You know what to do...

You’ve imagined packing up, walking away from this cramped flat over and over but now you’re doing it for real. You’re angrily slamming drawers shut to make a point. And to block out her crying. You hate her tears more than anything. They twist the knife deeper. It’s her fault, always nagging, wanting more, wanting better. You try but nothing’s good enough. You can’t do more so you’re leaving, starting elsewhere.

You walk away a lot, don’t you ... from school, from jobs, from responsibility, your mum says. She should be on your side. It’s not your fault. You stick to things. Sometimes. People get at you, wind you up, make you mad. They don’t give you a chance so why hang around?

You’ll go to Pete’s. He’s your best mate ... except he’s not around so much now. He’s settled down, sold out. Didn’t the two of you say it would never happen? You’d stay free and do your own thing. You’d party no matter what. Now he’s got a ball and chain, is under the thumb.

Like you.

No, not like you...you’re walking away and grabbing your freedom, right?

Your daughter’s holding your hand, asking why you’re packing. She wants to go too. She’s so small, it’s breaking your heart. You can’t take her but you can’t leave her either. You were her age when your dad packed his case. Remember that? Your mum says you’re like your dad for letting people down. That hurt, didn’t it! You’re better than that bastard, aren’t you? He took the easy option,
didn’t stick around when you needed him most. Like father, like son? It’s up to you. You know what to do. Unpack now.