 

to eat slowly 

looking at your shirt, 

wondering whether it would hurt 

my chances if I asked you what I want from you now. 

Next, feet touching under the table,

I can't stop.

A sliver of steak and three chips,

in a Micheline starred palace on my plate

I'm trying to be sexy. 

so small a tasting menu 

that my palate won't show on my olive skinned hips. 

I feed you one of my chips 

I dream of biting your full lips

Then we eat cheese in mice types sizes, crumbs, 

before you dash I make you drink some


When it's warm in Alaska or cold in Bombay 

maybe then you'd let me have a tasting menu of

the best dishes that make up J

Leather, denim, cotton,cowboy hat

taste them all and make me fat 

with lust. 


Your girlfriend is a twat 


Can you see the sun go down? in the desert 

Can you walk in Paris in the Summer 

I can see so many things without any of you 

I can look at the sky without your permission 

When I walk in the shops I don't need a friend 

I can hold a new man and break this obsession 

You can sleep with him but i don't care 

So you'll have to find another way to annoy me best friend

And he'll have to find a new weapon to fuck me over with 

Because from now on no one fucks with me 

The sap has fucked off and here I am 

With no one to hanker for and no one to worry 

hurry back to her 

Steer your death ship away from me 

I'm on an island made of shit but it's better than being tethered 

to a blind fool like you. 


Wishing for Death 



'm so angry at wishing. 


Fucking Cinderella, Disney bull-shit. 


The worst thing is I know you don't miss me. 


You replace me in a flash. 


Is her anger all that? 


Must have been everything


You told me never to sell my engagement ring


Thank you so much 


for that gentlemenly wish, you twat. 

Another Diary extract seemed to have been written hurriedly and without much thought. It was scribbled over, but they could make it out. It read: 


I'll never love again, all you've left me with is how much I hate you now. 

0You knew that I loved you like a desperate desperate thing. This is how you repayed me. You loved her instead and made sure I knew. You must have fantasised about her so often. You text her all the time. The worst thing at the moment is buying the watch. You've never bought me a thing, but I don't need your money thank God. I don't need anything. Somehow I have to wrok out how three years were lost. My chance to be loved has been taken away for a second time. It was my fault. Never ever again will you get the chance to hurt me, because you and her are so welcome to each other now. Three years is a long time to cry. Her words suit you. Her anger suits you. Perfectly perfect together. Good Luck. She can try and hurt me, but this time she doesn't even know. She already tried to ruin every relationship i ever had. No friends now. Living with no money and a heap of shit from most angles. Kicked an animal today. What has happened. Even my decent words were wasted. She's very you though. You aren't what i thought or what you think. How could I sit there and pretend that you were being a friend, when it was all a scheme to get to the person you'd dribbled over all along. I'm over with now. Nothing can ever hurt anymore. I hate her too, hating you both is easy, I've done this before. Its me on my own and I do not fucking care. I just wish you would fuck off somewhere like Spain and never ever remember how much you ruined my life. I did let you, I can hear your weasel excuses and her chavvy vindications. But anyone who does the things you did is a user. You could have just gone straight to her, i told you too, but you had to use me and then play games, so I would waste the only chance I had left. I'm not her. I don't think you know a thing bout me. I'm a lot older, she loves saying that. A lot less of a looker, I could never understand the pressure of being a beautiful actress, remember the part with the pilot? The watch is to make up for teasing your love. I did not meet you. You never lied to me. You never existed. I fucking made you up for this book. You are just a poorly scripted character. 

No, I'm not sure, but you are married anyway, we both know that. Thats what you were doing there that day. Good luck. You'll be another great husband. Congratulations on another new baby. No one knows that I have not sworn at him, not fter twelve years of planning our future and then after six months or so you had a daughter with her.  Listening to this, we can all see why. 

She is upset, she isn't gratefully waiting there. 

The thing is now, no one can ever get to her, ever. Yes she is humiliate. Yes she might have to move to Oz. It has fucked up having a boyfriend for a while, but she's alive. She  knows who is to hate and avoid and who is to bother with. So it isn't finished

Although the truth is as she write, every part of her body from her always clownlike demeanour to her fat fat head feels so afraid and duped. 

