A place where we can breathe

Iwas a grown-up. A professional, working man who could do things all on his own.

I’d bought my first house on a whim. I’d seen the estate agent leaflet, signed some paperwork for Lauren and been driven to this big empty shell of a house with a garden I’d never set foot in.

Then I’d gone on tour and left it to someone else to sort out all the interior—furniture and soft furnishings and so on.

I hated that house. I truly did.

I’d sent the bed back. It was too big and creaky. But I’d kept the mattress. I mean, I needed somewhere to sleep. Or try to.

Was it any wonder I didn’t sleep?

I’d been broken into a few times. Had the gates smashed open. Then that stalker thing… I shuddered, remembering. Not fun.

God, I hated that house. I truly did.

It was a massive relief signing the papers this morning. The official Blitz solicitor had handled the sale. My people were arranging the movers to come in and put everything into storage. I just had to come organise my personal effects.

I was officially homeless, and my security guards were temporarily at a loose end. People kept asking me where I would be staying, reminding me of my contract. The insurance company insisted on twenty-four seven security. Blah, blah, blah. Ha! I shouldn’t have felt good about that, but I did. No more. End of.

My personal effects would fit into a bag or two, so I was going to do that tonight. Sleep on that bare mattress. Feel like shit.

Again.

“Right here,” my driver said—another new guy from another agency that employed soulless humans who drove from A to B with zero conversation.

He slowed the car to stop, and I glanced out the window at the cardboard cutout estate agent standing with paperwork in hand. I got out of the car, and she greeted me with a warm, excited smile.

I grunted a greeting back at her and shifted my gaze to the building. Big gates. A row of townhouse-like structures. Entrances to apartments. New builds. Very little space.

Safetymy brain mocked.

I wasn’t sure about anything, but knowing me, I’d sign on the dotted line just to get this over and done with, like I’d done last time, with no real idea of what I was doing or why I was doing it.

“We have a great apartment here, fantastic potential,” the woman gushed, leading the way through the gates. “Private parking, twenty-four-hour security, concierge, and the grounds are outstanding for central London.”

I was sure they were. Fishing my sunglasses out of my rucksack, I put them on as we entered the building and took the lift up to the top floor. Sunglasses inside looked stupid but were incredibly helpful. They hid my eyes. Hid a lot of emotion.

“Great views.” The lift doors opened, and the woman strode off across the marble floor, waving her arm at the various features. “Gorgeous bespoke kitchen, neutral colours, and the bedroom has a very attractive walk-in wardrobe.”

I took off my sunglasses, twirled around the open-plan space.

It looked like every hotel room I had ever stayed in. Cold. Inoffensive. Bleak.

“Not quite what I am looking for. This is like…a hotel. I want a home.”

“A home?” She gave me an odd kind of look, but I couldn’t have described what I meant if she’d put a gun to my head. “Your brief said high security location, within your max budget.”

“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “But I also want somewhere…warm. A safe place to lay my head.” Jeez. With cheese like that, no wonder our production team was trying to get us all sacked.

“This complex has several units still available. It’s a high-standard new build, and our price range is one that will only attract a certain tier of buyers.”

“Are all the units like this? Beige and bland?” I didn’t know where my anger was coming from, but I was taking it out on this poor woman when it wasn’t her fault.

“If you wouldn’t mind me making a phone call, perhaps I can…bear with me.”

Phone in hand, she walked off and left me in the middle of the bland, heartless space.

I shivered and zipped my hoodie, feeling very cold and alone. This apartment was not for me. Nor was the building. No, what I wanted…

I had to smile. I wanted some goddamn awful council flat in Peckham. That’s what I wanted. One that smelled of sour milk and happiness. Where people ruffled my hair. Where I slept.

Spoilt brat,my mum would’ve said. I could almost hear her laughter in my head. So I rang her.

“What d’you think?” I showed her around the stark expanse.

“Oh. Have you…bought it?”

“Nope.”

“Thank God. It’s…horrible! No soul at all.”

“So you wouldn’t come and visit me if I moved in here?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, even though she and Dad never visited. Nor did I, and I really should, but it wasn’t easy, with neighbours popping round to meet me, and I would be paraded up and down the living room like an object of curiosity, and then Mum would tell me to go to bed at ten, seeming to have completely forgotten I was an actual adult.

Which brought me back full circle. I wasn’t an adult. I still needed my parents to help me buy a place to live.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” I admitted.

“Somewhere low maintenance,” my dad stuck in, briefly showing his face on screen. “A new build can be good. But perhaps something a few years old, where the previous owners have snagged any issues.”

“And a kitchen with a breakfast bar,” Mum added. “I always wanted one of those. Where you can sit in the kitchen and talk to whoever is cooking.”

“Not that I cook,” I mumbled.

“I did teach you to cook, Graham. You’re not bad. You used to make great omelettes!”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cooked myself an omelette. I’d had crackers and an apple for breakfast. A ready-made vegan wrap for lunch.

“I’ve texted the location to your driver.” The estate agent was back. “It’s a short drive away and completely different to this. I think it may be closer to what you’re looking for. An older building, but the house has been very tastefully updated, and it has some of the security features you requested.”

I hated it already. But whatever. I said goodbye to my parents and traipsed after the estate agent, back down in the lift, to the car. My driver followed her along narrow local roads, and I had to admit, as we turned into an alleyway and passed through a small courtyard shared by two houses, that maybe she did know her stuff. We stopped and got out of the cars, and I looked around as she ran through her sales pitch.

“This complex is all private, and there is no gym or recreational facilities on site, so no third parties needing regular access. The small concierge office at the front is manned during business hours, but you could have a private security arrangement embedded in the service contract should you wish.”

