The Flatshare

BeginReading
TableofContents
AbouttheAuthor
CopyrightPage
Thankyouforbuyingthis
FlatironBooksebook.
Toreceivespecialoffers,bonuscontent,
andinfoonnewreleasesandothergreatreads,
signupforournewsletters.
Orvisitusonlineat
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
Foremailupdatesontheauthor,clickhereTheauthorandpublisherhaveprovidedthise-booktoyouforyourpersonaluseonly.Youmaynotmakethise-bookpubliclyavailableinanyway.Copyrightinfringementisagainstthelaw.Ifyoubelievethecopyofthise-bookyouarereadinginfringesontheauthor’scopyright,pleasenotifythepublisherat:us.macmillanusa.com/piracyForSamFEBRUARY1TIFFY
You’vegottosaythisfordesperation:Itmakesyoumuchmoreopen-minded.
Ireallycanseesomepositivesinthisflat.Thetechnicolormoldonthekitchenwallwillscruboff,atleastintheshortterm.Thefilthymattresscanbereplacedfairlycheaply.Andyoucoulddefinitelymaketheargumentthatthemushroomsgrowingbehindthetoiletareintroducingafresh,outdoorsyfeeltotheplace.
GertyandMo,however,arenotdesperate,andtheyarenottryingtobepositive.Iwoulddescribetheirexpressionsas“aghast.”
“Youcan’tlivehere.”
That’sGerty.She’sstandingwithherheeledbootstogetherandherelbowstuckedintight,asthoughoccupyingaslittlespaceaspossibleinprotestatbeinghereatall.Herhairispulledbackinalowbun,alreadypinnedsoshecaneasilysliponthebarrister’swigshewearsforcourt.Herexpressionwouldbecomicalifitwasn’tmyactuallifewewerediscussinghere.
“Theremustbesomewhereelsewithinbudget,Tiff,”Mosaysworriedly,bobbingupfromwherehewasexaminingtheboilercupboard.Helooksevenmoredisheveledthanusual,helpedbythecobwebnowhangingfromhisbeard.“Thisisevenworsethantheoneweviewedlastnight.”
Ilookroundfortheestateagent;he’sthankfullywelloutofearshot,smokingonthe“balcony”(thesaggingroofoftheneighbor’sgarage,definitelynotdesignedforwalkingon).
“I’mnotlookingroundanotheroneofthesehellholes,”Gertysays,glancingatherwatch.It’seighta.m.—she’llneedtobeatSouthwarkCrownCourtfornine.“Theremustbeanotheroption.”
“Surelywecanfitherinatours?”Mosuggests,foraboutthefifthtimesinceSaturday.
“Honestly,wouldyoustopwiththat?”Gertysnaps.“Thatisnotalong-termsolution.Andshe’dhavetosleepstandinguptoevenfitanywhere.”Shegivesmeanexasperatedlook.“Couldn’tyouhavebeenshorter?Wecouldhaveputyouunderthediningtableifyouwerelessthanfivenine.”
Imakeanapologeticface,butreallyI’dprefertostayherethanonthefloorofthetiny,eye-wateringlyexpensiveflatMoandGertyjointlyinvestedinlastmonth.They’veneverlivedtogetherbefore,evenwhenwewereatuniversity.I’mconcernedthatitmaywellbethedeathoftheirfriendship.Moismessy,absent-minded,andhasthisuncannyabilitytotakeupanenormousamountofroomdespitebeingrelativelysmall.Gerty,ontheotherhand,hasspentthelastthreeyearslivinginapreternaturallycleanflat,soperfectthatitlookscomputer-generated.I’mnotsurehowthetwolifestyleswilloverlaywithoutWestLondonimploding.
Themainproblem,though,isifI’mcrashingonsomeone’sfloorIcanjustaseasilygobacktoJustin’splace.And,asofelevenp.m.Thursday,IhaveofficiallydecidedthatIcannotbeallowedthatoptionanylonger.Ineedtomoveforward,andIneedtocommittosomewheresoIcan’tgoback.
Morubshisforehead,sinkingdownintothegrimyleathersofa.“Tiff,Icouldlendyousome…”
“Idon’twantyoutolendmeanymoney,”Isay,moresharplythanImeanto.“Look,Ireallyneedtogetthissortedthisweek.It’sthisplaceortheflatshare.”
“Thebedshare,youmean,”Gertysays.“CanIaskwhyithastobenow?NotthatI’mnotdelighted.JustthatlastIcheckedyouweresittingtightinthatflatwaitingforthenexttimehe-who-must-not-be-nameddeignedtodropby.”
Iwince,surprised.Notatthesentiment—MoandGertyneverlikedJustin,andIknowtheyhatethatI’mstilllivingathisplace,eventhoughhe’shardlyeverthere.It’sjustunusualtohearGertybringhimupdirectly.Afterthefinalpeace-makingdinnerwiththefourofusendedinafuriousrow,IgaveupontryingtomakeeveryonegetalongandjuststoppedtalkingtoGertyandMoabouthimaltogether.Oldhabitsdiehard—evenpost-breakupwe’vealldodgedarounddiscussinghim.
“Andwhydoesithavetobesocheap?”Gertygoeson,ignoringthewarninglookfromMo.“Iknowyou’repaidapittancebut,really,Tiffy,fourhundredamonthisimpossibleinLondon.Haveyouactuallythoughtaboutallthis?Properly?”
Iswallow.IcanfeelMowatchingmecarefully.That’sthetroublewithhavingacounsellorasafriend:Moisbasicallyanaccreditedmind-reader,andheneverseemstoswitchhissuperpowersoff.“Tiff?”hesaysgently.
Oh,bloodyhell,I’lljusthavetoshowthem.There’snothingelseforit.Quicklyandallatonce,that’sthebestway—likepullingoffaBand-Aid,orgettingintocoldwater,ortellingmymotherIbrokesomethingornamentalfromthelivingroomdresser.
IreachformyphoneandpulluptheFacebookmessage.
Tiffy,
I’mreallydisappointedinhowyouactedlastnight.Youwerecompletelyoutofline.It’smyflat,Tiffy—IcancomebywheneverIlike,withwhoeverIlike.
Iwouldhaveexpectedyoutobemoregratefulformelettingyoustay.Iknowusbreakinguphasbeenhardonyou—Iknowyou’renotreadytoleave.Butifyouthinkthatmeansyoucanstarttryingto“laydownsomerules”thenit’stimeyoupaidmeforthepastthreemonthsofrent.Andyou’regoingtoneedtopayfullrentgoingforwardtoo.Patriciasaysyou’retakingadvantageofme,livinginmyplaceprettymuchforfree,andeventhoughI’vealwaysstoodupforyouwithher,afteryesterday’sperformanceIcan’thelpthinkingshemightberight.
Justinxx
MystomachtwistswhenIre-readthatline,you’retakingadvantageofme,becauseIneverintendedtodothat.Ijustdidn’tknowthatwhenhelefthereallymeantitthistime.
Mofinishesreadingfirst.“He‘poppedin’againonThursday?WithPatricia?”
Ilookaway.“Hehasapoint.He’sbeenreallygoodtoletmestaytherethislong.”
“Funny,”Gertysaysdarkly,“I’vealwayshadthedistinctimpressionhelikeskeepingyouthere.”
Shemakesitsoundweird,butIsortoffeelthesameway.WhenI’mstillinJustin’sflat,itisn’treallyover.Imean,alltheothertimeshe’scomebackeventually.But…thenImetPatriciaonThursday.Thereal-life,extremelyattractive,actuallyquitelovelywomanJustinhasleftmefor.There’sneverbeenanotherwomanbefore.
Moreachesformyhand;Gertytakestheother.Westaylikethis,ignoringtheestateagentsmokingoutsidethewindow,andIletmyselfcryforamoment,justonefatteardowneachcheek.
“So,anyway,”Isaybrightly,withdrawingmyhandstowipemyeyes,“Ineedtomoveout.Now.EvenifIwantedtostayandriskhimbringingPatriciabackagain,Ican’taffordtherent,andIoweJustinatonofmoney,andIreallydon’twanttoborrowfromanyone,andI’mkindofsickofnotpayingforthingsmyself,tobehonest,so…yes.It’sthisortheflatshare.”
MoandGertyexchangealook.Gertycloseshereyesinpainedresignation.
“Well,youclearlycannotlivehere.”Sheopenshereyesandholdsoutahand.“Showmethatadvertagain.”
Ihandhermyphone,flickingfromJustin’smessagetotheGumtreeadfortheflatshare.
Doublebedroominsunnyone-bedStockwellflat,rent￡350permonthincludingbills.Availableimmediately,forsixmonthsminimum.
Flat(androom/bed)istosharewithtwenty-seven-year-oldpalliativecarenursewhoworksnightsandisawayweekends.Onlyeverintheflat9amto6pmMondaytoFriday.Allyourstherestofthetime!Perfectforsomeonewith9to5job.
Toview,contactL.Twomey—detailsbelow.
“It’snotjustsharingaflat,Tiff,it’ssharingabed.Sharingabedisodd,”Mosaysworriedly.
“WhatifthisL.Twomeyisaman?”Gertyasks.
I’mpreparedforthisone.“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Isaycalmly.“It’snotlikewe’deverbeinthebedatthesametime—ortheflat,even.”
ThisisuncomfortablyclosetowhatIsaidwhenjustifyingstayingatJustin’splacelastmonth,butnevermind.
“You’dbesleepingwithhim,Tiffany!”Gertysays.“Everyoneknowsthefirstruleofflatsharingisdon’tsleepwithyourflatmate.”
“Idon’tthinkthissortofarrangementiswhatpeoplearereferringto,”Itellherwryly.“Yousee,Gerty,sometimeswhenpeoplesay‘sleepingtogether,’whattheyreallymeanis—”
Gertygivesmealong,levellook.“Yes,thankyou,Tiffany.”
Mo’ssniggeringstopsabruptlywhenGertyturnsherglareonhim.“I’dsaythefirstruleofflatsharingistomakesureyougetonwiththepersonbeforeyoumovein,”hesays,cannilyredirectingtheglaretomeagain.“Especiallyinthesecircumstances.”
“ObviouslyI’llmeetthisL.Twomeypersonfirst.Ifwedon’tgeton,Iwon’ttakeit.”
AfteramomentMogivesmeanodandsqueezesmyshoulder.Wealldescendintothekindofsilencethatcomesafteryou’vetalkedaboutsomethingdifficult—halfgratefulforitbeingover,halfrelievedtohavemanageditatall.
“Fine,”Gertysays.“Fine.Dowhatyouneedtodo.It’sgottobebetterthanlivinginthiskindofsqualor.”Shemarchesoutoftheflat,turningatthelastmomenttoaddresstheestateagentashestepsthroughfromthebalcony.“Andyou,”shetellshimloudly,“areacurseuponsociety.”
Heblinksassheslamsthefrontdoor.Thereisalong,awkwardpause.
Hestubsouthiscigarette.“Youinterested,then?”heasksme.
Igettoworkearlyandsinkdowninmychair.Mydeskistheclosestthingtohomeatthemoment.It’sahavenofhalf-craftedobjects,thingsthathaveproventooheavytotakebackonthebus,andpottedplantsarrangedinsuchawaythatIcanseepeopleapproachingbeforetheycantellwhetherI’matmydesk.Mypotted-plantwalliswidelyregardedamongtheotherjuniorstaffasaninspiringexampleofinteriordesign.(Reallyit’sjustaboutchoosingplantsthesamecolorasyourhair—inmycase,red—andducking/runningawaywhenyoucatchsightofanyonemovingpurposefully.)
MyfirstjobofthedayistomeetKatherin,oneofmyfavoriteauthors.Katherinwritesbooksaboutknittingandcrochet.It’sanicheaudiencethatbuysthem,butthat’sthestoryofButterfingersPress—weloveanicheaudience.WespecializeincraftingandDIYbooks.Tie-dyebedsheets,designyourowndresses,crochetyourselfalampshade,makeallyourfurnitureoutofladders…thatsortofthing.
Iloveworkinghere.ThisistheonlypossibleexplanationforthefactthatIhavebeenassistanteditorforthreeandahalfyears,earningbelowtheLondonlivingwage,andhavemadenoattempttorectifythesituationby,say,applyingforajobatapublishinghousethatactuallymakesmoney.GertylikestotellmethatIlackambition,butitreallyisn’tthat.Ijustlovethisstuff.Asachild,Ispentmydaysreading,ortinkeringwithmytoysuntiltheysuitedmebetter:dip-dyeingBarbie’shair,pimpingupmyJCBtruck.AndnowIreadandcraftforaliving.
Well,notreallyaliving,assuch.Butabitofmoney.Justaboutenoughtopaytax.
“I’mtellingyou,Tiffy,crochetisthenextcoloringbooks—thenextbigtrend,”Katherintellsme,onceshe’ssettledherselfdowninourbestmeetingroomandtalkedmethroughtheplanforhernextbook.Iexaminethefingershe’swagglinginmydirection.Shehasaboutfiftyringsoneachhand,butI’veyettodiscernwhetheranyofthemareweddingorengagementrings(IimaginethatifKatherinhasany,she’llhavemorethanone).
Katherinisjustontheacceptablesideofeccentric:Shehasastraw-blondplait,oneofthosetansthatsomehowageswell,andendlessstoriesofbreakingintoplacesinthe1960sandpeeingonthings.Shewasarealrebelonce.Sherefusestowearabraeventothisday,whenbrashavebecomequitecomfortableandwomenhavemostlygivenuponfightingthepowerbecauseBeyoncéisdoingitforus.
“That’dbegood,”Isay.“Maybewecouldaddastraplinewiththeword‘mindful’init.Itisquitemindful,isn’tit?Ormindless?”
Katherinlaughs,tippingherheadback.“Ah,Tiffy.Yourjob’sridiculous.”Shepatsmyhandaffectionatelyandthenreachesforherhandbag.“YouseethatMartinboy,”shesays,“youtellhimI’llonlydothatcruisedayclassifIhaveaglamorousyoungassistant.”
Igroan.Iknowwherethisisgoing.Katherinlikestodragmealongtothesethings—foranyclasssheneedsalivemodeltoshowhowtomeasureasyougowhenyou’redesigninganoutfit,apparently,andIoncemadethefatalerrorofofferingmyselfupforthejobwhenshecouldn’tfindanyone.NowIamhergo-tochoice.PRaresodesperatetogetKatherinintothesesortsofeventsthatthey’vestartedbeggingme,too.
“Thisistoofar,Katherin.I’mnotgoingonacruisewithyou.”
“Butit’sfree!Peoplepaythousandsforthose,Tiffy!”
“You’reonlyjoiningthemfortheIsleofWightloop,”Iremindher.Martinhasalreadybriefedmeonthisone.“Andit’sonaweekend.Idon’tworkweekends.”
“It’snotwork,”Katherininsists,gatheringhernotesandpackingthemintoherhandbaginanentirelyrandomorder.“It’salovelySaturdaysailingtripwithoneofyourfriends.”Shepauses.“Me,”sheclarifies.“We’refriends,aren’twe?”
“Iamyoureditor!”Isay,bundlingheroutofthemeetingroom.
“Thinkaboutit,Tiffy!”shecallsoverhershoulder,unperturbed.ShecatchessightofMartin,whoisalreadymakingabeelineforherfromoverbytheprinters.“I’mnotdoingitunlesssheis,Martin,myboy!She’stheoneyouneedtotalkto!”
Andthenshe’sgone,thegrubbyglassdoorsofourofficeswingingbehindher
Martinturnsonme.“Ilikeyourshoes,”hesays,withacharmingsmile.Ishudder.Ican’tstandMartininPR.Hesaysthingslike,“Let’sactionthat”inmeetings,andclickshisfingersatRuby,whoisamarketingexec,butwhoMartinseemstothinkishispersonalassistant.He’sonlytwenty-threebuthasdecideditwillfurtherhismercilesspursuitofseniorityifhecanseemolderthanheis,sohealwaysputsonthisawfuljocularvoiceandtriestotalktoourmanagingdirectoraboutgolf.
Theshoesareexcellent,though.They’repurpleDocMarten–styleboots,withwhiteliliespaintedonthem,andtheytookmemostofSaturday.MycraftingandcustomizinghasreallyuppedsinceJustinleftme.“Thanks,Martin,”Isay,alreadyattemptingtosidlebacktothesecurityofmydesk.
“Leelamentionedthatyou’relookingforsomewheretolive,”Martinsays.
Ihesitate.I’mnotsurewherethisisgoing.Isensenowheregood.
“MeandHana”—awomaninmarketingwhoalwayssneersatmyfashionsense—“haveaspareroom.YoumighthaveseenonFacebookbutIthoughtmaybeIshouldbringitup,youknow,IRL.It’sasinglebed,but,well,Iguessthatwon’tbeaproblemforyouthesedays.Aswe’refriends,HanaandIdecidedwecouldofferitforfivehundredamonth,plusbills.”