Everything is so very funny. Everything is worth Nothing. No one from my time left now. No mum, no one to talk to anymore, always watched and treated like a kid. 

' Just change' they all unhelpfully shout out, crass fuckers who never listen to the situation. How do I run away when the debts trap me. How can I talk to them, when they relish my problems and bitch to you                             or anyone who will listen after I tell them Come on how many women friends do you know that actually care. 

It just has to end. The filth that you put me through, the choices that you made. It took me so long to realise how very much you wanted to feed me a poisoned cake with plenty of icing to hide it all. 

 And another diary entry in neater script:



Truth Mirror 




Away from the shimmering glass, 

She is convinced that her eyes are green. 

Her body is not so bad. 

A bit of blusher will sort out her face

If I hadn't looked in that mirror

I'd still live in my own world

A one with blankets and a fire. 

Love is just around the corner. 

She will come back one day 

So will he and another he too. 


If I'd stayed away from the too bright truth

I'd believe in love and diets. 

I didn't look old dancing to I predict a riot. 


A lot of people walk past 

They are wrapped in ignorant solace. 


When I looked into the mirror 

it wasn't us making love. 

That's all it should have shown. 

But it was me on my own, 

trying to be younger 

and not defeated, 

by the bills and the catty friends. 

If Only I can start again, 

let's smash it up tomorrow?

He would have said and She would have said too. 

I know, I know, can't bring them back but they're still here. 

But i never saw them.

Trying to remember what they would have said everyday. 

Wondering if there would ever be a way to transport myself back there

But it isn't misfits.

It isn't a joke.

If i stared for longer into that mirror

You would be there with your new daughter,

so I won't look in there again 


Did I look beautiful when I said

'Fuck this and fuck you too'?

I hope so but I doubt it

You had the looks my one.

When I muttered  'Naff Off. 

You're such a stupid Fucking Cunt.'

Did I seem classy, like Lucy?

Fucking doubt it. 

Up yours shithead

was another parting shot

An ashtray in the head is what he got.  

Stupid Fucking Whore. 

That has been said and more. 

Miserable Twatting Bastard

Another favourite, I turn inward 

and tell myself to Piss Off you stinking old bitch

Out of all of these things, 

Fuck this and Fuck you too says it all 

Because I lost

Because you detested me 

Becuase I'm at the bottom of a pit 

and the only good words are Fuck and Twat 

So Fuck Off and Fuck You too 

If I'd stuck to this sentiment i'd be over you 

Instead of watching your lust and feeling my regret 

Strangle any future that may have been 

Distracted days, missed opportunities

All my error. 

But whether 

I told you to Naff Off, Jog On or Fuck yourself 

My health would have improved

If i'd meant it, dearest. 

Because love you till the end,

I still cunting well will.


He was never forgotten by his friends in England or in India. His family inevitably could not understand how such a fate could have befallen their only son. His sisters in India would talk about him for hours at first, how cheeky he was, the way he would sometimes knock one or other of them over for a joke if they were walking down the road together.

His father knew but it pained him to accept that perhaps he had allowed his business deals to become more important than his son’s safety. It kept him up at night. It was some time before there was an arrest but this time there was no doubt in any Judge’s mind that the right people had been caught. They perceived Johan Ahmadi to have breached their code of honour and it was determined within the gang that he should pay with his life. They were sentenced to the maximum sentences possible for their conspiracy to murder and as they were deemed to be dangerous by the Court, will never be released.


Lucy is reading The Life of Mahatmas Gandhi. She is planning a trip to see her relatives in Northern India when she gets news that Shanaz has married. Will she come to Iran for the wedding? I will certainly try to save up and come, she thinks as she plans her trip to India.



Over the years she steadily works hard. It’s a Sunday


‘ Bye Aunty, I’m going to the shelter, it’s my day for volunteering’ Lucy shouts as she tip toes down the drive way. She did fall in love again and although he later died, her life was full. Her church was important to her and she stayed well enough.


