If eight is the number of new beginnings, then today is the perfect day for me to move into my new apartment. It is the 8th day in August and I am determined to start afresh in not just a new home, but a new city.
Leaving behind everything London has to offer, I have just received the keys to a cute studio apartment in the heart of Milton Keyes. I actually did a happy jig in the middle of the estate agent’s office, much to their amusement.
My car is stuffed with a wide variety of suitcases and cardboard boxes as I drive to the apartment block. I’m super proud of myself. Not because this is a big move I’ve taken on single-handedly. Oh no, not in the least.
I’m proud of the fact that none of the sentimental memorabilia of my ex-boyfriend have made the cut. I am done with mooning over concert ticket stubs and empty bottles of aftershave. Gone were the stacks of notepads with doodles of his name and mine linked with squiggly hearts – Dan ♡ Cate forever… ♡ Mrs Cate Cooper xxx
I cringe as I recall how many teary voicemail messages I left on his cell. It had taken me six whole months to realise I’d been nicknamed Cate the Desperate by his friends. A further three months before I was notified that a harassment case had been filed against me at the local police. That was my light bulb moment. I had to get out of London and now I’ve finally done it.
The car behind me honks his horn impatiently and I quickly change gear to move through the traffic lights.
Milton Keyes is a new start in several ways. My MBA in Cranfield University begins next month. The intensive course is bound to take my mind off Dan, while the city would give me a much needed new circle of friends.
I slowly ease my car into the parking lot of the apartment block. My eyes widen as I realise I have been allocated the 8th bay.
“Well, well!” I chuckle to myself.
A crisp breeze tugs at my jacket as I trudge into the building foyer. The hall is lined with grey steel letter boxes. One for each apartment. My Samsonite suitcase whirrs loudly as it rolls across the tiled floor.
I spot a young couple picking up their post from their letter box. A black eight is printed boldly on theirs. This must be my lucky day. I smile widely as they turn to face me.
My smile stays frozen as I stare into the horrified eyes of Daniel Cooper and I hear his whispered words,
“I’m calling the police,”