“That’ssokindofyou!”Isay.“ButI’veactuallyjustfoundsomewhere.”Well,Isortofhave.Nearly.Oh,god,ifL.Twomeywon’thaveme,willIhavetolivewithMartinandHana?Imean,Ialreadyspendeveryworkingdaywiththem,andfranklythatisplentyofMartin-and-Hanatimeforme.I’mnotsuremy(alreadyshaky)resolvetoleaveJustin’splacecanwithstandtheideaofMartinchasingmeforrentpaymentsandHanaseeingmeinmyporridge-stainedAdventureTimepajamaseverymorning.
“Oh.Right,well.We’llhavetofindsomeoneelse,then.”Martin’sexpressionturnscunning.Hehassmelledguilt.“YoucouldmakeituptomebygoingwithKatherintothat—”
“No.”
Hegivesanexaggeratedsigh.“God,Tiffy.It’safreecruise!Don’tyougooncruisesallthetime?”
Iusedtogooncruisesallthetime,whenmywonderfulandnowex-boyfriendusedtotakemeonthem.We’dsailfromCaribbeanislandtoCaribbeanislandinasunnyhazeofromanticbliss.We’dexploreEuropeancitiesandthenheadbacktotheboatforincrediblesexinourtinylittlebunk.We’dstuffourselvesattheall-you-can-eatbuffetandthenlieoutonthedeckwatchingthegullscircleaboveusaswetalkedidlyofourfuturechildren.
“Goneoffthem,”Isay,reachingforthephone.“Now,ifyou’llexcuseme,Ihavetomakeacall.”2LEON
PhoneringsasDr.PatelisprescribingmedsforHolly(littlegirlwithleukemia).Badtiming.Verybadtiming.Dr.Patelnothappyatinterruption,andmakesherfeelingsclear.SeemstohaveforgottenthatI,too,asnightnurse,shouldhavegonehomeateighta.m.,andyetamstillheredealingwithillpeopleandgrouchyconsultantslikeDr.Patel.
Hangupwhenitrings,obviously.Makementalnotetolistentovoicemailandchangeringtonetosomethinglessembarrassing(thisoneiscalled“Jive”andisfartoofunkyforhospicesetting.Notthatfunkdoesnothaveroleinplacesofsickness,justthatitisnotalwaysappropriate).
Holly:Whydidn’tyouanswer?Isn’tthatrude?Whatifitwasyourgirlfriendwiththeshorthair?
Dr.Patel:What’srudeisleavingyourmobileonloudduringawardround.ThoughI’msurprisedwhoever-it-waseventriedringinghimatthishour.
Aglanceatme,halfirritable,halfamused.
Dr.Patel:YoumayhavenoticedthatLeonisnotabigtalker,Holly.
Leansin,conspiratorial.
Dr.Patel:Oneoftheregistrarshasatheory.HesaysthatLeonhasalimitednumberofwordstouseeachshift,andwhenitgetstothistimeofday,he’sentirelyrunout.
Don’tgracethiswitharesponse.
Speakingofgirlfriendwithshorthair:haven’ttoldKayabouttheroomthingyet.Nothadtime.Also,amavoidinginevitableconflict.Butreallymustcallherlaterthismorning.
Tonightwasgood.Mr.Prior’spainlessenedenoughthathecouldstarttellingmeaboutthemanhefellinlovewithinthetrenches:adark-hairedcharmercalledJohnnyWhite,withthechiseledjawofaHollywoodstarandatwinkleinhiseye.Theyhadonefraught,romantic,war-tornsummer,thenweresplitup.JohnnyWhitewastakentohospitalforshellshock.Theyneversaweachotheragain.Mr.Priorcould’vegotinlotsoftrouble(homosexualityvexingtomilitarysorts).
Iwastired,coffeebuzzdying,butstayedwithMr.Priorafterhandover.Themannevergetsvisitorsandlovestotalkwhenhecan.Failedtoescapeconversationwithoutascarf(myfourteenthfromMr.Prior).Canonlysaynoacertainnumberoftimes,andMr.PriorknitssofastIwonderwhyanyonebotheredwiththeIndustrialRevolution.Prettysurehe’sfasterthanamachine.
Listentovoicemailaftereatingdangerouslyre-reheatedchickenstir-fryinfrontoflastweek’sMasterchef.
Voicemail:Hi,isthatL.Twomey?Oh,shite,youcan’tanswer—Ialwaysdothisonvoicemails.OK,I’mjustgoingtoproceedontheassumptionthatyou’reL.Twomey.Myname’sTiffyMooreandI’mringingabouttheGumtreead,aboutaroom?Look,myfriendsthinkit’sweirdthatwe’dbesharingabed,eventhoughit’dbeatdifferenttimes,butitdoesn’tbothermeifitdoesn’tbotheryou,andtobehonestI’ddoprettymuchanythingforacentralLondonflatIcanmoveintorightawayatthatprice.[Pause]Oh,god,notanything.There’sloadsofthingsIwouldn’tdo.I’mnotlike…No,Martin,notnow,can’tyouseeI’monthephone?
WhoisMartin?Achild?DoesthisramblywomanwithEssexaccentwanttobringachildintomyflat?
Voicemailcontinues:Sorry,that’smycolleague,hewantsmetogoonacruisewithamiddle-agedladytotalktopensionersaboutcrochet.
NottheexplanationIwasexpecting.Better,definitely,butbegsmanyquestions.
Voicemailcontinues:Look,justcallmebackortextmeiftheroom’sstillavailable?I’msupertidy,I’llkeeprightoutofyourwayandI’mstillinthehabitofcookingdoublequantitiesofmydinnersoifyoulikehome-cookedfoodIcanleaveleftovers.
Shereadsouthernumber.Justintime,Iremembertojotitdown.
Womanisannoying,definitely.Andisfemale,whichmayvexKay.Butonlytwootherpeoplehavecalled:OneaskedifIhadaproblemwithpethedgehogs(answer:notunlesstheyarelivinginmyflat)andotherwasdefinitelyadrugdealer(notbeingjudgmental—wasoffereddrugsduringcall).Ineed￡350extraamonthifI’mgoingtokeeppayingSalwithoutKay’shelp.Thisistheonlyavailableplan.Plus,willneveractuallyseeannoyingwoman.Willonlyeverbeinwhenannoyingwomanisout.
Itexther.
Hithere,Tiffy.Thanksforyourvoicemail.Wouldbegreattomeetyouandtalkaboutthearrangementformyflat.HowisSaturdaymorning?Cheers,LeonTwomey.
Nice,normal-personmessage.ResistallurgestoaskaboutMartin’scruise-shipplan,thoughfindmyselfcurious.
Sherepliesalmostinstantly.
Hi!Soundsgreat.10amattheflatitself,then?x
Let’smakeit9am,orI’llfallasleep!Seeyouthen.Addressisonthead.Cheers,Leon.
There.Done.Easy:￡350amonth,almostinthebagalready.
NowtotellKay.3TIFFY
So,naturallyIgetcuriousandgooglehim.LeonTwomeyisaprettyunusualname,andIfindhimonFacebookwithouthavingtoemploythecreepystalkertechniquesIreservefornewwritersI’mtryingtopoachfromotherpublishinghouses.
It’sarelieftoseethathe’snotmytypeatall,whichwilldefinitelysimplifythings—ifJustindidevermeetLeon,forinstance,Idon’tthinkhe’dseehimasathreat.He’sgotlightbrownskinandthick,curlyhairlongenoughtobepushedbackbehindhisears,andhe’swaytooganglyforme.Allelbowsandneck,youknowthetype.Helookslikeaniceguy,though—ineveryphotohe’sdoingthissweetlopsidedsmilethatdoesn’tseematallcreepyormurderous,thoughactuallyifyoulookatapicturewiththatideainmindeveryonestartstolooklikeanaxe-wieldingkiller,soItrytoputthethoughtoutofmyhead.Helooksfriendlyandnonthreatening.Thesearegoodthings.
However,Idonowknowunequivocallythatheisaman.
AmIactuallywillingtoshareabedwithaman?EvensharingabedwithJustinwasabithorriblesometimes,andwewereinarelationship.Hissideofthemattresssaggedinthemiddleandhedidn’talwaysshowerinbetweengettinghomefromthegymandgoingtobed,sotherewasasortof…sweatysmelltohisbitoftheduvet.Ialwayshadto
Butstill.￡350permonth.Andhewouldneveractuallybethere.
“Tiffany!”
Myheadshootsup.Crap,that’sRachel,andIknowwhatshewants.ShewantsthemanuscriptforthisbloodyPat-a-CakeBakeandMakebookthatI’vebeenignoringallday.
“Don’ttrysneakingofftothekitchenorpretendingtobeonthephone,”shesays,fromovermywallofpottedplants.Thisisthetroublewithhavingfriendsatwork:Youdrunkenlytellthemyourtrickswhenthetwoofyougotothepub,andthenyou’redefenseless.
“You’vehadyourhairdone!”Isay.It’sadesperateploytoredirecttheconversationearly,butherhairisespeciallycooltoday.It’sinbraids,asalways,butthistimethetinyplaitshavebrightturquoiseribbonlacedbetweenthemlikecorsetstrings.“Howdoyoubraiditlikethat?”
“Don’ttrytodistractmewithmyspecialistsubject,TiffanyMoore,”Rachelsays,tappingherperfectlypolka-dottednails.“WhenamIgettingthatmanuscript?”
“Ijustneed…alittlelonger…”Iputmyhandoverthepapersinfrontofmesoshecan’tseethepagenumbers,whichareinthesingledigits.
Shenarrowshereyes.“Thursday?”
Inodeagerly.Yeah,whynot?Imean,that’stotallyunachievableatthispoint,butFridaysoundsalotbetterwhenyou’resayingitonThursday,soI’lljusttellherthen.
“Andgoforadrinkwithmetomorrownight?”
Ipause.Iwasmeanttobegoodandnotspendanymoneythisweek,onaccountoftheloomingdebt,butnightsoutwithRachelarealwaysbrilliant,andfranklyIcouldreallydowithhavingsomefun.Besides,shewon’tbeabletoarguewithmeaboutthismanuscriptonThursdayifshe’shungover.
“Done.”
DrunkManNo.1istheexpressivekind.Thesortofdrunkwholikestothrowhisarmsoutwideregardlessofwhatmightbedirectlytohisleftorright(sofar,that’sincludedonelargefakepalmtree,onetrayofsambucashots,andonerelativelyfamousUkrainianmodel).Everymovementisexaggerated,eventhebasicwalkingsteps—youknow,left
DrunkManNo.2isthedeceitfulsort.Hekeepshisfaceverystillwhenhe’slisteningtoyou,asthoughtheabsenceofexpressionwillmakeitclearhowverysoberheis.Henodsoccasionally,andfairlyconvincingly,butdoesn’tquiteblinkenough.Hisattemptstostareatyourboobsaremuchlesssubtlethanhethinkstheyare.
IwonderwhattheythinkofmeandRachel.Theyheadedstraightforus,butthat’snotconclusivelypositive.BackwhenIwaswithJustin,ifIwasgoingoutclubbingwithRachelhewouldalwaysremindmethatlotsofmensee“quirkygirl”andthink“desperateandeasy.”He’sright,asperusual.Iactuallywonderifit’seasiertogetlaidasaquirkygirlthanaperkycheerleadertype:You’remoreapproachable,andnobodyassumesyou’vealreadygotaboyfriend.WhichisprobablyanotherreasonJustinwasn’tafanofmynightsoutwithRachel,onreflection.
“So,like,booksabouthowtomakecakes?”saysDrunkManNo.2,thusprovinghislisteningskillsandaforementionedsobriety.(Honestly.What’sthepointinhavingsambucashotsifyou’rejustgoingtopretendyouhaven’tbeendrinkingallnight?)
“Yeah!”Rachelsays.“Orbuildshelvesormakeclothesor…or…whatdoyouliketodo?”
SheisdrunkenoughtofindDrunkManNo.2attractive,butIsuspectshe’sjusttryingtokeephimbusytoopenthefloorformetojumpDrunkManNo.1.Ofthetwo,DrunkManNo.1isclearlypreferable—heistallenough,forstarters.Thisisthefirstchallenge.I’msixfoot,andthoughIhavenoproblemwithdatingshortermen,itoftenseemstobotherguysifI’mmorethananinchortwotallerthanthem.That’sfinebyme—I’venointerestintheoneswhocareaboutthatsortofthing.It’sausefulfilter.
“WhatdoIliketodo?”repeatsDrunkManNo.2.“Iliketodancewithbeautifulwomenatbarswithbadnamesandoverpriceddrinks.”Heflashesasuddengrin,which,thoughalittlemoresluggishandwonkythanit’sprobablyintendedtobe,isactuallyquiteattractive.
IcanseeRachelisthinkingthesame.Sheshootsmeacalculatinglook—notsodrunkasallthat,then—andIcanseeherevaluatingthesituationbetweenmeandDrunkManNo.1.
IlookatDrunkManNo.1,too,anddosomeevaluatingofmyown.He’stall,withnicebroadshouldersandhairthat’sgrayingatthetemplesinawaythat’sactuallyquitesexy.He’sprobablymid-thirties—hecouldbealittle1990sClooney-ishifyousquintedabitordimmedthelights.
DoIfancyhim?IfIdo,Icouldsleepwithhim.Youcandothatwhenyou’resingle.
Weird.
I’venotthoughtaboutsleepingwithanyonesinceJustin.Yougettonsoftimebackwhenyou’resingleandnothavingsex—notjusttheactualtimedoingit,butthetimeshavinglegs,buyingniceunderwear,wonderingwhetherallotherwomengetbikiniwaxes,etc.It’sarealplus.Ofcourse,there’stheoverwhelmingabsenceofoneofthegreatestaspectsofyouradultlife,butyoudogetmuchmoreadmindone.
ObviouslyIknowthatwebrokeupthreemonthsago.IknowthatintheoryIcanhavesexwithotherpeople.But…Ican’thelpthinkingaboutwhatJustinwouldsay.Howangryhe’dbe.Imaybetechnicallyallowed,butI’mnot…youknow.Allowed,allowed.Notinmyhead,notyet.
Rachelgetsit.“Sorry,mate,”shesays,pattingDrunkManNo.2onthearm.“Iliketodancewithmyfriend.”Shescribbleshernumberonanapkin—godknowswhereshegotthatpenfrom,thewoman’samagician—andthenmyhandisinhersandwe’rewindingourwayintothecenterofthedancefloor,wherethemusichitsmyskullfrombothsides,sendingmyeardrumsshivering.
“Whatkindofdrunkareyou?”Rachelasks,aswegrindinappropriatelytoclassicDestiny’sChild.
“I’mabit…thoughtful,”Ishoutather.“Tooanalyticaltosleepwiththatniceman.”
Shereachesforadrinkfromthetrayofoneofthoseshotladieswhowandersroundaskingyoutooverpayforthings,andhandsthewomansomecash.
“‘Notenough’sortofdrunk,then,”shesays,givingmethedrink.“Youmaybeaneditorbutnodrunkgirltrotsouttheword‘analytical.’”
“Assistanteditor,”Iremindher,andknockbackthedrink.J?gerbomb.It’sstrangehowsomethingsofundamentallydisgusting,whoseveryaftertastemakesyouwanttovomitthenextday,cantastedeliciousonadancefloor.
Rachelpliesmewithdrinkallnightandflirtswitheverywingmaninsight,chuckingallattractivemeninmydirection.Whatevershesays,Iamplentytipsyenough,soIdon’tthinkmuchofit—she’sjustbeinganexcellentfriend.Thenightspinsbyinamassofdancersandbrightlycoloreddrinks.
ItisonlywhenMoandGertyarrivethatIstarttowonderwhatthisnightoutisallabout.
Mohasthelookofamanwhowassummonedonshortnotice.Hisbeardisalittleskewwhiff,likehesleptonitfunny,andhe’sinaworn-outT-shirtIthinkIrememberfromuni—thoughit’salittletighteronhimnow.Gertylookshaughtilybeautiful,asusual,withnomakeuponandherhairyankedupinaballerinatopknot;it’shardtotellifshewasplanningtocomebecausesheneverwearsmakeupanddressesimpeccablyallthetimeanyway.Shecouldwellhavejustpulledonaslightlyhigherpairofheelstogowithherskinnyjeanslastminute.
They’remakingtheirwayacrossthedancefloor.MysuspicionthatMowasnotplanningtobehereisconfirmed—he’snotdancing.TakeMotoaclubandtherewillalwaysbedancing.SowhyhavetheyturneduponmyrandomWednesdaynightoutwithRachel?Theydon’tevenknowherthatwell—onlythroughtheoddbirthdaydrinksorhousewarmingparties.Infact,GertyandRachelhavealow-levelalpha-wolffeudgoingon,andwhenwedoallgettogethertheyusuallyendupbickering.
