Lessons in Love and Other Crimes (signed edition)

Lessons In Love and Other Crimes

I don’t know how it’s going to end. Even now I’m home here in London, it’s unfinished, so when I think about it even for a second I’m back there:the most unpleasant, humiliating, frightening experience I’ve ever had. I don’t know who was behind it, what they wanted. I don’t know whether they’re still out to get me.

I haven’t told anyone my absolute fear, can’t say it aloud: I’m frightened for my life. I thought being at home would make it go away, but it hasn’t. Fear follows me like a shadow. When I open doors, I go carefully, worrying who might be waiting there, what might happen next. When I hear footsteps behind me in the dark, I walk faster, clutching my mobile in my pocket, ready to dial the police once more. Then my heart beats faster and faster, like it’ll break through my skin, my body telling me I’m alive I’m alive, despite what’s out there, who’s out there.

Who’s out there? That’s still the question.

Waiting for whatever happens next, the unknown, curtail show I live. Early on I was told to be careful about revealing where I am, especially on social media. But that was going to be difficult: I’m a writer and performer, I have to publicize what I’m doing, events in public places.

The police officer said, ‘Well, just use it in a limited way, do what you have to do. Make sure friends know your whereabouts.’ Then, ‘Do you have a partner?’

‘Um, not at the moment.’

I understood why she asked, but my answer made me feel worse. I had been dating but nothing that had gone anywhere.

She asked the obvious question: ‘Is there anyone who might have a grudge against you, a colleague or an ex-partner?’

I’ve had my fair share of difficult relationship endings, but no one I know would treat me like this, at least I hope not. What’s happened has even tainted my memory of love, like love is a kind of mental illness.

I shook my head.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m not sure about anything at the moment. It’s difficult to trust people, but I can’t think of anyone I know who would do this.’

I wish I had someone, someone who makes me feel safe, to love and be loved by, but I don’t. I’m on my own. What’s happened has made meeting even beautiful strangers fraught. The idea that someone who has seen me around, probably spoken to me, could do that makes me wary of people even offering me a drink when I’m in a bar, or asking me out. But now friends say I have to get on with living, and love is what’s missing. Love might annihilate the memories. Perhaps.