8. I Remember That Hurt

The Obsessive Diary · Aug 30, 2025 · 2m

His footsteps on the stairs, not the boy (I’d got him) but my father whose ferry had not left for France because of the hurricane that had ripped through England, ripping it apart. He’d turned his Porsche around and returned to London, parked it in the garage below my sister’s flat and seen the door kicked open. I was on my knees when I saw his feet, his shoes, looked up, saw him. I was scrubbing carpets in the wreckage, graffiti on the kitchen walls, the cooker pulled out, the fridge on its knees, a window smashed, the bathroom door off its hinges, furniture sideways, the stench of sick and…