We've pretty much settled into a routine now. And I'm an unofficial auntie.

Keith does night feeds, and we take it in turn during the day to tend to Toyah. i try and do more so that Keith can get a rest, and we both do laundry and housework when we're free.

I've applied to a couple of stores in the area to save up some money for my own apartment, although Keith says I can stay as long as I like. Because that's a brilliant idea.

I've kind of pushed the small matter of being in love with my roomie to one side. Kind of. There's so much to do to keep the house going that I haven't had much time to think about it apart from while I'm lying in bed at night. It would be so easy to tip-toe over the landing to his room...Jeez when did I revert back into a teenager?

The truth is, I'm doing everything I can not to think about him in that way, and keeping busy is a good distraction. And it seems to be working. So far.

But there are these moments. Moments when I'm not even thinking about him and this...atmosphere, appears in the room and hangs there, lingering in the air. We can definitely oth sense it, because one of us, usually Keith, will quickly busy ourselves with something in another room, and completely changing the subject. We don't talk about Suzie. Since our conversation, neither of us has mentioned her, and I'm quite happy with that. I don;t feel as guilty when I'm pretending that she doesn't exist.

Tonight Keith has cooked. I wander down the stairs from getting Toyah to sleep to the rich smell of tomatoes.

"Spaghetti Nelson!" Exclaims Keith in a terrible fake Italian accent, and I giggle.

"Bolognaise then?"

"Correct. Hope you're hungry?" He grins.

I nod, and start to set the table up. I go to the refrigerator to grab some white wine when there's a soft hand across mine. Electric floods up my arm. Stop it.

"There's some Merlot in the larder. Grab it for me please?"

I walk through the kitchen and open the larder door, which slides shut behind me. After a quick scan I find the wine and grab it. I turn quickly and stop in my tracks. There, on the back of the door, is a photograph. Not just any photograph. A photograph of two people, in the rain. A couple. The lady holds a large red umbrella, and looks down at the man, who is on one knee holding a small, black box out to her. Neither of them can conrain their smiles and the love in their eyes warms the whole photo.

In that instant I realise what I'm doing. I can't do this, not to my friends. And that's what they are to me. Friends. I can't ruin this marriage over my stupid feelings. I had my chance years ago, in senior school, and I said no.

I'll leave this house tomorrow before any real damage can be caused.