Hopefully it'll come to me.
an excerpt

Leah:
I looked away from my computer screen, my eyes felt dry, as though I hadn’t blinked for the last few hours of staring at the screen, and as I leaned back in my chair, my elbows became unstuck from the varnished wood on the desk. I felt instant relief as my back cracked, in response to being returned to its normal vertical position. The heat had made my clothes stick to me. I looked up at the fan in the corner of the office and scowled at it for doing nothing more than moving warm air around the office. I leaned back in my chair further until its wheels took me a few inches further back, and I reached for the cord to reopen the blinds, after I’d closed them earlier in an attempt not to let any more sunlight, and heat in. The sun streamed in, and instantly splashed itself across my face like one of those hot damp towels a beautician uses.
Linda called through my door “Sandwich love?”
“No.” I sighed back. Then added “Thanks” as an after thought.

I stepped out onto the street and wobbled on my heels as the heat wave that had ascended upon Manchester hit me. My head swam through the thick air with a rhythmic thud as if reminded by the heat of its dehydration. My eyes squinted into the white light that seemed to reflect off of every surface as I searched around in my bag for a pair of sunglasses. Not finding any, cursing myself, I decided to walk up the road anyway, to find something to ease the hangover, and to try and get myself back on track for what would hopefully be a more successful afternoon at work. I’d spent the morning pouring over various documents I’d been asked to read over and look for information in. On more than one occasion I’d found myself staring at the screen, eyes blurred, and my mind a million miles away. I’d gotten no-where, and having been an hour late for work, I knew I couldn’t present myself at the end of the day with nothing to show.

The night before it had got to about 9.30, and I’d managed to ignore my phone and convince myself I wasn’t headed towards a night in on the sofa. I’d had a bath, ignoring the part of my mind that flicked through my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. I’d checked the tv guide for something to watch, secretly pretending that I wasn’t picking out programmes that finished early enough for me to still be able to get out for a last drink in one of the bars before the club. Then I decided what the hell, I obviously want to go out; why try to be sensible for one night, and then pissed off the next day when hearing about everyone else’s night? So I picked up my phone and replied to the three text messages I found on it confirming that I would meet people in ‘Pod’ by 10.30.
Strutting into the bar with a big smile on my face and a nod towards the Bear who stands at the front door in a black suit, I felt as though I was entering groundhog day. Again. Same faces, same drinks, same music, same old, same old. It was fine with me though, the routine was becoming one that I was comfortable with. I knew where I stood with it. We’d all talk about nothing in particular because the music was too loud and we’d drink more than we should and occasionally, we’d disappear off to the toilets in couples, just to make the night work the way we wanted it to. We had Pod down to a fine art. Its small characterless bar was enough of a method of transport to see us into the night as we wanted it to go. The drinks weren’t too expensive, and we were overlooked enough to be able to do what we wanted in there, without worrying about door staff watching our every move. Calculating how often we disappeared off together. We had grown used to the other dykes in there, who all knew each other either as new best friends, or old shags, which made for a strange atmosphere of a mixture of showing off, or scowls being sent overhead at each other. I have always seen myself as above all of this, and glad not to be a part of it. However, at that moment in time I could point out at least two people I’d slept with at some point in the past few months, neither of whom I would dream of speaking to now, and both of whom were probably directing their scowls at me at that moment. I didn’t care though. I was there with my new best friends! So who cares that I’d become one of them? Fuck it. I was happy enough doing what I was doing, and didn’t care much about becoming one of the sheep.

Mags:
“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous” He sneered at me. Almost with a smile. Infuriation tore through me at the realisation that he really didn’t take me serious enough to believe me. He didn’t think I was brave, or strong enough to undertake what I was puting to him. I stood there with my bag on my shoulder, and my heart thumping away somewhere near the pit of my stomach, and shook my head.
“I’ll phone you when I’m settled, so that I can arrange to come and collect Ella” I said in a small voice. Wishing I knew how to stand up tall and speak with conviction, just like they do on the soaps. I wished I could spit the words at him, rather than whimper.
“You’ll do no such thing, you will go upstairs and empty your bag and continue on with the job you started.” He looked almost as though he was enjoying it. I looked at him with disbelief. There he stood, in this shirt and tie, with that awful grey and blue patterned woollen cardigan over them, despite the current heat wave. I watched beads of sweat appear as if from nowhere from his forehead, below his thinning wispy hairline as they always did. And I noticed, for the first time, that his skin looked papery thin, slightly wrinkled, but puffy. It almost looked as though it was pulsating. As though he was so thin skinned that the blood being pumped around his body caused it to throb in that way. Only I could see it though. He always looked like that. To me. I wasn’t sure why I’d only consciously noticed it for the first time today. The sight of him made my skin crawl.
I turned and walked away from him, the heels that I had squeezed my toes into were dragging through the thick shag pile carpet under the weight of the hockey bag, the same size as me, which I had hauled down from the top of the wardrobe, and filled with as much of my personal belongings as I could. I headed into the hallway, as I heard him mutter “there, good girl” behind me. And I smiled at myself as I realised he was actually assuming I was doing as I was told and going upstairs to unpack. I gently turned the key in the lock of the front door, and in a state of nervous adrenalin, I closed the door behind me and walked down the path, into the hot night.

I climbed down off of the train, and realised, as people pushed past me with purpose, that now was my last chance to turn back and forget all of this. I could go back now, and David would pull me into him with a little chuckle. At me. And he’d be really rather pleased with himself for knowing best. Again. But I’d also be able then to sneak into Ella’s bedroom, and stroke her fine blonde ringlets and whisper goodnight to her. I would be able to watch her tiny eye lashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly as she dreamt of worlds that were better than the one she lives in now. She would hear me through the sweetness of her dreams and she would know, that no matter what anyone else said, he mum is stronger for staying that she was to have left. She would understand me, even though she may not appear to. I thought of David, sitting there on the sofa, waiting for me to return, and everything in my being told me to keep moving, and to make everything better. Even if it meant making things worse first.