My marriage is a lonely one. We have a nice home, a large living room… if you could call it that. It houses a 26-inch television that is only content when tuned into a sports channel. We have a dining room complete with cherry wood table but we eat in the lounge, hot dishes poised on our knees to the soundtrack of men shouting and crowds going wild. There are only the two of us, we have no children, he's not sure he wants any just yet. Upstairs there's a very small room, a box room they call it at the estate agents, inside there is a floral patterned zed bed pushed into the corner and covered with mountains of ironing. A few boxes stacked up with unused wedding presents and his beloved collection of football programmes and assorted fanzines line the wall. Then there is a desk and a chair and on top of the desk my computer. My sister gave it to me for my birthday, I don’t know why; it’s not something I really needed.
It's a small room but inside it houses nearly 30 people. They live in that room, you'd never know they were there, they keep so quiet. When I'm downstairs with him and I feel all alone I gain comfort knowing they're up there. When we've finished dining and I've done the washing up I make my excuses and say I must attend to the ironing then I go upstairs, with each step my heart beat quickens, soon, I think, soon I'll be with them and my life can really begin. I close the door leaving it just slightly ajar to warn me if he comes near and I go to them.

Tip tapp tapp.

Hello, it's me; I'm here, anything doing today?

And my screen comes to life, there's Jill who's just like me and has her secret too, and Jim who loves a good mystery and Rona who paints portraits of family cats and Dave and Bob, and Sally and He man and Esmeralda and Good year and Black pudding and Mysterious girl, ssh, they all live in my little room and I have my sister to thank for my precious gift – a life line.