Well, the question on whether I should go see Leah has well and truly been answered.
And I know Kate is not going to like it but there you go, some things have to be done. I’m dead certain that Leah knows something that I don’t, she did act all shady and shit with me on the bus last week.
With that and what Big John said just before he did what he did and then the dream I had last night, well I have no choice but to go and pay her a visit.
Do I need to tell you about the dream? Well I suppose I should but don’t have a go if this comes out all crap, I aint no booker prize winner.
Kate and I had another huge row last night. It was mainly about the ‘job’ thing but I think there was more to it. I know she hates me talking about James, she keeps going on about looking forward and all that shit. But what does she know? It wasn’t her mate that died last year, was it. Kate didn’t even like him when he was alive and now… well I really think she’s happier with him dead.
The final straw was when the words got round to Leah and me thinking of seeing her. Kate was suddenly all on the defensive, telling me to leave Leah out of this, that she’d gone through enough over the last two years (although why she said two years when James only died last year, I don’t know and it wasn’t as if Leah was even still dating James when he drowned).
Anyway, we shouted and stuff but there was no way we were going to make up (if you know what I mean) and I ended up clearing the empty pizza box and magazines from the sofa and wrapping myself up in a old duvet and sleeping in the front room.
I fell asleep after mulling over what Kate had said.
Leave Leah out of this.
Stop trying to find something to cling onto, James is dead, he died accidentally and there is nothing you can do about it.
Please, just drop it and move on with your life.
I thought Kate looked scared but maybe it was just sadness. I don’t like making her sad and I felt a pang of guilt. I considered everything and I had almost talked myself out of speaking with Leah when I dropped off.
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