Such a basic bloody error. If I’d just realised one moment earlier – one little moment – I could have shut it, couldn’t I? Bloody parcel, bloody delivery man. Totally understandable, my distraction. I see why I failed and I therefore have to forgive myself. Like with everything, every failure – totally understandable. For once, though, I’d like to succeed. But for that I have to be the one who thinks about absolutely everything, don’t I? I have to be on each little detail, every day. And sometimes I just want to sit down with a large glass of whisky and say sod ’em. Sod the plans, sod all the preparation. I’m having a drink, putting my feet up, forgetting all about the other end of the corridor until morning. Let them eat cake! Hah! Instead, of course, I’m not drinking anything. And I’m sitting in the corridor, on the floor, outside Suze’s room. Have been since I locked her in again. Because everything nearly came crashing down. That look on her face when she saw into Cara’s room!