I grunted. No thanks. Lock and key. No more people in my space.

We drifted across the courtyard towards one of the houses with their picturesque staircases up to brightly coloured front doors.

The house was…a house. Whoever lived here clearly had children and had not been aware of the impending viewing. Stuff was scattered messily over the sofa, and children’s drawings were taped to the fridge.

“It’s an American family, moving back to the States. Keen to arrange a quick sale, should this be more to your taste. The price reflects the extensive upgrades the family has made over the past two years. The bathrooms are exquisite.”

Well, the bathroom downstairs looked like any other bathroom, but the kitchen…had a breakfast bar! And stools. I snapped a picture for Mum. Floor-to-ceiling sliding doors revealed a veranda surrounded by leafy greenery, trees overhanging the cosy outdoor furniture. A barbecue in the corner.

I smiled. This was more like it.

“Downstairs is the nanny flat, which could be converted into a home gym if that is required. Perhaps, in your line of work, Mr Dieter, a home studio could be an option?”

I followed her downstairs. Big living space, small kitchen, a bedroom…I could buy this and just live down here. And once again I realised I was buying something far too big. Something fit for the family I would never have.

“Follow me,” the estate agent beckoned enthusiastically. I did, and up the stairs we went, past the ground floor and up again.

“Guest bedroom, slash office, slash gym…” This woman was obsessed with the home gym idea. My personal trainer had a private gym. And once a week my driver took me there for Tomaz to almost un-alive me with cruel routines that I was supposed to keep up with daily. I did nothing of the sort, and he knew it. It was one thing keeping fit on tour, but I wasn’t on tour, and I was allowed a break.

Up we went again, to the top floor, where there was a large bedroom—a comfortable space with sparse lighting, a cot in the corner and a small balcony.

Something in my chest broke.

There was a soft toy on the bed. It wasn’t Mr Snuggles, but it could have been. I wanted it to be.

It was a sign.

I didn’t believe in signs.

But I liked this place.

Huh. That was…unexpected.

I nodded politely to the estate agent as I strode out the door. “My people will be in touch,” I said. Like the twat I was.

“Mr Dieter?”

Here we go again. A photo. An autograph. Whatever.

“There has been a lot of interest. I can’t see this place remaining on the market for more than a few days. It’s a nice house. Good area. The family has been very happy here, and I think your own family would thrive here too. The local kids play out in the courtyard, the green space at the back is all communal too. I believe someone has even built a treehouse. There are several excellent schools in the area, and you’re within walking distance of parks, and of course, the Tube station is just around the corner.”

Like I had a family. But…

Could I have a family? Yeah, right. In a dream world. I couldn’t even make Reuben want me, so what hope did I have of finding someone to have kids with? Did I want kids?

Not at the moment. I could barely look after myself. And that nanny flat had given me all the wrong vibes.

In the future perhaps?

“No kids.” I smiled to the estate agent. “But I like the house. Good choice.”

“I could show you some more properties. I would need a day to arrange viewings and go through options.”

“Uh, sure,” I said. Whatever.

My driver took me back to the cold stern house and today’s guard, who shook my hand and nodded politely. I’d never seen him before. I left him on the sofa while I disappeared upstairs and shoved all my belongings into two suitcases. Cases I still hadn’t fully unpacked from the last tour.

There. Done.

Now what?

I lay on my mattress and stared at the ceiling, my phone in my hand.

Texted Musa.

Took a call from Lauren. Grimaced at her ridiculous demands, seeing as she’d imposed the changes in schedule. I would be at the studio at eight. No argument.

Tried to ring Reuben. He didn’t pick up but texted me back to say he was at work.

I wanted so badly to ask him if I could see him. Just come over for a hug. I would have walked all the way across London to bloody Peckham to get one.

Boundaries. Graham. Give him time. Space.

I had time. Lots of it.

I tried to sleep but couldn’t settle. Had a shower and changed my clothes. Repacked my cases.

I had nowhere to go.

Well, I could grab my bags and get the security guard to drive me down to The Clouds. Check into that wanky suite again. Lauren would approve. Anywhere was better than some place at the back end of Peckham, so she’d said. Loudly. It wasn’t an approved location, and security hadn’t scouted it out, and did I have any idea of the consequences if something happened to me? Insurance would never cover me. There are rules, Graham. RULES!

Bloody insurance. What did I care? If anything happened to me, management would be compensated for their lack of future income. My parents wouldn’t see a penny.

I couldn’t stay here. It was making me miserable. Too much time to think.

I put my tracksuit on and shoved my hair into submission under a beanie. Stashed some clothes in my rucksack and kicked the mattress to the side.

I had everything I needed. Phone in pocket, I tiptoed down the stairs.

The guard was asleep on the sofa. Yeah. That happened a lot. I mean, who in their right minds took a job where they were supposed to sit in my mostly empty house in case some nutcase tried to break in? I had nothing here. All our awards and stuff were kept by management. There was even a Blitz museum full of stage costumes, instruments we didn’t know how to play and tacky, overpriced merchandise.

My mum had a Blitz mug but not from the museum. I’d given it to her, back when it felt like the future was bright.

The guard didn’t even stir as I snuck out the front door, put the alarm back on. Pushed the code for the gate.

This wasn’t the first time. As long as I kept my head down and hood up, public transport safely got me to wherever I needed to go.

It felt a bit like freedom. A tiny glimmer of light.

I tapped my phone on the e-reader on the bus like a normal person. Because I was a normal person, and I’d once lived a normal life. One where I didn’t have to be so goddamn scared all the time.

I found an empty seat and sat, phone in my hand. And I breathed. In. Out.

You can do this.

Take control.