You need to move on, now ..

I was in town on my day off, and after completing all the daft stuff l needed to do, l jumped on the wee bus that takes me out to Accident Andy.

Andy is someone l love, but unfortunately to say the least, he is incapable of any emotion other than anger, due to a car accident and then a PTSD diagnosis a few years ago.

So, my hour journey was made up of nervously wondering if he was at home, and feeling like a bit of a stalker, as he doesn't wasn't to see anyone. No family, no friends and certainly no ex girlfriend. That's what l am. His ex ..

Ok. Now we are nearing his little house on the outskirts of Edinburgh, l jump up and spend the last two bus stops looking at the lovely scenery, reminiscing about the happy times during past seven years. I shake myself out of my dream world, and thank the bus driver as l step off the bus on to familiar territory.

As l cross the quiet, country road to his front door, l can feel my heart pounding, as l know which way this will go. But, l just want to see that he's doing ok.

If he's at home, his car will be parked around the back. It's only mid day on a Monday. Another day, month, year of this debilitating illness, of course he's in. Shoving a bit of lip gloss on and fluffing up the hair as one does, l nervously ring the doorbell ..

Now. In times gone by, this door was already opened for my arrival and big Andy would be standing there, dinner all ready, candles lit, music playing, kind and loving, with the hugest, happiest, warmest smile that l will never forget. Such laughter. I absolutely adored him.

I had a bit of news to share, some good fortune to hand out, and as he doesn't reply to calls or messages, l believed turning up was the only way to convey this to him. Well, here goes ..

Ringing the bell, l saw my reflection in the outer glass door. I am always surprised at how nice you can look, but how crap you can feel inside. Must get that sorted out. Big time.

Andy was standing in the door when l turned around.

'What the fuck are you doin' here?! A dinny wan' ANYONE at ma hoose! A told aw youz to leave me on ma ain. Why di'yi's no lis'in ti mi ..'

Oh boy. Nothin's changed then. This is going to be tricky.

'Can l come in? I've got somethin' to ask you'.

'Nawwww. Fuck off. A dinny wan' ti hear what you or any c*nt says. A wan' ti die. Jist leave me alain ..'

l was the one who was there, day and night, from start to finish, helped him emotionally, financially and now l'm surplus to requirements. Although he doesn't require much these days. Fags and tea, by the looks of things!

He'd left the door open, so l gingerly hovered about at the door. He's like a wounded animal caught in a trap. I wonder what the neighbours make of his shouting. He doesn't care about that, or anything. I've heard it a million times before. I am such an optimistic person, and l forget just how ill he is. It's not like a broken arm, or a dodgy knee. Those are tangible. This isn't.

I know that the offer of doing a bit painting and DIY in my house isn't going to happen. When l make a cup of tea and sit down, he explains he's had a brain scan and they're waiting for the results. He's a really big strong handsome man, but he looks like a scared little rabbit, shaking and nervous. I long to put my arms round him, but that's inappropriate and he wouldn't accept any of that. That's why he left my house six months ago, because he can't cope with any 'lovey-dovey crap'.

We sit and chat for a couple of hours, and the tension eases a little. I tell him if ever he feels he can paint, to get in touch. He says his mind can't concentrate, and he's seeing a psychiatrist again, today at 3pm. He showers, shaves and looks so gorgeous, but l have to pretend l'm just accepting a lift back into town, 'got lots to do' kind of thing. He tells me how sorry he is, and drops me off at my house. He's not been there for 6 months. Wonder if he still has my key?

'Bye, Andy. Thanks for the lift'.

But he's already away ..