local friends

02Nov09

On Friday night, I went out with some people from work. When I moved to Woking, finding new – and local – friends was a priority after settling in and getting the flat sorted. Of course, I went on holiday, returned and got a nasty cold bug so was in bed for a few days and then my Dad died. My lack of local friends initially resulted from lack of time, and then with Dad passing, it came down to priority shifts and generally not being able to face the daunting task of trying to find people to spend time with and convince them to like me.

I have now managed to get mostly on top of the important issues resulting from my Dad’s death. Apart from the grief bit, I mean. The funeral has been arranged and held. The police side of things was closed. The trauma scene cleaners went in. I finally got into the house and got important paperwork. The memorial has been held. The solicitor is now contacting banks, building societies, mortgage providers, the council, utility companies, insurance companies, the DVLA, Dad’s place of work (etc etc) to draw up a picture of my Dad’s finances so that it can all be assessed and distributed to me and my sister through probate. She and I have been in to the house and removed valuable items and put them into secure storage (yes, I know that a house is secure, but more likely to get burgled than where these items are now). We’ve started to spruce the house up (only cleaning so far) and began to talk about what we intend to do with it (lick of paint, new bathroom floor, new kitchen worktops then sell, sell, sell and hopefully be able to mentally move on from the family home as the accident scene).

The house aside, the only big blot on the horizon is the hearing and final coroner’s report. It’s coming up. I can’t remember the date. I know it is in my emails, but it was one of those pieces of information that I got at the start of all this and it slipped to the back as other more immediate worries sprang to the fore. Now that it is firmly at the back and escapes me, I am in no hurry to check my emails to be reminded of the date, as easy as it would be. My uncle is going to attend. He will tell us the final cause of death without having to listen to the brutal details and specific injuries. In time, we can ask him for a copy of the report when we are ready to face that, but it’s too soon.

I found living alone through this a small mercy. I have sometimes needed people around, which is why I bolted to The Mechanic’s for the two weeks immediately after Dad died. I could be a crying wreck without fear of judgment. His family took me in as their own and didn’t bat an eyelid to the ghostly pale figure that sometimes appeared puffy faced from The Mechanic’s room or sat with them at dinner without eating. They are a kind bunch anyway but they extended even more warmth in my direction and, a month and a half on, I can feel that they tread a little more delicately than they used to. I have needed people around that care.

But at the same time, I am relieved that I haven’t been living in my old flatshare since my return to “normal” life. I have been able to have Very Bad Nights without anyone else knowing about them (save The Mechanic who has sat on the phone to me, or my work colleagues who have politely overlooked the big black bags under my eyes). But as time has passed, I have felt a little isolated so in recent weeks, made some moves towards restarting my social life, meeting up with friends in London a few times, making some calls to others. And Friday marked the start of trying to find some friends in Woking.

It was a good night, apart from that final banana sambucca, which signalled an end to my night at 10.30pm (although to be fair, we had been out since work). It seemed like a good idea at the time but as soon as it disappeared down my throat, I felt wrong. Just wrong wrong wrong. I made my excuses, blaming the early start for my hair appointment, and left. I might have accidentally popped into McDonalds for some chips in a bid to mop up the alcohol swilling around in my belly, but it was no good.

By 11pm, I was christening the toilet bowl in my flat.

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