One Step Too Far Read Free Page A

fact they’ll be better off in the long run, I know they will. Yes, I’ve done the right thing.
    I’d tried to research how to find somewhere to live in London, in those final unhinged weeks back in Manchester, back when I was Emily still. I’d made sure I always cleared the history on our computer so Ben wouldn’t suspect what I was about to do. Until I get a job I can’t afford too much on rent, I don’t know how long my money will have to last me, so I’m going to try to find a shared house – the type where eight or nine people (usually Australians I think) live together and turn every room that’s not a kitchen or a bathroom into a bedroom. There’s also less need for ID, for references in those kind of places, I mustn’t be traced. I pick up the local papers in another newsagents, shuffle along another queue, and venture out into the hazy, infected sunshine.
    Where do I go now? I’m lost and feel panicky, like I want to turn back the clock and run home to my boy, like this is all a horrible mistake. I look around blankly until eventually I can process the images, can see the big ugly road in front of me, snarled up with traffic, drowning in car fumes. Sweat is breaking out under my right arm and across my shoulder where the strap of the holdall is touching my skin, and the hot smell of myself reminds me that I am really here, I really have done this. I cross over at the lights and walk straight, down a long wide road, across a square, past a distant statue, of Gandhi I think, and I don’t know where I’m going and it’s taking me forever. Eventually I see a mobile shop on the other side of the street and I’m relieved, like I’ve succeeded at something. The shop is large and dreary despite the posters and the video screens showing the latest offers – the bright moving images make the shop itself feel more dismal somehow. It’s empty apart from two shop assistants who eye me up as I enter, but then studiously ignore me for a couple of minutes although I can tell I’m being watched. The shop sells every network and I haven’t got a clue what to go for, it’s so confusing. All the phones look the same to me. A young man wearing a black uniform sidles up to me and asks me how I’m doing.
    “Fine, thanks,” I say.
    “Is there anything I can help you with? What are you after today?” His voice has a musical lilt to it and he has a handsome face with a neat black beard but he doesn't look at me straight and I don't look at him. We both stare at the shelves of phones, which are just dummy ones anyway and half of these are missing, there are just cables with nothing on the ends.
    “I’m after a new phone.” My voice is timid, unfamiliar to me.
    “Certainly, madam. Who are you with at the moment?”
    “No-one,” I say, and I think how true . “I mean, I’ve lost my old one.”
    “Who was that with?” the shop assistant persists.
    “I can’t remember,” I say. “I just want a cheap phone on pay as you go,” and my tone is sharper than I mean it to be, and I didn't used to be like this. I pick up one of the battered looking dummy phones.
    “This one looks OK, how much are calls on this?”
    The man is patient and explains that it depends which network I choose, and I realise he must think I’m an idiot, but the truth is I’ve never bought a phone from scratch before, my mum and dad bought me my first one for college and I’ve always just upgraded or had work ones since then. The shop assistant makes me go through the rigmarole of of saying how many calls and texts I’m going to use, whether I want access to the internet, so he can work out which package is best for me, and I really don’t care after what I’ve been through and I don’t understand any of it anyway and I just want to get out of this place and call some house-share ads before it gets too late, before I panic, so I have somewhere to sleep tonight.
    “Look, all I want is the cheapest deal, can’t you just decide for