Isitmybirthday?Idrunkenlywonder.DoIhaveexcitingsurprisenews?
IturntoRachel.“Wha…?”
“Table,”shesays,pointingattheboothsatthebackoftheclub.
Gertydoesarelativelygoodjobofhidingherirritationatbeingredirectedjustwhenshe’sbattledherwaythroughtothecenterofthedancefloor.
I’mgettingbadvibes.I’mjustatthehappiestpointofdrunk,though,soI’mwillingtosuspendworriedthoughtsinthehopethatthey’recomingtotellmethatI’vewonafour-weekholidaytoNewZealandorsomething.
Butno.
“Tiffy,Ididn’tknowhowtotellyouthis,”Rachelissaying,“sothiswasthebestplanIcouldcomeupwith.Getyouhappydrunk,remindyouwhatflirtingfeelslike,thencallyoursupportteam.”Shereachestotakebothmyhands.“Tiffy.Justinisengaged.”4LEON
Conversationre:flatnotatallaspredicted.Kaywasunusuallyangry.Seemedupsetatideaofsomeoneelsesleepinginmybedbesidesher?Butshenevercomesround.Hatesthedarkgreenwallsandelderlyneighbors—ispartofher“youspendtoomuchtimewitholdpeople”thing.We’realwaysathers(light-graywalls,coolyoungneighbors).
Argumentendsatwearyimpasse.ShewantsmetopulldownadandcancelEssexwoman;I’mnotchangingmymind.It’sthebestideaforgettingeasycasheverymonththatI’vethoughtof,barlotterywinning,whichcannotbefactoredintofinancialplanning.Donotwanttogobacktoborrowingthat￡350.Kaywastheonewhosaidit:Itwasn’tgoodforourrelationship.
She’scomethatfar,so.She’llcomearound.
Slownight.Hollycouldn’tsleep;weplayedcheckers.Sheliftsherfingersanddancesthemovertheboardlikeshe’sweavingamagicspellbeforeshetouchesacounter.Apparentlyit’samindgame—makestheotherplayerwatchwhereyou’regoinginsteadofplanningtheirnextmove.Wheredidaseven-year-oldlearnmindgames?
Askthequestion.
Holly:You’requitena?ve,Leon,aren’tyou?
Pronouncesit“knave.”Probablyneversaiditoutloudbefore,justreaditinoneofherbooks.
Me:I’mveryworldlywise,thankyou,Holly!
Givesmepatronizinglook.
Holly:It’sOK,Leon.You’rejusttoonice.Ibetpeoplewalkalloveryoulikeadoormat.
Shepickedthatupfromsomewhere,definitely.Probablyherfather,whovisitseveryotherweekinasharpgraysuit,bringingpoorlychosensweetsandthesoursmellofcigarettesmoke.
Me:Beingniceisagoodthing.Youcanbestrongandnice.Youdon’thavetobeoneortheother.
Thepatronizinglookagain.
Holly:Look.It’slikehow…Kay’sstrong,you’renice.
Shespreadsherhands,like,it’sthewayoftheworld.Amstartled.Didn’tknowsheknewKay’sname.
RichieringsjustasIgetin.Havetosprinttogettothelandline—Iknowit’llbehim,itonlyeveris—andhitheadonlow-hangingpendantlightinkitchen.Leastfavoritethingaboutexcellentflat.
Rubhead.Closeeyes.ListencloselytoRichie’svoicefortremorsandcluestohowhereallyis,andjustforhearingareal,living,breathing,still-OKRichie.
Richie:Tellmeagoodstory.
Closeeyestighter.It’snotbeenagoodweekendforhim,then.Weekendsarebad—they’rebangedupforlonger.Icantellhe’sdownfromthataccent,sopeculiartothetwoofus.AlwayspartLondon,partCountyCork,it’smoreIrishwhenhe’ssad.
ItellhimaboutHolly.Hercheckersskills.Heraccusationsofknavety.Richielistens,andthen:
Richie:Isshegoingtodie?
It’sdifficult.Peoplestruggletoseeit’snotaboutwhethershe’sgoingtodie—palliativecareisn’tjustaplaceyougotoslowlyslipaway.Morepeopleliveandleavethandieonourwards.It’saboutbeingcomfortableforthedurationofsomethingnecessaryandpainful.Makingbadtimeseasier.
Holly,though…shemightdie.Sheisverysick.Lovely,precocious,andverysick.
Me:Leukemiastatisticsareprettygoodforkidsherage.
Richie:Idon’twantstatistics,man.Iwantagoodstory.
Ismile,remindedofwhenwewerekids,actingouttheplotofNeighboursinthemonthwhentheTVbroke.Richie’salwayslikedagoodstory.
Me:She’llbefine.She’llgrowuptobea…coder.Professionalcoder.Usingallhercheckersskillstodevelopnewdigitallygeneratedfoodthat’llstopanyonegoinghungryandputBonooutofworkaroundChristmastime.
Richielaughs.Notmuchofone,butenoughtoeasetheworriedknotinmystomach.
Silenceforawhile.Companionable,maybe,orjustanabsenceofsuitablyexpressivewords.
Richie:It’shellinhere,man.
Thewordshitlikeapunchinthegut.ToooftenthislastyearI’vefeltthatconnectioninmystomachlikeabunchedfist.Alwaysattimeslikethis,whenrealityhitsafreshafterdaysofblockingitout.
Me:Appeal’snotfaroff.We’regettingthere.Salsays—
Richie:Ey,Salsayshewantspaying.Iknowthescore,Lee.Itcan’tbedone
Voiceheavy,slow,almostslurred.
Me:Whatisthis?What,haveyoulostfaithinyourbigbrother?YouusedtotellmeI’dbeabillionaire!
Ihearareluctantsmile.
Richie:You’vegivenenough.
Never.That’simpossible.Iwillnevergiveenough,notforthis,thoughI’vewishedenoughtimesthatIcouldhaveswappedplacestosavehimfromit.
Me:I’vegotascheme.Amoneymakingscheme.You’regoingtoloveit.
Scuffle.
Richie:Hey,man,ah,givemeonesec—
Muffledvoices.Myheartbeatsfaster.Whenonthephonetohimit’seasytothinkheissomewheresafeandquiet,withonlyhisvoiceandmine.Butthereheis,intheyard,withaqueuebehindhim,havingmadethechoicebetweenusingthishalfhouroutofhisprisoncelltomakeaphonecallortohavehisonlyshotatashower.
Richie:Gottogo,Lee.Loveyou.
Dialtone.
HalfeightonSaturday.Evenleavingnow,I’llbelate.Andamnotleavingnow,evidently.AmchangingdirtysheetsonDorsalWard,accordingtoDr.Patel;accordingtothewardnurseonCoralWard,IamtakingbloodfromMr.Prior;accordingtoSochathejuniordoctor,IamhelpingherwiththepatientdyingonKelpWard.
Sochawins.CallKayasIrun.
Kay,onpickingup:You’restuckatwork,aren’tyou?
Toooutofbreathforproperexplanation.Wardstoofarapartforemergencysituations.Hospiceboardoftrusteesshouldinvestinshortercorridors.
Kay:It’sOK.I’llmeetthatgirlforyou.
Stumble.Surprised.I’dplannedtoask,obviously—that’swhyIcalledKayandnotEssexwomanherself,tocancel.But…wasveryeasy
Kay:Look,Idon’tlikethisflatsharingplan,butIknowyouneedthemoneyandIgetit.However.IfI’mgoingtofeelOKaboutthis,Ithinkeverythingshouldgothroughme.I’llmeetthisTiffyperson,I’llhandlethearrangements,andthatwaytherandomwomansleepinginyourbedisn’tsomeonethatyouactuallyinteractwith.ThenIdon’tfeelquiteasweirdaboutit,andyoudon’thavetodealwithit,which,let’sbehonest,youdonothavetimetodo.
Pangoflove.Couldbestitch,ofcourse,hardtobesureatthisstageofrelationship,butstill.
Me:You…yousure?
Kay,firmly:Yes.Thisistheplan.Andnoworkingweekends.OK?Weekendsareforme.
Seemsfair.
Me:Thanks.Thankyou.And—wouldyoumind—tellher…
Kay:Yep,yep,tellherabouttheweirdguyinFlat5andwarnheraboutthefoxes.
Definitelove-pang.
Kay:IknowyouthinkIdon’tlisten,butIactuallydo.
Stillagoodminute’srunningbeforeIreachKelpWard.Havenotpacedselfadequately.Rookiemistake.I’mthrownbythehorriblenownessofthisshift,withallitsdyingpeopleandbedsoresandtricksydementiapatients,andamforgettingbasicrulesofsurvivinginhospicesetting.Jog,don’trun.Alwaysknowthetime.Neverloseyourpen.
Kay:Leon?
Forgotabouttalkingoutloud.Wasjustheavybreathing.Probablyquitesinister.
Me:Thanks.Loveyou.5TIFFY
Iconsiderwearingsunglasses,butdecidethatwouldmakemelooklikeabitofadiva,giventhatit’sFebruary.Nobodywantsadivaasaflatmate.
Thequestion,ofcourse,iswhethertheywantadivamoreorlessthantheywantanemotionalwreckofawomanwhohasclearlyspentthelasttwodaysweeping.
Iremindmyselfthatthisisnotaflatmatesituation.LeonandIdon’tneedtogeton—we’renotgoingtobelivingtogether,notreally,we’rejustgoingtobeoccupyingthesamespaceatdifferenttimes.It’snobothertohimifIhappentospendallmyfreetimeweeping,isit?
“Jacket,”Rachelcommands,handingitover.
Ihavenotyetreachedthedepthsofneedingsomeoneelsetodressme,butRachelstayedoverlastnight,andifRachel’shereshe’sprobablygoingtotakechargeofthesituation.Evenif“thesituation”ismegettingmyclothesoninthemorning.
Toobrokentoprotest,Itakethejacketandslipiton.Idolovethisjacket.ImadeitoutofagiantballdressIfoundinthecharityshop—Ijustpickedthewholethingapartandusedthefabricfromscratch,butleftthebeadingwhereveritfell,sonowthere’spurplesequinsandembroideryacrosstherightshoulder,downthebackandundermyboobs.Itlooksabitlikeacircusmaster’sjacket,butfitsperfectly,andoddlytheunder-boobbeadingisreallyflatteringtothewaistline.
“Didn’tIgivethistoyou?”Isay,frowning.“Lastyearsometime?”
“You,partwiththatjacket?”Rachelmakesaface.“Iknowyouloveme,butI’mprettysureyoudon’tloveanyonethatmuch.”
Right,ofcourse.I’msuchamessIcanhardlythinkstraight.AtleastIactuallycareaboutwhatI’mwearingthismorning,though.YouknowthingsarebadwhenI’llthrowonwhatever’stopinthedrawer.Andit’snotlikeotherpeoplewon’tnoticeit—mywardrobeissuchthataninsufficientlyplannedoutfitwillreallyshow.Thursday’smustardyellowcords,creamfrilledblouseandlonggreencardigancausedabitofastiratwork—Hanainmarketinghadafull-blowncoughingfitwhenIwalkedintothekitchenasshewasmid-gulpofcoffee.Ontopofthat,nobodygetswhyI’msuddenlysoupset.Icanseethemallthinking,What’sshecryingaboutnow?Didn’tJustinleavemonthsago?
They’reright.IhavenoideawhythisparticularstageofJustin’snewrelationshipbothersmesomuch.I’dalreadydecidedIwasgoingtoproperlymoveoutthistime.Andit’snotlikeIwantedhimtomarrymeoranything.Ijustthought…he’dcomeback.That’swhat’salwayshappenedbefore—hegoesoff,doorsslam,hefreezesmeout,ignoresmycalls,butthenherealizeshismistakeandjustwhenIthinkI’mreadytostartgettingoverhim,thereheisagain,holdingouthishandandtellingmetocomewithhimonsomekindofamazingadventure.
Butthisisit,isn’tit?He’sgettingmarried.Thisis…thisis…
Rachelwordlesslypassesmethetissues
“I’llhavetoredomymakeupagain,”Isay,oncetheworstofitisover.
“Reaaallynotgottime,”Rachelsays,flashingmeherphonescreen.
Shit.Halfpasteight.IneedtoleavenoworI’mgoingtobelate,andthatwilllookbad—ifwe’regoingtoobservestrictwho’s-in-the-flat-whenrules,Leon’sgoingtowantmetobeabletotellthetime.
“Sunglasses?”Iask.
“Sunglasses.”Rachelhandsthemover.
Igrabmybagandheadforthedoor.
AsthetrainrattlesitswaythroughthetunnelsoftheNorthernLineIcatchsightofmyreflectioninthewindowandstraightenupalittle.Ilookgood.Theblurry,scratchedglasshelps—sortoflikeanInstagramfilter.Butthisisoneofmyfavoriteoutfits,myhairisnewlywashedandcopperyred,andthoughImayhavecriedawayallmyeyelinermylipstickisstillintact.
HereIam.Icandothis.Icanmanagejustfineonmyown.
ItsticksforaboutaslongasittakestogettotheentrancetoStockwellstation.Thenaguyinacarscreams“Getyourfannyout!”atme,andtheshockisenoughtosetmespiralingbackintoshit-at-lifepost-breakupTiffyagain.I’mtooupsettoevenpointouttheanatomicalissuesI’dhaveifItriedtocomplywithhisrequest.
Ireachtherightblockofflatsinfiveminutesorso—it’sagooddistancetothestation.Attheprospectofactuallyfindingmyfuturehome,Iwipemycheeksdryandtakeaproperlookattheplace.It’soneofthosesquat,brickblocks,andoutthefrontthere’sasmallcourtyardwithabitofsad-lookingLondon-stylegrassthat’smorelikewell-mownhay.Thereareparkingspacesforeachflat’stenants,oneofwhomseemstobeusingtheirspacetostoreabewilderingnumberofemptybananacrates.
AsIbuzzforFlat3,amovementcatchesmyeye—it’safox,strollingoutfromroundwherethebinsseemtolive.Itgivesmeaninsolentstare,pausingwithonepawintheair.I’veneveractuallybeenthisclosetoafoxbefore—it’salotmangierthantheylookinpicturebooks.Foxesarenice,though,aren’tthey?They’resoniceyou’renotallowedtoshootthemforfunanymore,evenifyou’reanaristocratwithahorse.
Thedoorbuzzesandclicksoutofthelock;Imakemywayinside.It’svery…brown.Browncarpet,biscuit-coloredwalls.Butthatdoesn’treallymatter—it’sinsidetheflatthatmatters.
WhenIknockonthedoorofFlat3,Ifindmyselffeelinggenuinelynervous.No—borderlinepanicked.I’mreallydoingthis,aren’tI?Consideringsleepinginsomerandomstranger’sbed?ActuallyleavingJustin’sflat?
Oh,god.MaybeGertywasrightandthisisalljustabittoomuch.ForavertiginousmomentIimaginegoingbacktoJustin’s,backtothecomfortofthatchrome-and-whiteflat,tothepossibilityofhavinghimback.Butthethoughtdoesn’tfeelquiteasgoodasIimagineditwould.Somehow—perhapsaroundelevenp.m.theThursdaybeforelast—thatflatstartedtolookalittledifferent,andsodidI.
Iknow,inavague,don’t-look-straight-at-itsortofway,thatthisisagoodthing.I’vegotthisfar—Ican’tletmyselfgobacknow.
Ineedtolikethisplace.It’smyonlyoption.Sowhensomeoneanswersthedoorwhoclearlyisn’tLeon,I’msointhemoodtobeaccommodatingthatIjustgowithit.Idon’tevenactsurprised.
“Hi!”
“Hello,”saysthewomanatthedoor.She’spetitewitholiveskinandoneofthosepixiehaircutsthatmakesyoulookFrenchifyou’vegotasmallenoughhead.Iimmediatelyfeelenormous.
Shedoesnothingtodispelthisfeeling.AsIstepintotheflat,Icanfeelherlookingmeupanddown.Itrytotakeinthedécor—ooh,darkgreenwallpaper,looksgenuine1970s—butafterawhilethefeelofhereyesonmestartstonag.Iturntomeethergazehead-on.
Oh.It’sthegirlfriend.Andherexpressioncouldnotbemoreobvious:Itsays,Iwasworriedyoumightbehotandtrytostealmyboyfriendfrommewhileyoumakeyourselfathomeinhisbed,butnowI’veseenyouandhe’dneverbeattractedtoyou,soyes!Comein!
She’sallsmilesnow.Fine,whatever—ifthisiswhatittakestogetthisroom,noproblem.She’snotgoingtobelittlemeoutofthisone.ShehasnoideahowdesperateIam.
