This morning, before it was light, when John was telling me a liitle bit about his nightmare last night, he asked me a question. And now I'm sitting by myself on a cliff top, looking out over a sparkling sea, hoping to find an answer.
He asked me to move in with him and the boys.
And most of you (and half of me) is thinking there isn't any need to think for a second before giving an answer to that. I mean, I basically already live there. Most of the things I need day to day are there. And half of what was still at my flat has just been nicked.
So my mouth was open to say 'yes' even before the other half of my brain kicked in and stopped me dead.
Because...because I don't know how I feel about leaving my flat. Yes, it's stupid spending money on a place I visit so rarely. It's clearly a bad idea to leave it empty so much. I don't even remember the last time I stayed the night there.
But it's still there, even if I'm not in it. It's still mine. I've still got somewhere to go.
So i haven't given him an answer yet. And I honestly don't know what it'll be.
I've lost everything before. Found myself in the street with nowhere to go and I don't think I can risk it again.