All of a sudden I heard the front door of the building slam open and heavy footsteps just outside the entrance to our flat. I listened as a key turned clockwise in the door, and Christos burst in – still in his painting overalls, looking angry and dishevelled, sweat dripping from his forehead.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Don’t ask Joey. Don’t fuckin’ ask!”
It was a relief to see him after all the fretting and worrying I’d been doing in his absence, but I’ll admit to being more than a little taken a-back, and startled by his demeanour.
“Make me a roll-up Joey,” he ordered.
“There’s no tobacco left,” I said meekly. “You’ve been gone for hours.”
“What, so you fuckin’ went an’ smoked all of it did ya? Great. Fuckin’ great!”
“I thought you were meant to be getting paid today,” I said.
“Yeah, well… I blew it!”
“What?” – I didn’t understand.
“I took a chance,” he said. “Went in the bettin’ shop didn’t I?”
“You can’t have blown it all.”
“£500,” he said flatly. “Gone.”
Now I was really starting to panic. I’d been attempting to remain calm because I could see that he was visibly stressed, but this was something that Christos knew full well affected both of us. I knew that making conversation with him in that moment was like walking on eggshells, but I could feel the anger towards him rising up within me, and hard as I tried, I simply couldn’t hold back my own rage any longer.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” I cried.
“Don’t bust my fuckin’ balls over this Joey!” he shot back. “I fucked up alright? I don’t see you gettin’ up at 5 to go fuckin’ work all day so shut you’re fuckin’ mouth alright? Make me a rollup!”
“I told you already,” I said. “We don’t have any tobacco.”
He kicked the wardrobe in frustration, and stood in the centre of the room, pointing his finger directly at me, and staring with a look of menace in his eyes.
“You…” he began “’ad better get on the phone to your mum and ’ave her send you some money.”
“What? That’s not fair!” I yelled.
“Do you wanna go fuckin’ starvin’ all week? With no fuckin’ tobacco? Coz I don’t.”
“It’s not my fault you went in the betting shop!” I argued. “You had more than enough for us to get by on – why would you even think to do that? And what about all that shit you were going on about this morning? I thought you wanted to go out tonight!”
“Well that ain’t ’appenin anymore,” he said. “And I ain’t bein’ without any fuckin’ money any longer. So either you do somethin’ about it, or I’m leavin’ – and I’ll be keepin’ my phone off, so you ain’t gonna see or hear from me!”
It was hard to discern if his ranting and raving was as calculated as it seemed to be, or if he was just running his mouth for the sake of it – but, intentionally or not, he’d struck a nerve and hit my weak spot. I saw barely any of him as it was, and I’d told him how lost I felt when he wasn’t around – the thought of him leaving me in that flat alone any longer than he needed to for his work commitments was too much to bear.
And so, in I caved. I convinced my mum to transfer me £100 with some phony made up story, and Christos and I struggled, but just about managed, to get ourselves through the rest of the week…
If it had just been the one occasion this had happened, I might have been able to forgive him and let it go, but all too frequently Christos would blow his earnings (or whatever cash he had) in one of the West End’s many Casinos – or more often than not, at the local William Hill. Virtual Roulette was his favourite, though I’ve no idea why – rarely did he ever win at it. When he wasn’t gambling, he’d be spending so frivolously, that before he even realised it we were broke once more.
Cash Converters was another of Christos’s favourite old haunts. I remember the time he pawned our widescreen Television set – the one he’d been so proud to display to any guests of ours when he’d first gone out and purchased it. A little piece of me died that day. Without our TV, the flat felt colder, and emptier than ever before.
I couldn’t keep asking my mum for money, so he’d push me towards applying for Payday loans. His own credit score was too poor to be accepted for any of them, but under my name, it was surprisingly easy to get approved. I didn’t have a job, so had no realistic way of making the repayments when the time came, but the online application process was like painting-by-numbers. I lied and said I worked at Waitrose, looked up the relevant telephone numbers and employee salary, and had the cash in my bank account the following day. Ka-ching!
When the time came to pay it back, I was inundated with phone calls and threats, as the interest rate rose higher and higher by the day. Christos didn’t seem at all that bothered, and told me to brush it off, but I’d always been sensible with my money, and evading their phone calls, fearing how, or even if I would ever be able to pay them back, caused me a lot of added stress and anguish.
Living with Christos was a rollercoaster of highs and lows, and an experience I would never wish to relive again. It wasn’t just the gambling. Cheating, resentment, and arguments that at times had escalated in to full blown physical fights had driven an enormous wedge between us, and the spark had long since fizzled out. Christos had made it clear one evening that he no longer harboured any feelings towards me, either sexually or romantically, and after two years of living together, I felt much the same way. He wasn’t the man I’d fallen in love with.
The realisation that my relationship was over was an absolutely devastating blow for me, but there was no conceivable way I could see of righting all the wrongs between us, as there were simply far too many by the end. And so – with a heavy heart, I made the decision to pack my bags and return back home to life once more with my family.
I loathed being back home in Monmouthshire. Moving out for the first time is a big step in any young adult’s life, and I felt like a massive failure taking what felt like such a giant leap backwards for me at the mere age of 21.
I was battling depression, had gained a significant amount of weight due partly to the stress of the relationship break up, and my own lack of willpower to do anything about it, and had seemingly no career prospects, or much of anything positive to put my focus in to at all. On top of that I felt like I’d abandoned the vast majority of friends I’d had before moving (most of whom were at university now or had settled down and had kids of their own) – having put all my faith and trust into making my relationship with Christos work.
Despite all the chaos that ensued during my years living in London with Christos, I did manage to hold down a few small-time jobs – the odd painting and decorating gig alongside him, flyer boy outside ‘Bar Salsa’ in the West End, and a work-from-home job I took on as a ‘Content Writer’ for a Children’s Bouncy Castle company, which was a lot of work for little payout.