“I’mKay,”shesays,holdingoutahand.Hergripisfirm.“Leon’sgirlfriend.”
“Ifigured.”Ismiletotaketheedgeoffit.“Sonicetomeetyou.IsLeoninthe…”
Ileanmyheadintothebedroom.It’sthatorthelivingroom,whichhasthekitcheninthecorner—there’snotreallymuchmoretotheflatthanthis.
“…Bathroom?”Itry,onseeingtheemptybedroom.
“Leon’sstuckatwork,”saysKay,usheringmethroughtothelivingarea.
It’sprettyminimalistandalittlewornroundtheedges,butit’scleanandIdolovethat1970swallpapereverywhere.Ibetsomeonewouldpay￡80arollforthatifFarrow&Ballstartedsellingit.There’salow-hangingpendantlightinthekitchenareathatdoesn’tquitematchthedécorbutissortoffabulous;thesofaisbatteredleather;theTVisn’tactuallypluggedinbutlooksrelativelydecent;andthecarpethasbeenrecentlyhoovered.Thisalllookspromising.
Maybethisisgoingtobegood.Maybeit’sgoingtobegreat.Iflipthroughaquickmontageofmyselfhere,lazingaboutonthesofa,rustlingsomethingupinthekitchen,andsuddenlytheideaofhavingallthisspacetomyselfmakesmewanttobounceonthespot.Ireinmyselfinjustintime.Kaydoesnotstrikemeasthespontaneousdancingsort.
“SowillInot…meetLeon?”Iask,rememberingMo’sfirstruleofflatsharingwithawince.
“Well,Isupposeyoumightdoeventually,”Kaysays.“Butit’llbemeyouspeakto.I’mhandlingrentingtheplaceoutforhim.You’llneverbeinatthesametime—theflatwillbeyoursfromsixintheeveninguntileightinthemorningintheweek,andoverthewholeweekend.It’sasix-monthagreementfornow.IsthatOKwithyou?”
“Yeah,that’sjustwhatIneed.”Ipause.“And…Leonwon’teverpopinunexpectedly?Outofhishours,oranything?”
“Absolutelynot,”Kaysays,withtheairofawomanwhoplanstomakesureofit.“Fromsixp.m.untileighta.m.,theflatisyoursandyoursalone.”
“Great.”Ibreatheoutslowly,quietingtheflutterofexcitementinmystomach,andcheckthebathroom—youcanalwaystellaplacebyitsbathroom.Alltheappliancesareaclean,brightwhite,there’sadarkblueshowercurtain,afewtidybottlesofmysteriousmanly-lookingcreamsandliquids,andascuffedbutserviceablemirror.Excellent.“I’lltakeit.Ifyou’llhaveme.”
Ifeelcertainthatshe’llsayyes,ifitreallyisherdecisiontomake.Iknewitassoonasshegavemethatlookinthehallway:WhateverLeon’scriteriaforaflatmate,Kayjusthastheone,andI’veclearlytickedthe“suitablyunattractive”box.
“Wonderful,”saysKay.“I’llcallLeonandlethimknow.”6LEON
Kay:She’sideal.
Amdoingsomeslowblinkingonthebus.Deliciousslowblinkswhicharereallyjustshortnaps.
Me:Really?Notannoying?
Kay,soundingirritated:Doesthatmatter?She’llbecleanandtidyandshecanmoveinimmediately.Ifyou’rereallydeterminedtodothis,thenyoucan’texpectmuchbetterthanthat.
Me:Shewasn’tbotheredbytheweirdmanlivinginFlat5?Orthefoxfamily?
Slightpause.
Kay:Shedidn’tmentioneitherbeingaproblem.
Deliciousslowblink.Reallylongone.Gottobecareful—can’tfacewakingupattheendofthebusrouteandhavingtocomeallthewaybackinagain.Alwaysadangerafteralongweek.
Me:What’sshelike,then?
Kay:She’s…quirky.Largerthanlife.Shewaswearingthesebighorn-rimmedsunglasseseventhoughit’sbasicallystillwinter,andhadpaintedflowersalloverherboots.Butthepointisthatshe’sbrokeandhappytofindaroomthischeap!
“Largerthanlife”isKay-speakforoverweight.Wishshewouldn’tsaythingslikethat.
Kay:Look,you’reonyourway,aren’tyou?Wecantalkaboutitwhenyougethere.
MyplanforarrivalwastogreetKaywithcustomarykiss,removeworkclothes,drinkwater,fallintoKay’sbed,sleepforalleternity.
Me:Maybetonight?WhenI’veslept?
Silence.Deeplyirritatedsilence.(I’manexpertatKaysilences.)
Kay:Soyou’rejustgoingstraighttobedwhenyougetin.
Bitetongue.Resisturgetogiveblow-by-blowaccountofmyweek.
Me:Icanstayupifyouwanttotalk.
Kay:No,no,youneedyoursleep.
I’mclearlystayingup.Bestmakethemostoftheseblink-napsuntilbusgetstoIslington.
FrostywelcomefromKay.MakemistakeofmentioningRichie,whichturnstemperaturedialdownevenfurther.Myfault,probably.Justcan’ttalktoherabouthimwithouthearingTheArgument,likeshehitsreplayeverytimeshesaysRichie’sname.Asshebusiesherselfcookingbrinner(combinationofbreakfastanddinner,suitableforbothnightanddaydwellers),tellmyselfonrepeatthatIshouldrememberhowTheArgumentended.Thatshesaidsorry.
Kay:So,areyougoingtoaskmeaboutweekends?
Stareather,slowtoanswer.Sometimesfindithardtotalkafteralongnight.Justopeningmymouthtoformcomprehensiblethoughtsislikeliftingaveryheavything,orlikeoneofthosedreamswhereyouneedtorunbutyourlegsaremovingthroughtreacle.
Me:Askyouwhat?
Kaypauses,omelettepaninhand.Sheisveryprettyagainstwinterysunlightthroughkitchenwindow.
Kay:Theweekends.Wherewereyouplanningtostay,withTiffyinyourflat?
Oh.Isee.
Me:HopedIwouldstayhere.AsI’mhereeveryweekendI’mnotworkinganyway?
Kaysmiles.Getthatsatisfyingfeelingofhavingsaidtherightthing,followedquicklybyasqueezeofanxiety.
Kay:Iknowyouwereplanningonstayinghere,youknow.Ijustwantedtohearyousayit.
Sheseesmybemusedexpression.
Kay:Normallyyou’rejusthereonweekendsbycoincidence,notbecauseyou’veplannedforit.Notbecauseit’sourlifeplan.
Word“plan”ismuchlesspleasantwith“life”infrontofit.Suddenlyverybusyeatingomelette.Kaysqueezesmyshoulder,runsherfingersupanddownthebackofmyneck,tugsmyhair.
Kay:Thankyou.
Ifeelguilty,thoughIhaven’texactlymisledher—IdidassumeI’dbehereeveryweekend,didfactorthatintoplanwithrentingoutroom.Justdidn’t…thinkaboutitthatway.Thelife-planway.
Twointhemorning.WhenIfirstjoinedthehospicenightsteam,nightscomingoffshiftseemeduseless—wouldsitawake,wishingforsunlight.Butnowthisismytime,themuffledquiet,therestofLondonsleepingorgettingverydrunk.I’mtakingeverynightshiftthehospicerostercoordinatorwillgiveme—they’rethehighestpaid,excludingweekendnights,whichI’vetoldKayIwon’ttake.Plus,it’stheonlywaythisflatshareplanwillwork.Notsureit’llevenbeworthrecalibratingforweekends,now—willworkfiveinsevennights.Mightjuststaynocturnal.
Generallyusethistwoa.m.timetowritetoRichie.Hisphonecallsarelimited,buthecanreceiveasmanylettersasIcansendhim.
It’sbeenthreemonthsasoflastTuesdaysincehewassentenced.Hardtoknowhowtomarkananniversarylikethat—raisingaglass?Strikinganothertallyonthewall?Richietookitwell,considering,butwhenhewentin,Salhadtoldhimhe’dhavehimoutoftherebyFebruary,sothisonewasespeciallybad.
Sal.He’stryinghisbest,presumably,butRichieisinnocentandinprison,socan’thelpbutfeelalittleresentfultowardhislawyer.Salisn’tbad.Usesbigwords,carriesabriefcase,neverdoubtshimself—allseemclassicreassuringlawyerthings?Butmistakeskeephappening.Likeunexpectedguiltyverdicts.
Whatareouroptions,though?NootherlawyerssufficientlyinterestedtotakeRichieonforreducedfee.Nootherlawyersfamiliarwithhiscase,nootherlawyersalreadyallsetuptospeaktoRichieinprison…notimetofindsomeonenew.Everydaythatgoesby,Richiesinksfurtheraway.
HastobemethatdealswithSalallthetime,too,neverMam,whichmeansendlessexhaustingphonecallschasinghim.ButMamisshoutyandblamey.Salissensitive,easilyputofffromactuallyworkingonRichie’scase,andcompletelyindispensable.
Thisisdoingmenogood.Twoa.m.isterribletimefordwellingonlegalissues.Worstofallthetimes.Ifmidnightiswitchinghour,twoa.m.isdwellinghour.
Idlyreachingfordistraction,IfindmyselfgooglingJohnnyWhite.Mr.Prior’sHollywood-jawed,long-lostlove.
TherearemanyJohnnyWhites.OneisaleadingfigureinCanadiandancemusic.AnotherisanAmericanfootballer.BothweredefinitelynotaroundduringWorldWarII,fallinginlovewithcharmingEnglishgentlemen.
Still.Internetwasmadeforsituationslikethis,no?
TryJohnnyWhitewarcasualties,thenhatemyselfabit.FeelslikebetrayingMr.PriortoassumeJohnny’sdead.Butit’sworthtryingtoeliminatethoseoptionsfirst.
FindawebsitecalledFindWarDead.Aminitiallyslightlyhorrified,butdecideactuallyit’samazing—everyone’srememberedhere.Likedigital,searchabletombstones.Icansearchbyname,regiment,whichwar,datesofbirth…ItypeinJohnnyWhite,andspecifyWorldWarTwo,butdon’thaveanymoretogivethem
Seventy-eightJohnnyWhitesdiedinarmedforcesinWorldWarII.
Sitback.Stareatthelistofnames.JohnK.White.JamesDudleyJonathanWhite.JohnWhite.JohnGeorgeWhite.JonR.L.White.JonathanReginaldWhite.John—
Allright.FeelsuddenlyoverwhelminglysurethatMr.Prior’slovelyJohnnyWhiteisdead,andwishtherewasasimilardatabaseforthosewhofoughtbutdidnotdieinthewar.Thatwouldbenice.Asurvivorslist.Struck,asoneisattwoa.m.,bythehorrorofhumanityanditsinclinationtoterribleactsofmassmurder.
Kay:Leon!Yourbleepisgoing!Inmyear!
Leavelaptoponsofaafterhittingprint,andthenopenbedroomdoortofindKaylyingonside,duvetoverhead,onearmupintheairholdingmybleep.
Grabbleep.Grabphone.I’mnotworking,ofcourse,buttheteamwouldn’tbleepmeifitwasn’timportant.
Socha,juniordoctor:Leon,it’sHolly
Ampullingonshoes.
Me:Howbad?
Keys!Keys!Wherearekeys?
Socha:She’sgotaninfection—observationsarenotlookinggood.She’saskingforyou.Idon’tknowwhattodo,Leon,andDr.Patelisn’tansweringherbleep,andtheregisskiingandJunecouldn’tgetcoverorganizedsothere’snobodyelsetocall…
Locatedkeysinbottomofwashingbasket.Inspiredplacetokeepthem.Headingforthedoor,Sochatalkingwhitebloodcellcountsinmyear,shoelacesflapping—
Kay:Leon!You’restillwearingyourpajamas!
Damn.ThoughtI’dmanagedtogettothedoorfasterthanusual.7TIFFY
OK,sothenewflat’squite…full.Cozy.
“Cluttered,”Gertyconfirms,standinginabouttheonlyunoccupiedspaceinthebedroom.“It’scluttered.”
“Youknowmystyleiseclectic!”Iprotest,straighteninguptheadorabletie-dyedbedthrowIfoundatBrixtonmarketlastsummer.I’mtryingveryhardtokeepmypositivefaceon.PackingupandleavingJustin’sflatwasawful,andthedriveheretookfourtimesaslongasGooglesaiditwould,andcarryingeverythingupthestairswastorture.ThenIhadtoholdalongconversationwithKayasshegavemethekeys,whenallIwantedtodowassitdownsomewhereandgentlydabatmyhairlineuntilIstoppedpanting.Ithasnotbeenafunday.
“DidyoudiscussthiswithLeon?”Moasks,perchingontheedgeofthebed.“Imean,bringingallyourstuff?”
Ifrown.OfcourseIwouldbebringingallmystuff!Didthatneeddiscussing?I’mmovingin—thatmeansmystuffhastoliveherewithme.Whereelsewoulditlive?Thisismypermanentabode.
However,Iamnowveryawarethatmybedroomissharedwithanotherperson,andthatthatpersonhastheirownstuffwhichwas,upuntilthisweekend,occupyingmostofthisroom.It’sbeenabitofasqueezegettingeverythingin.I’vesolvedafewproblemsbymovingthingsintootherpartsofthehouse—lotsofmycandleholdersarelivingontheedgeofthebathnow,forinstance,andmyamazinglavalamphasagreatspotinthelivingarea—butallthesame,IcoulddowithLeonhavingabitofaclear-out.Heshouldprobablyhavedonethatbeforehand,really—itwasthedecentthing,giventhatIwasmovingin
PerhapsIshouldhavetakensomeofmythingstomyparents’house.ButmostofthisstufflivedinstorageatJustin’sandithadfeltsogoodtodigitalloutlastnight.RacheljokedthatwhenIfoundthelavalampitwaslikeAndybeingreunitedwithWoodyinToyStory,buttobehonestithadbeensurprisinglyemotional.I’dsatforawhileinthehall,staringatthemulticoloredmessofmyfavoritethingsspillingoutfromthecupboardunderthestairs,andfeltforaweirdmomentthatifthecushionscouldbreatheagain,socouldI
Myphonerings;it’sKatherin.She’stheonlywriterI’dpickupthephoneforonaSaturday,mainlybecauseshe’sprobablyringingmeaboutsomethinghilariousshe’sdone,liketweetingawildlyinappropriatepictureofherselffromtheeightieswithanow-very-importantpolitician,ordip-dyeingherelderlymother’shair.
“How’smyfavoriteeditor?”sheaskswhenIpickup.
“Allmovedintomynewhome!”Itellher,gesturingforMotoputthekettleon.Helooksmildlypeevedbutdoessoallthesame.
“Perfect!Brilliant!WhatareyoudoingWednesday?”Katherinasks.
“Justwork,”Itellher,mentallyscanningmydiary.Actually,IhaveatediousmeetingonWednesdaywithourdirectorofInternationalBookRightstotalkaboutthenewbookIcommissionedlastsummerfromadebutbricklayer-turned-trendy-designer.It’sherjobtosellitabroad.WhenIacquireditItalkedalot(butreallyquitevaguely)abouthisinternationalsocialmediapresence,whichasithappensisratheralotsmallerthanImadeitouttobe.She’salwaysemailingmefor“moredetail”and“specificbreakdownsofreachbyterritory.”It’sgettingtothepointwhereIcan’tavoidheranylonger,evenwithmywallofstealthypottedplants.
“Great!”saysKatherin,whoisbeingsuspiciouslyenthusiastic.“Ihavesomereallygoodnewsforyou.”
“Oh,yes?”I’mhopingforearlymanuscriptdelivery,orasuddenchangeofheartaboutthechapteronhatsandscarfs.She’sbeenthreateningtoremoveit,whichwouldbedisastrousasthat’stheonlypartthatmakesthebookremotelysellable.
“TheSeaBreezeAwaypeoplerescheduledmyliveHowtoCrochetYourOwnClothesFastshowtotheirWednesdaycruiselastminute.Soyoucanhelpmewiththecruiseafterall.”
Hmm.Thistimeitwouldbeinworkhours—andwouldputoffthatconversationwiththerightsdirectorforatleastanotherweek.WhatwouldIprefer:gettingdressedinhomemadecrochetwaistcoatsonacruiseshipwithKatherin,orgettingbollockedbytherightsdirectorinameetingroomwithnowindows?
“Allright.I’lldoit.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly,”Isay,acceptingMo’stea.“I’mnotdoinganytalking,though.Andyou’renotallowedtomanhandlemeasmuchasyoudidlasttime.Ihadbruisesfordays.”
“Thetrialsandtribulationsoflifeasamodel,eh,Tiffy,”Katherinsays,andIhaveasneakingsuspicionthatshe’slaughingatme.
Everyone’sgone.It’sjustme,inmyflat.