Gandhi’s last meal was said to be a concoction derived of a combination of goat’s milk, sour lemons and ghee, along with ginger and aloe Vera Juice.

He drank carrot Juice also and Joked that it was cattle fare. The book describes how he was shot. The bullets staining his white clothes. His strategy of satyagraha or passive resistance earned him the admiration of millions throughout the world. she was impressed by his control over his own finances as student and the ironw ill he developed. Selfless in his love for his people. A girl she once knew had suffered for her people too. Trained to be a barrister at law in London, experimenting with many vegetarian dishes, learning to cook carrot soup for instance.


In the week before she dies, Flick and Augostino visit her.


‘I’ve said to him before, will we have again before we die’, Flick laughs the others are silent with embarrassment.


Lucy’s face breaks out into a beaming smile, you really don’t change do you my Felicity.


Augostino grew quieter and quieter over the years. Unlike the bird kingdom where the male peacock has all the plumage and glorious feather, in this kingdom he had always been the plain looking one. Flick was very old now, her wicked sense of humour had remained. Augo picked up there cups and took them to the sink.


‘ Hey Augo remember when you were a waiter and I was your Queen,

 Flick reminisced


They ate and drank, laughing all night long. Her son, she had adopted him many years before came along too, alternatively groaning at the bad Jokes made by his mother and listening with interest at their talk of the old days.


I have been babysitting a lot these days too, said Lucy, babies were not always my think. The Doctor says I have to take it easy my blood pressure is high. God I sound like my nana, sometimes I wish she was here really do.


Flick and Augo leave her an envelope with cash in it, knowing that she finds it difficult to make ends meet sometimes and thinking it wrong for her to have to work at such a late stage in her life.



From time to time, Lucy was not so strong there ere the times that she would re tell the story of what had happened to her.

No one knew that she had been reluctant to appeal her conviction, she said to her barrister at the time.                                                                                                                                   ’ Mr. Self I had a Job offer, a local doctor has asked me to help him out with his ironing, he knows my sister. But I can’t decide if I can be trusted to go. I might Just stay here, the house is paid off and I don’t need much. Don’t deserve much. Don’t want to bother you, I will stay here.’



Gandhi said once that he was ‘ A Christian, a Muslim and also a Jew’.


She sometimes thought about that and a picture of Andrew, her first boyfriends face sprung to mind.


She longed to go back to India. Event he sounds were different, but for her England was home, born and raised here, she hated the cold weather but apart from that it was home. Mum was buried here too. She tried not to think about Johan and the tragic events that had nearly ended her own life as she knew it, from time to time it felt as if he had been there all along, watching out for her.


On that final night on this orb of land and water, she opened the diary and read what she believed to be his words, although she had no proof and didn’t think it prudent to call the police, it seemed stupid, ther is no such thing as a ghost. Lucy walks into her living room and listens to her radio on the computer screen. It being 2060 she can listen to pretty much anything she wants in any given language. The nice neighbors can be heard giggling with their baby Laura through the wall, the moody neighbour is snoring again as she goes to bed. He is such a pig, snoring that can be heard through a wall. She said that out loud and thought she heard a giggle.



Before saying a final adieu to cold mornings when she does not want to lift her head form the pillow, awkward silences when both parties lose the thread of the conversation and so on, Lucy thinks about all the people who have walked down her street in the last year. For an old woman she was not doing to badly, nieghbours help a lot. My only regret is that I did not save him. How could I have kept him closer to me, then she remembers the diary and the words that he had written in it for her. I am not mad I know that you are my friend if nothing else, is not a friend the most valuable currency on earth. If I am sitting in a pool of vomit, my mind gone with worry or drink, will a stranger who is not paid hold his hand out to me, or care if I die in the winter cold? will you dance with me on your bedroom as I twirl will you let me drink your tea and ease the loneliness and drabness of my everyday life.


