The door swung inwards with a groan on badly oiled hinges. In its wake, the overwhelming scent of stale cigarettes, dirt, and grease rushed out to greet me. My nose wrinkled. Clearly the previous tenant had had a love affair with a deep fat fryer and chasing the buzz of nicotine.

Unfortunately, I didn't share their guilty pleasures.

I pressed my lips against the reflex to gag and took a step into the tiny studio apartment with a barely concealed grimace. It's not like I have a choice. 

With the sale of Mum's house now completed, I had been forced to leave home. All proceeds were immediately drained by the extensive backlog of care bills. Not that there had been much left to begin with. After borrowing against the house for a better part of the decade, the house was almost worthless in the end. The only thing of value had been the memories. Those were priceless.

They had all been lovingly packed up into cardboard boxes and hidden away in a storage unit on the other side of town. Hopefully there would come a day when I was ready to look at them again. With Mum's lucid moments becoming fewer by day, facing those happier times was too painful.

I took a reluctant step further into my new home. If I could even call it that.

With only a small window of time to find a new place to live, the options had been limited. It had been the studio flat or the flat share from hell. I didn't even want to think about the latter but unbidden the memories flashed to the forefront.

It was an encounter I would never forget.

Lesley, it had turned out, was not a twenty something woman looking for a flat mate. No, Lesley was a fifty five year old man looking for a bed warmer in more ways than one. With the way his eyes had trailed over me a little too slowly, even in my unflattering knitted jumper, I had no doubt about his intentions.

I shivered in repulsion. The bed sharing fantasy from those romance novels was definitely less attractive in real life.

I'm desperate but not that desperate. 

I could only hope that I would never be that desperate.

Another shiver of disgust rolled down my spine. Dirt, I could deal with. Dirt bags? Not so much.

I swallowed and glanced around the small space. Some TLC and it would be fine. Perfectly fine. Great. It would be home - of sorts.

It would have to be. After all, the dumpy flat was all I could afford.

Like it or lump it, Rosie. 

"Here are your keys. I have three rules.  No pets. No smoking. No drugs." She stated firmly, her brows lifting when she caught my disbelief. "There's a reason this unit is currently available. Rent is due on the first of the month. Don't be late. Trust me, you won't like me when I am upset."

I glanced down at the small woman with a frown. She was petite and pretty. She had floated down the stairs to the basement flat's entrance with an effortless grace. She was the kind of woman that most men would give more than a passing glance. Until she opened her mouth.

There was nothing pretty about the woman behind the façade.

I had met fierce women before - strong women. This one was just mean.

"Understood?" The woman asked firmly, her blonde hair swinging from side to side as she held out a set of keys.

I nodded my head, took the proffered keys, and stepped into the room. My new home.

"Look, I'm a reasonable woman." She said to my back. "Pay your rent on time and don't cause me any trouble and we'll get along just fine."

She didn't wait for my response. Instead, the door closed behind me with a snap.

The flat was small and cast in a gloomy light. As the entire living space was at basement level, with only two small windows on the far side, only dim murky light spilled through the dirt coated glass. I imagined that, even in the middle of summer with clean glass, the place didn't get any brighter.

I swallowed hard. Only a pest infestation could make it worse. My eyes darted to the floor nervously. I really hope there's not a pest infestation.

Maybe renting a flat from the online classified ads had been a mistake? Even as the thought came, my chin jutted up in defiance. If it was a mistake, it was my mistake to make.

It didn't matter either way. Unfortunately, it was only option. There were no savings to fall back on. No support network to prop me up.

The entire system was rigged against the people who needed it most. At least, that's how it seemed when every door closed in my face. One after the other.

Going through a letting agent was just too expensive. The rent was higher and there were all of these costs that only a person with a healthy savings account could afford. And then, if you somehow managed to scrounge enough together, they all wanted guarantors and references. They wanted proof that I had people to step in should I struggle to meet my commitments. But I was not that person.

Sure, I had Dad and Diane in theory but our relationships were so broken. We were family and yet in many ways we weren't. I couldn't depend on them. Not for this.

The only person I could depend on was myself. It was a lesson I learned from years of disappointment and it was not a lesson I could easily forget.

The studio flat was tired and grimy. The previous tenant clearly hadn't understood the meaning of bleach and opening windows. As a result, it took only moments for the grime in the air to cling onto my skin.

It was dirty and yet, for all intents and purposes, it was mine. At least, for now.