ObviouslyI’vebeensuperchirpyalldayandhavemadesuretogiveMo,Gerty,andKaynoindicationthatmovingintoLeon’sflatisatallweirdoremotional.
Butitisabitweird.AndIfeellikecryingagain.Ilookatmylovelytie-dyedblanketlyingacrossthefootofthebedandallIcanthinkisthatitreallyclasheswithLeon’sduvetcover,whichhasmanlyblackandgraystripes,andthatthere’snothingIcandoaboutthatbecausethisisasmuchLeon’sbedasmine,whoeverthisLeonmanis,andthathissemi-nakedorpossiblyfullynakedbodysleepsunderneaththatduvet.Ihadn’treallyconfrontedthelogisticsofthebedsituationuntilthismoment,andnowthatI’mdoingit,Iamnotenjoyingtheexperience.
Myphonebuzzes.It’sKay.
Ihopemovinginallwentsmoothly.Helpyourselftoanyfoodfromthefridge(untilyougetfullysettledanddoyourownshop).Leonhasaskedthatyoupleasesleepontheleftsideofthebed.Kayxx
That’sit.I’mcrying.Thisisreallybloodyweird.WhoevenisthisLeonguy?WhyhaveInotmethimyet?Ithinkaboutringinghim—Ihavehisnumberfromtheadvert—butit’sprettyclearKaywantstobetheonehandlingthings.
Isniff,wipemyeyeshard,andwanderovertothefridge.It’sactuallysurprisinglyfullforsomeonewhoworkslonghours.Ihelpmyselftoraspberryjamandmargarine,andlocatethebreadabovethetoaster.OK.
HiKay.I’mallmovedin,thanks—theflatisfeelingreallycozy!Thanksforconfirmingresideofthebed.
It’sabitoverlyformalfordiscussingwhosleepsontheleftorright,butIsenseKaywouldpreferthatwedon’tallgettoofriendly.
Itypeoutafewqueriesabouttheflat—where’sthelightswitchfortheoutsidehall,canIplugintheTV,thatsortofthing.Then,jamontoastinhand,Iheadbacktothebedroomandcontemplatewhetheritwilllooktoopassiveaggressivetoremakethebedwithmyownsheets.SurelyLeonwouldhaveputfreshlylaunderedonesoninthecircumstances.But…whatifhehasn’t?Oh,god,nowthethoughtisthere—I’mgoingtohavetochangethem.IyankuphismattresscoverwithmyeyesscrewedshutlikeI’mafraidofseeingsomethingIdon’twantto.
Right.Theprobably-already-cleansheetsareinthewashingmachine,mylovelydefinitely-cleanonesareonthebed,andI’mslightlybreathlesswithalltheactivity.Onsecondlook,theroomdoesfeelmoremethanitdidwhenIgothere.Yes,theduvetcoverisstillwrong(Ifeltchangingthatwouldlookalittlebitpointed)andthereareweirdbooksontheshelves(noneaboutmakingyourownclothes!I’llsoonfixthat),butwithmybitsandbobsaroundtheplaceandmydressesinthewardrobeand…yes,I’lljustpulltheblanketallthewayuptocovertheduvet,justfornow.Muchbetter.
AsI’mrearrangingtheblanketInoticeablackplasticsackstickingoutfromunderthebed,withsomethingwoolenfloppingoutofitontothefloor.Imusthaveleftonebinbagunpacked;Idragitouttocheckthecontents.
It’sfullofscarfs.Amazingwoolenscarfs.They’renotmine,butthecraftsmanshipisbeautiful—ittakesrealtalenttoknitandcrochetlikethis.Theyshouldbemine.I’dpaymoneythatIdonothaveforthesescarfs.
BelatedlyIrealizeI’mrummagingthroughwhatmustbeLeon’sstuff—andsomethinghe’skeepingunderthebed,too,soprobablydoesn’twanteveryonelookingat.IletmyselflingerovertheweaveforasecondortwolongerbeforeIpushthebagbacktowhereitcamefrom,carefultoleaveithowitwas.Iwonderwhatthesignificanceofallthosescarfsis.Youdon’tkeepthatmanyhandmadescarfsfornoreason.
ItoccurstomethatLeoncouldactuallybeanykindofweird.Keepingscarfsisn’tinitselfweird,butitcouldbethetipoftheiceberg.Plustherewasquitealargenumberofscarfsinthere—atleastten.Whatifhestolethem?Shit.Whatiftheyaretrophiesofthewomenhemurdered?
Maybehe’saserialkiller.Awinter-basedkillerwhoonlystrikesinscarfweather.
Ineedtocallsomeone.Beingalonewiththescarfsismakingmefeelgenuinelyabitscared,and,asaconsequence,abitmad.
“What’sup?”Rachelsayswhensheanswers.
“IamworriedLeonmightbeaserialkiller,”Iannounce.
“Why?Hashetriedtokillyouorsomething?”
Rachelsoundsabitdistracted.Iamconcernedthatshe’snottakingthisseriouslyenough.
“No,no,I’venotmethimyet.”
“You’vemethisgirlfriend,though,right?”
“Yeah,why?”
“Well,doyouthinksheknows?”
“What?”
“Aboutthemurdering.”
“Umm.No?Isupposenot?”Kaydoesseemverynormal.
“She’saprettyunobservantsortofwoman,then.Youmanagedtospotthesignsinjustoneeveningaloneinhisflat.Thinkhowmuchtimeshemusthavespentthere,andseentheverysamesigns,andnotfollowedthemthroughtotheironlylogicalconclusion!”
Thereisapause.Rachel’spointisdeceptivelysimplebutverywellmade.
“Youareanexcellentfriend,”Itellhereventually.
“Iknow.You’rewelcome.Ishouldgo,though,I’monadate.”
“Oh,god,sorry!”
“Nah,noworries,hedoesn’tmind,doyou,Reggie?Hesayshedoesn’tmind.”
Thereisamufflednoiseattheotherend.Isuddenlycan’thelpwonderingifRachelcurrentlyhasReggietiedtosomething.
“I’llleaveyoutoit,”Isay.“Loveyou.”
“Loveyou,too,babe.No,notyou,Reggie,pipedown.”8LEON
Hollow-cheeked,tired-eyedHollylooksupatmefrombed.Seemslittler.Inalldimensions,too—wrists,tuftygrowing-backhair…everythingbuttheeyes
Shegrinsatmeweakly.
Holly:Youwereherelastweekend.
Me:Inandout.Theyneededmyhelp.Short-staffed.
Holly:IsitbecauseIaskedforyou?
Me:Absolutelynot.Youknowyou’remyleastfavoritepatient.
Biggergrin.
Holly:Wereyouhavinganiceweekendwithyourgirlfriendwiththeshorthair?
Me:Yes,actually.
Looksdecidedlymischievous.Don’twanttogethopesupbutsheisvisiblybetter—thatsmilewasnowheretobeseenlastweekend.
Holly:Andyouhadtoleaveherbehindbecauseofme!
Me:Short-staffing,Holly.Hadtoleaveh—comeintoworkbecauseofshort-staffing.
Holly:Ibetshewasannoyedthatyoulikemebetterthanher.
Socha,thejuniordoctor,leansinpastthecurtaintogetmyattention.
Socha:Leon.
Me,toHolly:Backinasec,homewrecker.
Me,toSocha:And?
Shebreaksintoabig,tiredsmile.
Socha:Bloodsjustin.Theantibioticsarefinallyhavinganeffect.JustgotoffthephonewiththeGOSHmedreg,hesaidasshe’simprovingshedoesn’tneedtogobackintohospital.Socialservicesareonboardwiththataswell.
Me:Antibioticsareworking?
Socha:Yep.CRPandwhitecellcountbothfalling,nomorefevers,lactatenormal.Observationsallstable.
Thereliefisinstant.Nothingquitelikethatfeelingofsomeonegettingbetter.
Good-moodglowresultingfromHolly’sbloodsbuoysmeallthewayhome.Teenssmokingjointonstreetcornerseempositivelycherubic.Smellymanonbusremovingsockstoscratchhisfeetevokesonlygenuinesympathy.EvenaLondoner’strueenemy,theslow-movingtourist,justmakesmesmileindulgently.
Alreadyplanningexcellentninea.m.dinnerasIletmyselfintotheflat.ThefirstthingInoticeisthesmell.Itsmells…womanly.Likespicyincenseandflowerstalls.
ThenextthingInoticeisthesheerquantityofcrapinmylivingroom.Enormousheapofbooksupagainstbreakfastbar.Cow-shapedcushiononsofa.Lavalamp—lavalamp!—oncoffeetable.Whatisthis?IsEssexwomanholdingajumblesaleinourflat?
Inaslightdaze,Igotodropmykeysintheirusualspot(whennotoptingforbottomoflaundrybasket)andfindithasbeenoccupiedbyamoneyboxshapedlikeSpottheDog.Thisisunbelievable.It’slikeaterribleepisodeofChangingRooms.Flathasbeenredecoratedtolookimmeasurablyworse.Canonlyconcludethatshewasdoingitonpurpose—nobodycouldbethistastelessaccidentally.
RackbrainstorememberwhatKayactuallytoldmeaboutthiswoman.She’sa…bookeditor?Soundslikeprofessionofreasonablepersonwithtaste?FeelfairlycertainthatKaymadenomentionofEssexwomanbeingabizarre-objectcollector.Andyet.
Isinkintoanearbybeanbagandsitforawhile.ThinkofthethreehundredandfiftypoundsIwouldotherwisenothavebeenabletogivetoSalthismonth.Decidethisisnotsobad—beanbagisexcellent,forinstance:It’spatternedwithpaisleyandremarkablycomfortable.Andlavalamphascomedicvalue.Whohasalavalampthesedays?
Noticemysheetshangingofftheclotheshorseinthecorneroftheroom—she’swashedthem.Irritating,asIwenttogreatlengthstowashthoseandwaslateforshiftasaresult.ButmustrememberthatannoyingEssexwomandoesnotactuallyknowme.WouldnotknowthatIwouldobviouslycleansheetsbeforeinvitingstrangertosleepinthem.
Eh.What’sthebedroomgoingtolooklike?
Venturein,intrepid.Letoutastrangledwail.Itlookslikesomeonevomitedrainbowsandcalicoinhere,coveringeverysurfaceincolorsthatdonotbelongtogetherinnature.Horrific,moth-eatenblanketoverbed.Enormousbeigesewingmachinetakingupmostofdesk.Andclothes…clotheseverywhere
Thiswomanownsmoreclothesthanarespectablysizedshopwouldstock.HasclearlynotbeenabletomanagewiththehalfofwardrobeIfreedupforher,sohashungupdressesonbackofdoor,allalongwall—fromoldpicturerail,actuallyquiteresourceful—andoverbackofnow-almost-invisiblechairunderwindow.
ConsiderringingherandPuttingFootDownforapproximatelythreesecondsbeforereachinginevitableconclusionthatthatwouldbeawkwardand,inafewdays,Iwillhavestoppedcaring.Probablystoppednoticing,actually.Still.Rightnow,opinionofEssexwomanhasreachednewlow.I’mabouttoheadbacktospotonveryinvitingbeanbagwhenInoticethebin-bagofthescarfsMr.Priorknittedme,pokingoutfromunderbed.
Forgotaboutthose.EssexwomanmaythinkI’moddifshefindsbagoffourteenhand-knittedscarfsstashedunderbed.Havebeenmeaningtotakethemtothecharityshopforever,butofcourseEssexwomanwon’tknowthat.Haven’tactuallymether;don’twanthertothinkI’m,youknow.Ascarfcollectororsomething.
GrabpenandpaperandscrawlFORCHARITYSHOPonaPost-it,thenstickittobag.There.Justtoremindmyself,incaseIforget.
Nowtothebeanbagfordinner,andbed.Sotiredthateventhehorribletie-dyedbedblanketisbeginningtolookattractive.9TIFFY
So,hereIam.Onthefreezingcolddock.In“neutralclothingIcanworkwith”accordingtoKatherin,whoisbeamingcheekilyatme,thewindwhippingherstraw-blondhairagainsthercheeksaswewaitforthecruiseshiptobattendownthehatch,orturnthreesailstothewind,orwhateveritistheseshipsdoinordertoletpeopleonboard.
“Youhavetheperfectproportionsforthissortofthing,”Katherinistellingme.“You’remyfavoritemodel,Tiffy.Really.Thisisgoingtobeanabsolutescream.”
Iraiseaneyebrow,lookingouttosea.Idon’tseeavastselectionofothermodelsforKatherintochoosefrom.Ihavealso,overtheyears,gottenabittiredofpeoplelaudingmy“proportions.”Thethingis,I’mlikeGertyandMo’sflatinreverse—justabout20percentbiggerthantheaveragewoman,inalldirections.MymotherlikestodeclarethatIam“big-boned”becausemyfatherwasalumberjackinhisyouth(washe?Iknowhe’sold,butdidn’tlumberjacksonlyexistinfairytales?).IcanbarelywalkintoaroomwithoutsomeonehelpfullyinformingmethatIamverytallforawoman.
Sometimesitannoyspeople,likeI’mpurposefullytakingupmoreroomthanI’mallowed,andsometimesitintimidatesthem,especiallywhenthey’reusedtolookingdownatwomenthey’retalkingto,butmostlyitjustmakesthemcomplimentmeonmy“proportions”alot.Ithinkwhatthey’rereallysayingis,“Gosh,you’rebig,butwithoutbeingparticularlyfat!”or,“Welldoneonbeingtallbutnotlanky!”Orperhaps,“Youareconfusingmygendernormsbybeingverywoman-shapeddespitethefactthatyouaretheheightandwidthofanaveragemale!”
“You’rethesortofwomantheSovietsliked,”Katheringoeson,oblivioustomyraisedeyebrow.“Youknow,ontheirpostersaboutwomenworkingthelandwhilethemenwereoutfighting,thatsortofthing.”
“Wearalotofcrochet,didthey,theSovietwomen?”Iaskrathertetchily.It’sdrizzling,andthesealooksverydifferentfromabusydocklikethis—it’salotlessglamorousthanwhenyou’reonthebeach.It’sbasicallyjustabigcoldsaltybath,really.Iwonderhowwarmtherightsdirectorisnow,inhermeetingabouttheinternationalreachofourspringseasontitles.
“Possibly,possibly,”Katherinmuses.“Goodidea,Tiffy!Whatdoyouthink—achapteronthehistoryofcrochetinthenextbook?”
“No,”Itellherfirmly.“Thatwon’tbepopularwithyourreaders.”
YouhavetonipideasinthebudfastwithKatherin.AndI’mdefinitelyrightonthisone.Nobodywantshistory—theyjustwantanideaforanewcrochetitemtheycangivetheirgrandsontodroolon.
“But—”
“I’mjustconveyingthebrutalityofthemarkettoyou,Katherin,”Isay.That’soneofmyfavoritelines.Goodoldmarket,alwaystheretobeblamed.“Thepeopledon’twanthistoryintheircrochetbooks.Theywantcutepicturesandeasyinstructions.”
Onceallourdocumentshavebeencheckedwefileonboard.Youcan’treallytellwherethedockendsandtheboatbegins—it’sjustlikewalkingintoabuildinganddevelopingveryslightlight-headedness,asthoughthefloorisshiftingalittlebeneathyou.Ithoughtwemightgetadifferent,moreexcitingwelcomeforbeingspecialguestswho’vebeeninvitedhere,butwe’rejusttraipsingonwiththerestoftheriffraff.Allofwhomareatleasttwentytimesricherthanme,obviously,andmuchbetterdressed.
It’sactuallyprettysmallforacruiseship—soonlythesizeof,say,Portsmouth,ratherthanLondon.We’reshuffledpolitelyintoacornerofthe“entertainmentarea”towaitforourcue.We’retosetupaftertheguestshavehadlunch.
Nobodybringsuslunch.Katherin,ofcourse,hasbroughtherownsandwiches.They’resardine.Shecheerfullyoffersmeone,whichisactuallyverysweetofher,andeventuallymystomach-rumblinggetssobadthatIconcededefeatandacceptit.I’mtwitchy.ThelasttimeIwasonacruiseitwasthroughGreekislandswithJustin,andIwaspositivelyglowingwithloveandpost-sexhormones.Now,huddledinacornerwiththreeAldibagsofknittingneedles,crochethooks,andwool,accompaniedbyanex-hippieandasardinesandwich,Icannolongerdenythefactthatmylifehastakenaturnfortheworse.
“Sowhat’stheplan,then?”IaskKatherin,nibblingthecrustsoffthesandwich.Thefishinessisn’tsobadattheedges.“WhatdoIneedtodo?”
“I’lldemonstratehowtotakemeasurementsfromyoufirst,”Katherinsays.“ThenI’lltalkthroughthebasicstitchesforanybeginners,thenI’llusemypre-preparedbitstoshowthemthetricksofcompilingyourselfaperfectlyfittedoutfit!And,ofcourse,I’llshowthemmyfivetoptipsformeasuringasyougo.”