Lucy can be seen on that last day to be happily dancing around her room. Her steps appear to be guided by someone or something, she is not dancing alone because is there with her and they have forgiven one another.







































Thing is, I always knew it would happen, deep down. Madnees.

It must be difficult to grow up being influenced by something and then expect to be without it.  But I thought I was right. Some days it feels like I am still right, deep down I know I lost it. The silly thing is I should have known you would never be one to hurt me. Not like that. I cringe. All the time. What the hell do you think. What sort of tool does the things I did? Do you know, I meant it when I said i loved you. I still love you, but love is too strong now because I feel ashamed to even know you. 

There is no one that compares to you, that is the truth. If I'd had one friend like you, intelligent, always smiling and brainy things would be different. But girls dont meet boys to be friends and I couldn't show you that I wasn't who i'd been pretending to be. I was just trying to impress you. 

I know I can't reach you now. In a wasteland, in a small part of my mind, I win you back. 

I do a film and it becomes a success. Yeah I'm laughing too. I write a poem and someone notices. Somehow you see something that you ignored before. Maybe i get a better job with more money and buy a new car with working air con. Or my bad temper goes away forever and I'm sweet. It would be hard to be a complete sap but that's how strongly I feel. It all sounds so immature. Thinking love could make me do those things, that it could manufacture new talents. 

What is worse? You wouldn't even be impressed. I know that. So what is left? try and become rich. Same thing. Try and be more beautiful? Or at least a bit fitter? Already too late. No sleep. Pestered all the time. No chance to think or be on my own. All the responsibility and no money it feels like that, even if I'm wrong. No strength left to change. 

Deep down, I dream that I could look after you and some how make you feel happy. But the truth is you did always deserve else, other, different, better. I know my grammar's gone wrong but I could not let you be less than that. I'd always be flawed. I have to try and be something you might have wanted, if I had a second chance. At least then, thin, breezy and popular, I'd be comforted. But it would still be the wrong date. Even if I'm patched up, I wasn't right at the time. I can't find you now. The only way is to do more stupid things. Ring up where you work? Find you in India? Not easy. I have three numbers for you, but I'm too scared to call. That's how impotent I am. I can't face it. Not more. It has to be you wanting me in some way. There cannot be any more begging. 

And then I remember how it feels to be held by you, for you to flick my hair away and hold me. I can feel you breathing on my neck and heel like i belong to you. So I start to beg. I thought you were him, the one online. I was wrong, but it made me feel you were alive. You were with me then. For a minute or two. Probably in a room with someone new but still remembering I lived or live. If only I had three months to think. To get away from all this boredom and pressure. I could be me again. On a beach, tanned and together. Maybe then I'd lose this air of panic. If I bumped into you you might remember the yellow leather. My smile pleasant when first seen. My tan, now gone. How other people looked at me and what you overheard. Maybe not.

All this sounds like such bull. Heaven help me if you ever knew how I felt. 

Maybe you got my messages and know. Hopefully not. 

Maybe one day if I didn't talk to you for years, you'd remember one or two funny

things. Maybe you never forgot me. I can't tell from here, alone. I wish you would just kiss me and tell me my lipgloss tastes nice or let me text you when I got home, like normal. But trying to resurrect history is hard when I can't find you. I need to find you one day before I die. I know I can't find you.

I just need to clear my thoughts and give up. There is nothing left to give up on. I can't even find you now. How could i face you without crying over everything I did? 

It's just so shit and I wish you would ring me up. Make up and give me one chance one day. The connection has gone maybe. I can't take the intensity of how I feel. It is stupid,,,,,,,,,everyone always said that. Hopefully I didn't ever hurt you that's all I can aspire to now.  Obsession can be boring can't it? 

I imagine a different life somewhere, away from all this. Everytime, you are somewhere near, either on the phone or listening to me speak and being my friend. I can't explain except that you are my everything. My Talisman. Lennon. Antony?

Even thinking all this is making me less of a person in your eyes. The person I should be isn't inside writing rubbish, she's outside making you jealous. Being a star. Being something to make you miss her, not begging. 


The End

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