I reluctantly placed the bin liner full of my clothes on to the dirt stained laminate flooring. The wooden boards beneath my feet were tacky causing my shoes to resist with each step.

"You can do this, Rosie. You can do this."

Yet, even as I turned to take in my new home, I had trouble believing it.

Somehow it was worse than the photos. They had probably been taken before the last tenant had moved in. The walls, which were meant to be white, had a slight yellow tinge from the combination of grease and tobacco smoke. There was a stain on the ceiling from an old leak.

This was a mistake. I should have given in. I should have accepted help from Diane.

And yet, I couldn't. Help came with strings attached. I was in no way ready to deal with those strings. I had enough to deal without adding Diane-drama into the mix. 

Moving to the small kitchen space, I tried not to grimace at the visible tackiness of the countertops. I had never been a clean freak but this was just an entirely new level of gross.

"Clean first, unpack later." I muttered to myself, wandering over to the small door that partitioned the miniscule bathroom from the rest of the living space.

I poked my head in and quickly retreated with a grimace. Black mould, soap scum, and a stained toilet. What have I signed up for?

Throwing my head back, I sighed. It was nothing that couldn't be solved by cleaning products and a bit of elbow grease. Yet, when I wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and give into the aching sorrow in my chest, it seemed impossible.

With another long slow breath, I steeled myself for what was to come before I headed back to the entrance. It was going to be a very long day.

**

Five very long hours later, I collapsed back wearily onto my bum. My fingers were red, the skin chapped and sore from the mixture of chemicals and vigorous scrubbing. My body ached as if I had put it though a full body work out. But, at long last, the space was semi-fit for habitation. 

It was a small mercy that the landlord had invested in laminate flooring in the main living space rather than carpets. I didn't want to think what might have been lurking in the tread. Instead, with a bit of hard work, my feet no longer stuck to the floors.

My head felt a little fuzzy from the overpowering scent of cleaning products but it was a welcome change to the way it had been before.

In the quietness, my body too tired to clean any further, my mind was far from rest. I should bring in some more of my things, at least make up a bed to sleep in but I could draw together enough energy to do it.

Dropping the scrubbing brush back into the bowl, the dampness of the floor seeping through my thin leggings, I breathed out slowly. After weeks of admin, cleaning, packing, and visiting mum, it was the first time I had stopped. The first time I had allowed myself a moment to breathe.

And now, in the quietness of the bare apartment, I was just ...hollow.

Empty except for the emotions I didn't want to dwell upon. Guilt. Anxiety.

Loneliness.

Propping my elbows on my bent knees, I allowed my head to fall into my hands. The scent of bleach clung to my sore skin. My hair, which had escaped the confines of the hair tie, frizzed around my flushed face. I was tired, dirty, and drained.

After so much time worrying about someone else, putting their needs above my own, it was as if my tethers had been cut and I had been allowed to drift out to the sea. Except, no one had taught how to swim.

I was drowning and there was no one here to save me.

Turning my wrist, I glanced at the scuffed face of my watch. It was still early. Too early to sleep and yet too late to do anything else. If Mum was still here, I would have been making her dinner. Saturday night was always lasagne night. The routine helped her. At least, that was what I told myself.

Maybe the routine helped me too. Without it, I had hours stretching ahead of me with no plans on what to do. I was lost. My life had revolved around other people for too long. I didn't know how to be alone. I didn't know how to think of myself first.

I don't want to be alone.

My stomach knotted and I suddenly found it hard to catch my breath. Gasps escaped my lips as my eyes scrunched tightly shut. I could taste the lemon scent of the floor cleaner with each inhale. Breathe, Rosie. There was a bite of pain as my short nails dug into my palms.

It had been a long time since I had time to myself; years since I had more than five minutes to dream about a life outside of work and being a carer.

I didn't want it. I didn't want the quiet. I didn't want the stillness. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. It was all too much. There were too many things that I had forced into the background and now, with nothing else to distract me, they were bubbling to the surface.

Mum. Diane. Dad. All of the secrets we couldn't talk about.  The little wooden box buried in boot of my car. All things I had been doing my very best to avoid even as my sister persistently attempted to mend the rift between us.

Yet, now that she had been called home, I could finally avoid her badgering. I could press decline on her calls. I could reopen the box she wanted me to bury without judgement.  I could revisit the secrets of Mum's past and maybe discover the answers to my own.

Was I ready to? No. Would I?

"Yes," I muttered the words aloud, the sound echoing off the empty walls.

There was really no other choice. I couldn't let this go. I had to know the truth – even if I didn't like the answer.