“Measuringasyougo”isoneofKatherin’scatchphrases.Ithasyettocatchon.
Intheend,whenit’sfinallytimeforustokickoff,wegatherquiteacrowd.Katherinknowshowtodothat—sheprobablypracticedatralliesandthings,backindaysofyore.It’slargelyacrowdofoldladiesandtheirhusbands,butthereareafewyoungerwomenintheirtwentiesandthirties,andevenacoupleofguys.I’mquiteencouraged.MaybeKatherin’srightthatcrochetisontheup.
“Abighandformyglamorousassistant!”Katherinissaying,asthoughwe’reputtingonamagicshow.Actually,themagicianintheothercorneroftheentertainmentareaislookingprettymiffed.
Everyoneclapsformedutifully.Itrytolookcheerfulandcrochet-ish,butI’mstillchillyandIfeeldrabinmyneutralclothing—whitejeans,palegrayT-shirt,andalovelywarmpinkcardiganthatIthoughtI’dsoldsometimelastyearbutrediscoveredinmywardrobethismorning.It’stheonlycolorfulelementtothisoutfit,andIcantellKatherinisaboutto…
“Cardiganoff!”shesays,alreadyundressingme.Thisissoundignified.Andcold.“Areyouallpayingcloseattention?Phonesaway,please!WemanagedwithoutcheckingFacebookeveryfiveminutesintheColdWar,didn’twe?Hmm?That’sright,abitofperspectiveforyouall!Phonesaway,that’sit!”
Itrynottolaugh.That’strademarkKatherin—shealwayssaysbringinguptheColdWarstartlespeopleintosubmission.
Shestartsmeasuringme—neck,shoulders,bust,waist,hips—anditoccurstomethatmymeasurementsarenowbeingreadouttoareallyquitelargegroupofpeople,whichmakesmyurgetolaughevenmorepowerful.It’stheclassic,isn’tit—you’renotallowedtolaughandsuddenlythat’swhatyouwanttodomorethananything.
Katherinshootsmeawarninglookasshemeasuresmyhips,chattingawayaboutpleatingtocreatesufficient“roomforthebuttocks,”andnodoubtfeelinghowmybodyisbeginningtoshakewithsuppressedlaughter.IknowIneedtobeprofessional.IknowIcan’tjustburstoutlaughingrightnow—it’lltotallyundermineher.But…lookatme.Thatoldladyovertherejustwrotedownmyinnerthighmeasurementinhernotebook.Andthatguyatthebacklooks—
Thatguyattheback…that…
That’sJustin.
HemovesawaywhenIclockit’shim,slippingoffintothecrowd.Butfirst,beforehegoes,heholdsmygaze.Itsendsashockrightthroughme,becauseit’snotyourordinaryeyecontact.It’saverydistinctsortofeyecontact.Thesortyougetlockedintointhemomentjustbeforeyoutossatwentyonthetableandscrambleoutofthepubtomakeoutinacabhome,orinthemomentwhenyouputdownthewineglassandheadupstairstobed.
It’ssexeyecontact.Hiseyessay,I’mundressingyouinmyhead.Themanwholeftmemonthsago,whohasn’tpickeduponeofmycallssince,whosefiancéeisprobablyonthisverycruisewithhim…he’sgivingmethatlook.AndinthatmomentIammoreexposedthananynumberofelderlyladieswithnotebookscouldmakemefeel.Ifeelcompletelynaked.10LEON
Me:Youcouldhavefoundeachotheragain.Lovefindsaway,Mr.Prior!Lovefindsaway!
Mr.Priorisunconvinced.
Mr.Prior:Nooffense,lad,butyouweren’tthere—that’snothowitworked.Ofcourse,therewerelovelystories,girlswhothoughttheirladswerelongdead,thencamehometofindthemtraipsingupthepathintheiruniform,freshasadaisy…butforeveryoneofthose,therewerehundredsofstoriesofloverswhonevercameback.Johnny’sprobablydead,andifhe’snot,he’slongsincemarriedtosomegentlemanorladysomewhereandI’mforgotten.
Me:Butyousaidhewasn’tonthatlist.
I’mwavingahandatthelistofwardeadIprinted,unsurewhyI’mpushingthispointsohard.Mr.Priorhasn’taskedtofindJohnny;hewasjustpining.Reminiscing.
ButIseealotofelderlypeoplehere.I’musedtoreminiscing;I’musedtopining.Feltthiswasdifferent.IfeltMr.Priorhadunfinishedbusiness.
Mr.Prior:Idon’tthinkso,no.Butthen,I’maforgetfuloldman,andyourcomputersystemisanewfangledthing,soeitherofuscouldbewrong,couldn’twe?
Hegivesmeagentlesmile,likeI’mdoingthisforme,nothim.Lookcloserathim.ThinkofallthenightswhenI’vearrivedtochatteraboutvisitorsfromotherpatients,andhaveseenMr.Priorsittingquietlyinthecorner,handsinhislap,facefoldedinneatwrinkleslikehe’stryinghardnottolooksad.
Me:Humorme.Tellmethefacts.Regiment?Birthplace?Distinctivefeatures?Familymembers?
Mr.Prior’slittle,beadyeyeslookupatme.Heshrugs.Smiles.Itfoldshispapery,age-spottedface,shiftingthetanlineslikeinkonhisneck,lefttherefromdecadesofshirtcollarsofpreciselythesamewidth.
Hegivesaslightshakeofthehead,likehe’lltellsomeonelaterhowbarmythesemodernnursesare,butstartstalkingallthesame.
Thursdaymorning.RingMamforshort,difficultconversationonbus.
Mam,bleary:Istherenews?
Thishasbeencustomarygreetingformonths.
Leon:Sorry,Mam.
Mam:ShallIcallSal?
Leon:No,no.I’mdealingwithit.
Long,miserablesilence.Wewallowinit.Then:
Mam,witheffort:Sorry,sweetheart,howareyou?
Returnhomeafterwardtofindpleasantsurprise:home-bakedoatbarsonsideboard.They’refilledwithcolorfuldriedfruitandseeds,likeEssexwomencannotresistclashingcolorseveninfood,butthisseemslessobjectionablewhenIseethenotebesidethetray.
Helpyourself!Hopeyouhadagooddaynight.Tiffyx
Anexcellentdevelopment.Willdefinitelyendurehighlevelsofclutterandnoveltylampsforthreehundredandfiftypoundspermonthandfreefood.HelpmyselftolargestbarandsettledownwithittowritetoRichie,fillinghiminonHolly’scondition.She’s“KnaveGirl”inmyletterstohim,andabitofacaricatureofherself—sharper,snarkier,cuter.Ireachforanotheroatbarwithoutlooking,fillingpagetwowithdescriptionsofthestrangerEssex-womanitems,someofwhicharesoridiculousIthinkRichiewon’tbelieveme.AnironintheshapeofIronMan.Actualclownshoes,hungonthewalllikeaworkofart.Cowboybootswithspurs,whichIcanonlyconcludeshewearsregularly,lookingathowworntheyare.
Noticeabsently,asIfiddlewiththestamp,thatIhaveeatenfouroatbars.Hopeshereallymeant“helpyourself.”Whilepenisinhand,scribbleonbackofhernote.
Thanks.SodeliciousIaccidentallyatemostofthem.
Pausebeforefinishingthenote.FeelIneedtorepayherinsomething.Therereallyarehardlyanyoatbarsremainingintray.
Thanks.SodeliciousIaccidentallyatemostofthem.Leftovermushroomstroganoffinfridgeifyouneeddinner(onaccountofhavinghardlyanyoatbarsleft).Leon.
Bettermakemushroomstroganoffnow.
Thatwasnottheonlynoteleftformethismorning.There’sthisoneonthebathroomdoor.
HiLeon,
Wouldyoumindputtingthetoiletseatdownplease?
I’mafraidIwasunabletowritethisnoteinawaythatdidn’tsoundpassiveaggressive—seriously,it’ssomethingaboutthenoteform,youpickupapenandaPost-itandyouimmediatelybecomeabitch—soI’mjuststylingitout.Imightputsomesmileyfacestoreallyhammerthethinghome.
Tiffyx
Therearesmileyfacesallalongthebottomofthenote.
Isnortwithlaughter.OneofthesmileyfaceshasabodyandispissingtowardthecornerofthePost-it.Wasn’texpectingthat.Notsurewhy—Idon’tknowthiswoman—buthadn’timaginedshehadmuchofasenseofhumor.MaybebecauseallherbooksareaboutDIY.11TIFFY
“Thatisridiculous.”
“Iknow,”Isay.
“Thatwasit?”Rachelyells.Iflinch.LastnightIdrankabottleofwine,panic-bakedoatbars,andbarelyslept;I’malittlefragileforshouting.
We’resatinthe“creativespace”atwork—it’sliketheothertwoButterfingersPressmeetingrooms,exceptannoyinglyitdoesn’thaveaproperdoor(toconveyasenseofopenness),andtherearewhiteboardsonthewalls.Somebodyusedthemonce;nowthenotesfromtheircreativesessionareengrainedindried-outwhiteboardmarker,totallyincomprehensible.Rachelhasprintedoutthelayoutswe’remeetingtodiscuss,andthey’respreadoutacrossthetablebetweenus.It’sthebloodyPat-a-Cakebakingbook,andyoucanreallytellIwashungoverandinarushwhenIeditedthisthefirsttimeround.
“You’retellingmethatyouseeJustinonacruiseshipandthenhegivesyouanIwanttofuckyoustareandthenyougoonaboutyourbusinessanddon’tseehimagain?”
“Iknow,”Isayagain,positivelymiserable.
“Ridiculous!Whydidn’tyougolookingforhim?”
“IwasbusywithKatherin!Who,bytheway,gavemeanactualinjury,”Itellher,yankingmyponchooutofthewaytoshowhertheangryredmarkwhereKatherinprettymuchstabbedmyarmmid-demonstration.
Rachelgivesitacursorylook.“Ihopeyoubroughthermanuscriptdeliverydateforwardforthat,”shesays.“AreyousureitwasJustin?Notsomeotherwhiteguywithbrownhair?Imean,Iimagineacruiseshipis—”
“Rachel,IknowwhatJustinlookslike.”
“Right,well,”shesays,throwingherarmsoutwideandsendinglayoutsslidingacrossthetable.“Ican’tbelievethis.It’ssuchananticlimax.Ireallythoughtyourstorywasgoingtoendwithsexinacabinbunk!Oronthedeck!Or,or,orinthemiddleoftheocean,onadinghy!”
WhatactuallyhappenedwasthatIspenttherestofthesessioninparalyzed,panickysuspense,desperatelytryingtolooklikeIwaslisteningtoKatherin’sinstructions—“Armsup,Tiffy!”“Watchyourhair,Tiffy!”—andsimultaneouslykeepingmyeyesonthebackofthecrowd.IdidstarttowonderifI’dimaginedit.Whatthehellwerethechances?Imean,Iknowthemanlikesacruise,butthisisaverylargecountry.Therearemanycruiseshipsfloatingaroundtheedgeofit.
“Tellmeagain,”Rachelsays,“aboutthelook.”
“Ugh,Ican’texplainit,”Itellher,layingmyforeheaddownonthepagesinfrontofme.“Ijust…Iknowthatlookfromwhenweweretogether.”Mystomachtwists.“Itwassoinappropriate.Imean—god—hisgirlfriend—Imean,hisfiancée…”
“Hesawyouacrossacrowdedroom,semi-unclothed,beinggloriouslyyou-likeandpissingaboutwithamiddle-agedeccentricauthor…andherememberedwhyheusedtofancythepantsoffyou,”Rachelconcludes.“That’swhathappened.”
“That’snot…”Butwhatdidhappen?Something,definitely.Thatlookwasn’tnothing.Ifeelalittleflutterofanxietyatthebaseofmyribs.Evenafterawholenightofthinkingaboutthis,Istillcan’tworkouthowIfeel.OneminuteJustinappearingonacruiseshipandcatchingmyeyeseemslikethemostromantic,fatefulmoment,andthenthenextIfindmyselffeelingabitshiveryandsick.Iwasalljitteryonthejourneyhomefromthedocks,too—it’sbeenawhilesinceI’vetraveledoutsideLondononmyowntoanywhereotherthanmyparents’.JustinhadarealthingabouthowIalwaysendeduponthewrongtrain,andhewassweetabouttakingjourneyswithmejustincase;asIwaitedaloneinthedarknessofSouthamptonstationIfeltcategoricallycertainI’denduptakingatraintotheOuterHebridesorsomething.
Ireachtocheckmyphone—this“meeting”withRachelisonlyinthediaryforhalfanhour,andthenIreallydoneedtoeditKatherin’sfirstthreechapters.
Ihaveonenewmessage.
Sogoodtoseeyouyesterday.Iwasthereforwork,andwhenIsaw“KatherinRosenandassistant”ontheprogram,Ithought,hey,that’sgottobeTiffy.
Onlyyoucouldlaughyourwaythroughsomeonereadingoutyourmeasurements—mostgirlswouldhatethat.ButIguessthat’swhatmakesyouspecial.Jxx
Handsshaking,IstretchthephoneouttoshowRachel.Shegasps,handstomouth.
“Helovesyou!Thatmanisstillinlovewithyou!”
“Calmdown,Rachel,”Itellher,thoughmyheartiscurrentlymakinganattemptatagetawayviamythroat.IfeelasifI’mchokingandbreathingtoomuchallatthesametime.
“Canyoutextbackandtellhimthatcommentslikethatarethereasonwomankindcaressomuchabouttheirmeasurements?Andthatbydeclaringthat‘mostgirlswouldhatethat,’heisperpetuatingthefemalebodyimageproblem,andsettingwomenupagainstoneanother,whichisoneofthegreatestproblemsfeminismfacestothisday?”
Inarrowmyeyesather,andsheflashesmeabiggrin.“Oryoucouldjustsay,‘Thanks,comeoverandshowmehowspecialIamallnightlong’?”
“Ugh.Idon’tknowwhyItalktoyou.”
“It’smeorMartin,”shepointsout,gatheringupthelayouts.“I’lltakeinthesechanges.Yougogetyourmanback,allright?”
“No,”Gertysaysimmediately.“Donottexthimthat.Heisscumoftheearthwhotreatedyoulikeshit,triedtoisolateyoufromyourfriends,andalmostcertainlycheatedonyou.Hedoesnotdeserveatextofthisniceness.”
Thereisapause.
“Whatmadeyouwanttoreplywiththatmessage,Tiffy?”Moasks,likehe’stranslatingforGerty.
“Ijust…wantedtotalktohim.”Myvoiceisverysmall.Thetirednessisstartingtoeatawayatme;I’mcurleduponmybeanbagwithahotchocolate,andMoandGertyarestaringdownatmefromthesofa,theirfacesapictureofconcern(actually,Gerty’sisn’t—shejustlooksangry).
Gertyreadsmydraftmessageoutagain.“HiJustin.Sogoodtohearfromyou.I’mjustsorrywedidn’tgettocatchupproperly,despitebeingonthesamecruiseship!Andthentwokisses.”
“Hedidtwokisses,”Isayalittledefensively.
“Thekissesarelastonmylistofthingstochangeaboutthatmessage,”Gertysays.
“AreyousureyouwanttostartupcontactwithJustinagainatall,Tiffy?Youseemalotbetterinyourselfsinceyou’vemovedoutofhisflat,”Mosays.“Iwonderifthatmightnotbeacoincidence.”HesighswhenIdon’tsayanything.“Iknowyoufindithardtothinkbadlyofhim,Tiffy,butwhateverexcusesyoucangivehimforeverythingelse,evenyoucan’tignorethefactthatheleftyouforanotherwoman.”
Iflinch.
“Sorry.Buthedid,andevenifhe’slefther,whichwedon’thaveanyevidencehehas,hestillwentoffwithher.Youcan’treasonthatawayorconvinceyourselfyou’veimaginedit,becauseyou’vemetPatricia.LookbackatthatFacebookmessage.Rememberhowitfeltwhenheturnedupwithherattheflat.”
Ugh.WhydopeoplekeepsayingthingsIdon’twanttohear?ImissRachel.
“Whatdoyouthinkhe’sdoing,Tiffy?”Moasks.He’spushingsohardallofasudden—it’smakingmesquirm.
“Beingfriendly.Tryingtogetintouchagain.”
“He’snotaskedtomeetup,”Mopointsout.
“Andthelookhegaveyouwasmorethanfriendly,bythesoundsofit,”Gertysays.
“I…”It’strue.Itwasn’tahey,I’vemissedyousomuch,Iwishwecouldtalkagainlook.Butitwas…something.It’strueIcan’tignorethefiancée,butIcan’tignorethatlookeither.Whatdiditmean?Ifhewantedto—ifhewantedtogetbacktogether…
“Wouldyou?”Gertyasks.
