Anticipation

I can't sleep. It's always the same - reluctance turns to annoyance, annoyance to frustration, frustration to defeat, and I end up sat in my chair, staring vacantly ahead.
She's not here. It's as simple as that. Her warmth. The sound of her breathing. The sharp jab when I steal the covers.

Without her I can't sleep. For the past two weeks I've struggled to sleep.

I listen to the sound of the clock. A car passes by outside. Its lights briefly illuminate the room. Tomorrow she'll be back. The house feels empty. Abandoned. I put on one of her CDs, close my eyes, and wait for morning.

...

Work is always the same. Today is made all the worse by the knowledge that she's waiting for me back home. Every minor annoyance is magnified.

Gary spends the day talking about a football match. He knows I'm not interested, but he just needs to talk. I stare at my computer screen, make the appropriate noises at the right time. A few times I try to focus on what he's saying, but it's just gibberish to me. I wonder whether to call her.

‘You want a drink?'

‘Huh?'

‘Drink?' Gary stares at me across the desks.

‘Sure. Coffee, black, sugar.'

‘Need the energy boost today?'

‘Sure do.'

I can picture in my mind the sight as she walked in through the front-door, lugging the suitcase behind her, swearing as it catches on the doorstep. The house will feel like it use to again. Warm. Welcoming. Alive.

The coffee tastes like it always tastes, which isn't like coffee.

Outside it starts to rain. The tiny flecks collecting on the window pane overlooking the car-park. It builds and builds. The sound of it being thrown against the glass is soothing, blocking out the usual background noise. I find my attention drifting.

I phone home, but there's no answer. Either she's resting, or in the bath. Probably for the best, we wouldn't have been able to talk for long.

Low lighting. Red wine. The two of us snuggled up on the sofa.

‘Have you managed to get the new status pages ready yet?'

I pass Gary the work and retreat back into the noise of the rain.

Team meeting. The twelve of us crammed into a small room two floors down, the only spare space they could find. Listening for almost an hour to how the department is doing. The usual statistics, uncertainties, jokes, and questions.

Productivity is up.

We have to vacate some of the desks.

The post system is being changed.

The printer problem is being seen to.

Any questions?

The rain has eased off by the time we get back to the office. We get back to work. I spend the last few hours of the day trying to keep as busy as possible. But the time still seems to drag by. Gary sinks into a silent mood, caught up in the intricacies of document management. I try a few questions about the match.

I hate the waiting.

...

The bus ride home seems to take ages. What if she hasn't got back? What if I got the day wrong? What if something had happened? What if she'd gone out?

...

She throws her arms around me. I'm home.