“WouldIwhat?”Iask,buyingmyselftime.
Shedoesn’tanswer.Sheknowsmygame.
IthinkabouthowmiserableI’vebeentheselastfewmonths,howbleakitwastosaygoodbyetohisflat.HowmanytimesI’velookedPatriciauponFacebookandcriedontomylaptopkeyboarduntilIgotabitworriedaboutelectrocution.
Iwassoluckytohavehim.Justinwasalwaysso…fun.Everythingwasawhirlwind;we’dbeflyingfromcountrytocountry,tryingeverything,stayingupuntilfourinthemorningandclimbingontotherooftowatchthesunrise.Yes,wefoughtalotandImadealotofmistakesinthatrelationship,butmostlyI’djustfeltsoluckytobewithhim.WithouthimIfeel…lost.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.“Butabigpartofmewantsto.”
“Don’tworry,”Gertysays,standingupsmartlyandpattingmeonthehead,“wewon’tletyou.”12LEON
HiLeon,
Allright,fine—thetruthis,Ipanic-bake.WhenI’msadorthingsaredifficult,bakingismygo-to.Andwhatofit?Iturnmynegativityintodelicious,calorificgoodness.Aslongasyoucan’ttastetracesofmymiseryinthecakemix,Idon’tthinkyoushouldbequestioningwhyIhavebeenbakingeverynightthisweek.
Which,asithappens,isbecausemyex-boyfriendturneduponmycruiseship*andgavemetheeyeandthenbuggeredoff.SonowI’mallmuddled.HesentmethissweettextabouthowspecialIwas,butIdidn’ttextback.Iwantedto,butmyfriendstalkedmeoutofit.They’reannoying,andusuallyrightaboutstuff.
Anyway,that’swhyyou’vehadsomuchcake.
Tiffyx
*Notmycruiseship.Nooffense,butIwouldn’tbesharingabedroomwithyouifIwasthesortofpersonwhoownedacruiseship.I’dbelivinginaScottishcastlewithtechnicolorturrets.
HiTiffy,
Sorrytohearaboutyourex.Guessingfromyourfriends’reactionsthattheydon’tthinkhe’sgoodforyou—isthatwhatyouthink?
I’mTeamExifitmeanscake.
Leon
HiLeon,
Idon’tknow—I’venotreallythoughtaboutitlikethat,actually.Mykneejerkreactionisyeah,he’sgoodforme.Butthen,Idon’tknow.Wewereveryupanddown,oneofthosecoupleseveryone’salwaystalkingabout(we’vebrokenupandgotbacktogetherafewtimesbefore).It’seasytorememberthehappytimes—andthereweretonsofthem,andtheywereawesome—butIguesssincewebrokeupI’veonlyrememberedthose.SoIknowthatbeingwithhimwasfun.Butwasitgoodforme?Ugh.Idon’tknow.
HencetheVictoriasandwichwithhomemadejam.
Tiffyx
Onalargering-boundprintoutofabook,titledBuilt:MyAmazingJourneyfromBricklayertoHigh-endInteriorDesigner:
Behonest—pickedthisupofftableasthoughtitsoundedhilariouslyrubbish.Couldn’tputitdown.Didn’tgettosleepuntilnoon.Isthismanyourex?Ifnot,canImarryhim?
Leon
HeyLeon,
I’msogladyouenjoyedthebook!Mybeautifulbricklayer-turned-designerisnotinfactmyex,andyes,heismuchmorelikelytowanttomarryyouthanme.IimagineKaywouldhaveopinionsonthesubject,though.
Tiffyx
Kaysaysamnotallowedtomarrybeautifulbricklayer-turned-designer.Shame.Shesayshi.
Goodtocatchheryesterday!ShesaysI’mmakingyoufatwithallthecake.Shemademepromisetochannelmyemotionalturmoilintohealthieroptionsfromnowon,soImadeuscarobanddatebrownies.Sorry,they’retotallydisgusting.
I’mmovingthisPost-itontoWutheringHeightsnowasIneedtotakeBuiltbacktotheoffice!x
Oncupboardabovekitchenbin:
Whenisourbindayagain?
Leon
Isthisajoke?I’velivedhereforfiveweeks!You’velivedhereforyears!Howcanyoubeaskingmewhenbindayis?!
…butyes,itwasyesterday,andweforgot.x
Oh,thoughtso…Canneverrememberifit’sTuesdayorThursday.It’sadays-beginning-with-Tthing.Difficult.
Anynewsfromtheex?You’vestoppedbaking.It’sOK,freezerstockpilewillgetmethroughforawhile,butamkeenforyoutohaveanothercrisisin,say,mid-May.
Leon
Hey,
Totalradiosilence.He’snotevenbeenupdatinghisTwitterorFacebooksoIcan’tstalkhim—soheisprobablystillwithhisfiancée(Imean,whywouldn’thebe,allhedidwaslookatmeabitfunny),andIprobablycompletelymisreadthecruise-shipmoment,andhe’sprobablyadespicablehumanbeinglikemyfriendGertysaysheis.Anyway,I’vepaidhimbackallthemoneyIowehim.Inowowethebankaterrifyingamountinstead.
Thanksfortherisotto,itwasdelicious—you’reareallygoodcookforsomeonewhoonlyevereatsmealsatthewrongtimesoftheday!
Tiffyx
Besidebakingtray:
Jesus.Didn’tknowaboutthefiancée.Orthemoney.
Doesmillionaireshortbreadmeanyougotnews?
Besidebakingtray,nowfullofcrumbs:
Nothing.He’snotevensentamessagetosayhereceivedthepayment.ThisistotallytragicbutIfoundmyselfwishingyesterdaythatI’djustkeptpayingafewhundredamonth—theninawaywe’dstillbeintouch.AndIwouldn’tbequitesodeepintomyoverdraft.
Basically,insummary,hehasn’tsaidawordtomesincethecruise-shiptext.I’mofficiallyanidiot.x
Eh.Lovemakesusallidiots—firsttimeImetKayItoldherIwasajazzmusician(saxophone).Thoughtshe’dlikeit.
Chilionhobforyou.
LeonxAPRIL13TIFFY
“IthinkI’mhavingpalpitations.”
“Nobodyhashadpalpitationssincetheoldendaysfinished,”Rachelinformsme,takinganunacceptablylargesipofthelattetheheadofEditorialboughtme(everysooftenhefeelsguiltyforButterfingersnotpayingmeenoughandsplashesout￡2.20onacoffeetoassuagehisconscience).
“Thisbook.Is.Killingme,”Isay.
“Thesaturatedfatinyourlunchiskillingyou.”RachelprodsthebananabreadI’mcurrentlymunchingmywaythrough.“Yourbakingisgettingworse.BywhichImeanbetter,obviously.Whyaren’tyougettingfatter?”
“Iam,butI’mjustbiggerthanyou,soyoudon’tnoticethedifferenceasmuch.Istashmynewcakeweightinbitsyouwon’tspot.Liketheupperarm,forinstance.Orthecheek.I’mgettingroundercheeks,don’tyouthink?”
“Edit,woman!”Rachelsays,slappingahandonthelayoutsbetweenus.Ourweeklycatch-upsaboutKatherin’sbooksoonbecamedailycatch-upsasMarchslippedby;now,facedwiththeterrifyingrealizationthatitisAprilandourprintdateisonlyacoupleofmonthsaway,theyhavebecomedailycatch-upsanddailylunches.“Andwhenareyougettingmethephotosofthehatsandscarfs?”Racheladds.
Oh,god.Thehatsandscarfs.Iwakeupinthemiddleofthenightthinkingabouthatsandscarfs.Thereisnoagencyfreetotakeonmakingthematsuchshortnotice,andKatherinreallydoesn’thavetime.Contractuallyshedoesn’thavetomakeallthesamplesherself—thisisamistakeIwillnevermakeagainatnegotiationstage—soIhavenoammunitiontomakeherdoit.Itriedactualbegging,butshetoldme,notunkindly,thatIwasembarrassingmyself.
Igazemournfullyatmybananabread.“Thereisnosolution,”Isay.“Theendisnigh.Thebookisgoingtogotoprintwithnopicturesinthehatsandscarfschapter.”
“No,itbloodywellisn’t,”Rachelsays.“Forstarters,you’venotgotenoughwordstofillthespace.Edit!Andthenthinkofsomething!Anddoitfast!”
Ugh.WhydoIlikeheragain?
WhenIgethomeIputthekettleonstraightaway—it’sacup-of-teasortofevening.There’sanoldnotefromLeonstuckontheundersideofthekettle.Theygeteverywhere,thesePost-its.
Leon’smugisstillbythesink,halffullofmilkycoffee.Healwaysdrinksitthatway,fromthesamechippedwhitemugwithacartoonrabbitontheside.Everynightthatmugwilleitherbeonthissideofthesink,halfdrunk,whichIguessmeanshewaspushedfortime,orwasheduponthedrainingboard,whichIassumemeanshemanagedtogetupwiththealarm.
Theflatisprettyhomelynow.IhadtoletLeonreclaimsomeofthespaceinthelivingarea—sometimelastmonthheremovedhalfofmycushionsandputtheminapileinthehallwithalabelreading,“IAmFinallyPuttingMyFootDown(sorry)”—buthemayhavebeenrightthattherewereafewtoomany.Itwasgettingquitehardtositonthesofa.
Thebedisstillthestrangestpartofthiswholeflatsharingthing.ForthefirstmonthorsoIputmyownsheetsonandtookthemoffagaineverymorning,andI’dlieonthefarthestedgeofmyleft-handside,mypillowpulledawayfromhis.ButnowIdon’tbotheralternatingthesheets—Ionlylieonmysideanyway.It’sreallyallquitenormal.Ofcourse,Istillhaven’tactuallymetmyflatmate,whichIacknowledgeistechnicallyquiteweird,butwe’vestartedleavingeachothernotesmoreandmoreoftennow—sometimesIforgetwehaven’thadtheseconversationsinperson.
Ichuckmybagdownandcollapseonthebeanbagwhiletheteabrews.IfI’mhonestwithmyself,I’mwaiting.I’vebeenwaitingformonthsnow,eversinceIsawJustin.
Surelyhe’sgoingtogetintouchwithme.OK,soIneverrepliedtohistext—somethingIstillintermittentlyhateGertyandMofornotlettingmedo—buthegavemethatlookonthecruiseship.Obviouslyit’snowbeensolongthatI’vealmostentirelyforgottenthelookitself,andit’sjustacompilationofdifferentexpressionsIrememberonJustin’sface(or,maybemorerealistically,rememberfromallhisFacebookphotos)…butstill.Atthetimeitfeltvery…OK,Istilldon’tknowwhatitfelt.Verysomething
AsmoretimepassesI’vefoundmyselfthinkingabouthowweirditwasthatJustinwasonthatverycruiseshipontheonedaythatKatherinandIweredoingtheHowtoCrochetYourOwnClothesFastshow.Asmuchasthethoughtappeals,itcan’thavebeenbecausehecamespeciallytoseeme—wewererescheduledatthelastminutesohewouldn’thaveknownIwasgoingtobethere.Plushistextsaidhewasthereforwork,whichisperfectlyplausible—heworksforanentertainmentcompanywhicharrangesshowsforthingslikecruisesandtoursofLondon.(Iwasalwaysabithazyonthedetails,tobehonest.Itallseemedverylogisticalandstressful.)
Soifhedidn’tcomeonpurpose,thendoesn’titfeelabitlikefate?
Igrabmyteaandwanderintothebedroom,atalooseend.Idon’tevenwanttogetbacktogetherwithJustin,doI?Thisisthelongestwe’veeverbeenbrokenup,anditdoesfeeldifferentfromtheothertimes.Maybebecauseheleftmeforawomanhethenpromptlyproposedto.It’sprobablythat.
Infact,Ishouldn’tevencarewhetherhe’sgoingtogetintouchwithme.Whatdoesthatsayaboutme,thatI’mwaitingforamanwhomostlikelycheatedonmetogivemeacall?
“Itsaysthatyou’reloyalandtrusting,”Mosays,whenIringhimandaskthisveryquestion.“TheexactqualitiesthatmeanJustinislikelytotryandgetintouchagain.”
“Youthinkhewill,too?”IrealizeI’mtwitchy,jumpy,hungryforreassurance,whichannoysmeevenmore.IstarttidyingmyGilmoreGirlsDVDsintothecorrectorder,toojitterytostandstill.There’sanothernotejammedbetweenseriesoneandtwo;Iyankitlooseandskimoverit.I’dbeentryingtopersuadeLeontotryactuallyusingourtelevision,offeringhimmyveryhigh-qualityDVDcollectionasaplacetostart.Hewasnotconvinced.
“Almostcertainly,”Mosays.“ThatseemstobeJustin’sway.But…areyousureyouwanthimto?”
“I’dlikehimtotalktome.Oratleastacknowledgeme.Idon’tknowwherehisheadisat.Heseemedsomadatmeabouttheflat,butthenthatmessageafterIsawhimonthecruiseshipwasreallysweet,so…Idon’tknow.Iwanthimtocall.Ugh.”Iclenchmyeyesshut.“Whyisthat?”
“Maybeyouspentalotoftimebeingtoldyoucouldn’tmanagewithouthim,”Mosaysgently.“Thatwouldexplainwhyyouwanthimback,evenwhenyoudon’twanthim.”
Iflounderaroundlookingforachangeofsubject.ThelatestepisodeofSherlock?Thenewassistantatwork?ButIfindIdon’tevenhavetheenergytobediverting.
Mowaitsquietly.“It’strue,though,isn’tit?”hesays.“Imean,haveyouthoughtaboutdatinganyoneelse?”
“Icoulddatesomeoneelse,”Iprotest.
“Hmm.”Hesighs.“Howdidthatlookonthecruiseshipreallymakeyoufeel,Tiffy?”
“Idon’tknow.Itwasagesagonow.Iguess…itwaskindof…sexy?Andnicetobewanted?”
“Youweren’tafraid?”
“What?”
“Didyoufeelafraid?Didthelookmakeyoufeelsmaller?”
Ifrown.“Mo,giveitarest.Itwasjustalook.Hedefinitelywasn’ttryingtoscareme—besides,Irangyoutotalkaboutwhetherhe’llevercallme,andthanks,youmademefeelabitbetteraboutthat,solet’sdrawthelinethere.”
Foralongwhilethere’ssilenceattheotherendofthephone.I’malittleshakendespitemyself.
“Thatrelationshiptookitstollonyou,Tiffy,”Mosaysgently.“Hemadeyoumiserable.”
Ishakemyhead.Imean,IknowmeandJustinargued,butwealwaysmadeupandthingsonlygotmoreromanticafterafight,soitdidn’treallycount.Itwasn’tlikewhenothercouplesargued—itwasalljustpartofthebeautiful,crazyrollercoasterthatwasourrelationship.
“It’llallsinkineventually,Tiff,”Mosays.“Whenitdoes,youjustgetonthephonetome,OK?”
Inod,notreallysurewhatI’magreeingto.FrommyvantagepointI’vejustspottedtheperfectdistractionfromhowI’mfeelingrightnow:thebagofscarfsunderLeon’sbed.TheoneIfoundonmyfirstnighthere,whichconvincedmethatLeonwasprobablysomekindofserialkiller.There’sanoteonthemwhichI’msurewasn’ttherewhenIlookedatthembefore—itsaysFORCHARITYSHOP
“Thanks,Mo,”Isayintothephone.“SeeyouSundayforcoffee.”Ihangup,alreadylookingaroundforapen.
Hey,
OK,sorryforsnoopingunder(y)ourbed.Igetthatthat’sdefinitelyunacceptable.ButthesescarfsareINCREDIBLE.Asin,designerincredible.AndIknowwe’venevertalkedaboutthisoranythingbutI’mguessingthatifyou’relettingarandomstranger(me)sleepinyourbedthenyou’redoingitbecauseyou’reshortofcash,notbecauseyou’reareallynicemanwhofeelsbadabouthowharditistogetacheapflatinLondon.
SowhileIamALLFORgivingoldclothestocharityshops(afterall,Ibuymostofmypossessionsfromcharityshops—peoplelikemeneedpeoplelikeyou),Ithinkyoushouldconsidersellingthesescarfs.You’dprobablygetaround￡200apop.
Ifyoufeellikegivingone90%offtoyourlovelyflatmate,Iwon’tobject.
Tiffyx
PS,wheredidyougetthemallfrom,bytheway?Ifyoudon’tmindmeasking.14LEON
Armsoutwide,legsakimbo.Astern-lookingprisonguardfrisksmeveryenthusiastically.SuspectIfitherprofileofpersonwhomaybringdrugsorweaponsintovisitinghall.Imagineherflickingthroughhermentalchecklist.Gender:male.Race:indeterminate,butabitbrownerthanwouldbepreferable.Age:youngenoughnottoknowbetter.Appearance:scruffy.
Trytosmileinanonthreatening,good-citizensortofway.Probablycomesacrossascocky,onreflection.Begintofeelslightlyqueasy,therealityofthisplaceseepingindespitetheeffortsIhavemadetopointedlyignorerollsofbarbedwireontopofthicksteelfences,windowlessbuildings,aggressivesignsaboutconsequencesofsmugglingdrugsintoprisons.DespitehavingdonethisatleastonceamonthsinceNovember.
Thewalkfromsecuritytothevisitinghallisperhapstheworstpart.Itinvolvesamazeofconcreteandbarbedwire,andallthewayyouareferriedbydifferentprisonguards,takingtheirkeychainsfromtheirhipsforgatesanddoorsthatneedlockingbehindyoubeforeyoucaneventakeasteptowardthenextone.It’sabeautifulspringday;theskyisjustvisibleabovethewires,tauntinglyblue.
Visitinghallisbetter.Kidstoddlebetweentables,orgetliftedoverhead,squealing,bymusclydads.Prisonerswearbright-coloredbibstodifferentiatethemfromtherestofus.Meninhigh-vizorangeinchclosertovisitinggirlfriendsthanthey’restrictlyallowedtobe,fingerswoundtight.There’smoreemotionherethanatanairportarrivalslounge.LoveActuallywasmissingatrick.
Sitatassignedtable.Wait.WhentheybringRichiein,mystomachdoesapeculiarlurch,likeit’stryingtoturninsideout.Helookstiredandunwashed,cheekshollow,headhastilyshaved.He’sinhisonlypairofjeans—won’thavewantedmetoseehimintheprison-issuedjoggers—butthey’retooloosearoundthewaistnow.Hateit,hateit,hateit.
Igetupandsmile,stretchingmyarmsoutforahug.Waitforhimtocometome;can’tleaveallocatedarea.Prisonguardslinethewalls,watchingclosely,expressionless.
Richie,slappingmeontheback:Allright,brother,you’relookinggood!
Me:You,too.
Richie:Liar.Ilooklikeshitwarmedup.Water’sbeenknockedoutaftersomesceneonEWing—noideawhenit’llcomebackon,butuntilthen,Iwouldn’trecommendtryingtousethetoilets.
Me:Noted.How’reyoudoing?
Richie:Peachy.HaveyouheardanythingfromSal?
ThoughtIcouldavoidthattopicforatleastoneminute.
Me:Yeah.He’ssorryaboutthosepapersholdinguptheappeal,Richie.He’sworkingonit.
Richie’sfaceclosesup.
Richie:Ican’tkeepwaiting,Lee.
Me:Youwantmetotryandfindsomeonenew,I’lldoit.
Glumsilence.RichieknowsaswellasIdothatthis’llprobablyslowthingsdownevenfurther.
Richie:DidhegetthefootagefromtheAldicamera?
DidheevenrequestthefootagefromtheAldicameraisthequestion.Amstartingtodoubtit,eventhoughhetoldmehedid.Rubbackofneck,lookdownatshoes,wishharderthaneverthatRichieandIwereanywherebuthere.
Me:Notyet.
Richie:That’sthekey,man,I’mtellingyou.ThatcamerainAldiwillshowthem.They’llseeit’snotme.
Wishthisweretrue.Howhigh-resisthisfootage,though?Howlikelyisitthatit’llbeclearenoughtocounteractthewitnessidentification?
Wetalkabouttheappealcaseforalmostthefullhour.Justcan’tgethimoffthetopic.Forensics,overlookedevidence,alwaystheCCTV.Hope,hope,hope
Leavewithshakingknees,takeacabtothestation.Needsugar.HavesomerockyroadTiffymadeinbag;eataboutthreethousandcaloriesofitasthetrainrollsthroughthecountryside,flatfieldafterflatfield,takingmeawayfrommybrotherandbacktotheplacewhereeveryone’sforgottenhim.
Findbin-bagofscarfsincenterofbedroomwhenIgethome,withTiffy’snotepastedonitsside.
Mr.Priormakestwo-hundred-poundscarfs?Doesn’teventakehimverylong!Ahhh.ThinkofallthetimesIturneddownhisofferofnewscarf,hat,glove,ortea-cozy.Couldhavebeenabillionairebynow.
Onbedroomdoor:
HiTiffy,
THANKYOUfortellingmeaboutthescarfs.Yes,needthemoney.Willsell—canyourecommendwhere/how?
Gentlemanatworkknitsthem.He’sbasicallygivingthemawaytoanyone/everyonewhowilltakethem(orelseI’dfeelbadtakingthemoney…)
Leon
Hey,
Oh,definitely—youshouldsellthesethroughEtsyorPreloved.They’llhavetonsofcustomerswhowouldlovethesescarves.
Umm.Oddquestion,butmightthisgentlemanatyourworkbeinterestedincrochetingforcommission?
Tiffyx
Noideawhatthatmeans.Btw,takeyourfavescarf—willputrestoninterwebtonight.
Leon
Fallenonfloorbybedroomdoor(quitehardtotrackdown):
Morning,
Asin,I’mworkingonabookcalledCrochetYourWay(Iknow—it’soneofmybesttitles,Ihavetosay)andweneedsomeonetomakeusfourscarfsandeighthatsvery,veryfastsowecanphotographthemtoincludeinthebook.He’dhavetofollowmyauthor’sbrief(oncolorandstitch,etc.).Icanpayhim,butnotalot.Canyougivemehiscontactdetails?I’mreallydesperateandhe’sobviouslycrazilytalented.
Ohmygod,I’mgoingtobewearingthisscarfallthetime(Idon’tcareifit’stechnicallyspringtime).Iloveit.Thankyou!
Tiffyx
Backtobedroomdooragain:
Eh.Can’tseewhythiswouldn’twork,thoughmightneedtorunitbyMatron,whoheadsupnursingteam.Writemealetterandwillgiveittoher,thentogentlemanknitterifshegivestheOK.
Ifyou’rewearingthatscarfallthetime,canyoudisposeofthefivehundredscarfscurrentlyoccupyingyoursideofwardrobe?
Othernews:firstscarfjustsoldfor￡235!Mad.It’snotevennice!
Leon
Onkitchenbreakfastbar,besideunsealedenvelope:
Hey,
Mysideisthekeypartofthatsentence,Leon.Myside,andIwanttofillitwithscarfs.
Theletterishere—letmeknowifyouthinkitneedschangingatall.Atsomepointwemayneedtodoabitofatidyofournotestooneanother,bytheway.TheflatisstartingtolooklikeascenefromABeautifulMind.
Tiffyx
IpassTiffy’slettertoMatron,whogivesmetheallcleartoofferMr.PriortheopportunitytoknitforTiffy’sbook.Orcrochet.Amextremelyunclearonthedifference.NodoubtTiffywillwritemealongnoteatsomepointwithdetailedexplanation,unprompted.Shelovesalengthyexplanation.Whyuseoneclausewhenyoucouldusefive?Strange,ridiculous,hilariouswoman.
OnenightlaterandMr.Prior’sgottwohatsdonealready—theylookhat-likeandwoolly,soI’massumingallisasitshouldbe.
OnlydownsidetothisarrangementisnowMr.PriorisfascinatedwithTiffy.
Mr.Prior:Soshe’sabookeditor.
Me:Yes.
Mr.Prior:Whataninterestingprofession.
Apause.
Mr.Prior:Andsheliveswithyou?
Me:Mm.
Mr.Prior:Howinteresting.
Lookathimsidewayswhilewritinghisnotes.Heblinksbackatme,beady-eyedandinnocent.
Mr.Prior:Ijustdidn’timagineyou’dlikelivingwithanotherperson.Youlikeyourindependencesomuch.Isn’tthatwhyyoudidn’twanttomoveinwithKay?
Muststoptalkingtopatientsaboutpersonallife.
Me:It’sdifferent.Idon’thavetoseeTiffy.Wejustleaveeachothernotes,really.
Mr.Priornodsthoughtfully.
Mr.Prior:Theartofletter-writing.Aprofoundly…intimatething,aletter,isn’tit?
Istareathimsuspiciously.Notsurewhathe’sgettingathere.
Me:It’sPost-itsonthefridge,Mr.Prior,nothand-deliveredlettersonscentedpaper.
Mr.Prior:Oh,yes,I’msureyou’reright.Absolutely.Post-its.Noartinthat,I’msure.
Nextnight,andevenHollyhasheardaboutTiffy.Amazinghowuninterestingnewstravelssofastbetweenwardswhensignificantproportionofpeopleinbuildingarebedbound.
Holly:Isshepretty?
Me:Idon’tknow,Holly.Doesitmatter?
Hollypauses.Thoughtful.
Holly:Isshenice?
Me,afteramoment’sthought:Yes,she’snice.Bitnosyandstrange,butnice.
Holly:Whatdoesitmean,thatshe’syour“flatmate”?
Me:Flatmatemeansshesharesmyflat.Welivetheretogether.
Holly,eyeswidened:Likeboyfriendandgirlfriend?
Me:No,no.She’snotmygirlfriend.She’safriend.
Holly:Soyousleepindifferentrooms?
GetbleepedbeforeIhavetoanswerthatone,thankfully.MAY15TIFFY
AsIpeelthePost-itsandtapedscrapsofpaperoffcupboarddoors,tables,walls,and(inonecase)thebinlid,Ifindmyselfgrinning.ItwasaweirdwaytogettoknowLeon,writingallthesenotesoverthelastfewmonths,anditsortofhappenedwithoutmenoticing—oneminuteIwasscribblinghimaquicknoteaboutleftovers,thenextIwas
Though,asIfollowthetrailofheart-to-heartsalongthebackofthesofa,Ican’thelpnoticingthatIgenerallywriteaboutfivetimesasmanywordsasLeondoes.AndthatmyPost-itsarealotmorepersonalandrevealingthanhis.It’skindofstrangereadingitallback—youcanseehowdodgymymemoryis,forstarters.Likeinoneofthenotes,ImentionedhowsuperawkwarditwasthatI’dforgottentopassonRachel’sbirthday-partyinvitetoJustinlastyear,butIremembernow—Ididinvitehim.WeendeduphavingahugefightaboutwhetherIcouldgo.Justinalwayssaidmymemorywasterrible;it’sveryannoyingtofindwrittenevidencethathe’sright.
It’shalffivenow.Ifinishedworkearlybecauseeveryone’soutoftheofficeforagoodbyepartythatIcan’taffordtogoto,soImadeanexecutivedecisiontogohomeintheabsenceofanyactualexecutivestomakethedecisionforme.I’msureit’swhattheywouldhavewanted.
IthoughtImightactuallycatchLeontonight,asIgotbackataroundfivep.m.Itfeltabitstrange.I’mnotreallyallowedtocomehomeearlyandbumpintohim,accordingtotheofficialtermsofouragreement.IknewwhenIsignedupforthisthatwewouldn’tbeintheflatatthesametime—thatwaswhyitwassuchagoodidea.ButIdidn’trealizethatwewouldliterallynevermeet.Like,ever,atall,forfourwholemonths.
Ididthinkaboutspendingthishouratthecoffeeplacearoundthecorner,butthenIthought…itisstartingtogetabitweird,beingfriendsbutnothavingactuallymet.Anditdoesfeellikethat,likewe’refriends—Idon’tthinkitcouldbeotherwise,thewaywe’reineachother’sspaceallthetime.Iknowexactlyhowhelikeshiseggsfried,thoughI’veneveractuallyseenhimeatone(there’salwaystonsofrunnyyolkleftoverontheplate).Icoulddescribehisdresssenseprettyaccurately,eventhoughI’veneverseenhiminanyoftheclothesdryingontheclotheshorseinthelivingroom.And,weirdestofall,Iknowwhathesmellslike.
Idon’tseeanyreasonwhyweshouldn’tmeet—itwouldn’tchangethetermsofhowwelivehere.ItwouldjustmeanIwouldactuallyrecognizemyflatmateifIsawhimwalkingdownthestreet.
Thephonerings,whichisodd,becauseIwasn’tawarewehadaphone.AtfirstIgoformymobile,butmyringtoneisajinglyhappytunefromrightdownthelistofthoseavailablefromSamsung,nottheretroringringthat’scurrentlysingingoutfromsomewhereinvisibleinthelivingroom.
Ieventuallytrackdownalandlineonthekitchencounter,underoneofMr.Prior’sscarfsandastringofnotesaboutwhetherornotLeonusedupallthebutter(hetotallydid).
Alandline!Whoknew!Ithoughtlandlineswerejustrelicsyoupaidforinordertogetbroadband.
“Hello?”Itrytentatively.
“Oh,hey,”saystheguyattheotherend.Hesoundssurprised(presumablyIammorefemalethanhehadexpected)andhasaweirdaccent—kindofhalfIrish,halfLondoner.
“It’sTiffy,”Ioffer.“Leon’sflatmate.”
“Ey!Hi!”Heseemstohavebeengreatlycheeredbythisfact.“Anddon’tyoumeanbedmate?”
“Wepreferflatmate,”Isay,wincing.
“Fairplay,”hesays,andsomehowIcansortofhearthathe’sgrinning.“Well,nicetomeetyou,Tiffy.I’mRichie.Leon’sbrother.”
“Pleasedtomeetyou,too,Richie.”Ididn’tknowLeonhadabrother.ButthenIsupposethereareprobablyanenormousnumberofthingsIdon’tknowaboutLeon,evenifIdoknowwhathe’sreadingbeforebedatthemoment(TheBellJar,veryslowly).“YoujustmissedLeon,Iguess.Igotinhalfanhouragoandhewasalreadygone.”
“Themanworkstoohard,”Richiesays.“Ididn’trealizeitwashalffivealready.What’syourtap-in-tap-outtime?”
“Six,usually,butIgotoutofworkearly,”Isay.“Youcouldtryhimonhismobile?”
“Ah,nowyousee,Tiffy,Ican’tdothat,”Richiesays.
Ifrown.“Youcan’tcallhismobile?”
“Tobehonestwithyou,it’sabitofalongstory.”Richiepauses.“Shortversionis,I’minahigh-securityprison,andtheonlyphonenumberI’vemanagedtogetsetupformetocallisLeon’shomeline.Mobilescosttwiceasmuchtocall,too,andIearnaboutfourteenpoundsaweekinmyjobcleaningthewing,which,bytheway,Ihadtopaysomeonetogetme…sothatdoesn’tgetmeveryfar.”
Ifeelalittleshell-shocked.“Shit!”Isay.“That’sawful.Areyouallright?”
Itjustcomesout.It’salmostcertainlynottherightthingtosayinthecircumstance,butthereweare—that’swhatI’mthinking,andthat’swhatcomesoutofmymouth.
Tomysurprise—andmaybetohis,too—Richiestartslaughing.
“I’mallright,”hesays,afteramoment.“Cheers,though.It’sbeensevenmonthsnow.IguessI’m…whatisitLeoncallsit?Acclimatizing.Learninghowtoliveaswellastojustgetthrougheachminute.”
Inod.“Well,that’ssomething,atleast.Howisit?Onthescaleof,youknow,AlcatraztotheHilton?”
Helaughsagain.“Definitelysomewhereonthatscale,yeah.WhereaboutsdependsonhowI’mfeelingdaytoday.ButI’mprettyluckycomparedtolotsofpeople,letmetellyouthat.Ihavemyowncellnow,andIcanseevisitorstwiceamonth.”
Itdoesn’tseemlikehe’sluckyfromwhereI’mstanding.“Idon’twanttokeepyouonthephoneifit’scostingyou.DidyouhaveamessageforLeon?”
There’sarattlingsortofsilenceattheotherend,justthesoundofechoingbackgroundnoise.
“Aren’tyougoingtoaskwhatI’minfor,Tiffy?”
“No,”Isay,takenaback.“Doyouwanttotellme?”
“Yeah,abit.Butnormallypeopleask.”
Ishrug.“It’snotmyplacetojudge—you’reLeon’sbrother,andyourangtotalktohim.Andanyway,weweretalkingabouthowhorribleprisonis,andthat’strueregardlessofwhatyoudid.Everyoneknowsprisondoesn’twork.Right?”
“Right—Imean,dothey?”
“Oh,sure.”
Moresilence.
“I’minforarmedrobbery.ButIdidn’tdoit.”
“God.I’msorry.Thisisreallyshit,then.”
“Prettymuch,yeah,”Richiesays.Hewaits.Andthenheasks,“Doyoubelieveme?”
“Idon’tevenknowyou.Whydoesitmatter?”
“Idon’tknow.Itjust…does.”
“Well,IneedsomeofthefactsbeforeIsayIbelieveyou.Itwouldn’tmeanmuchotherwise,wouldit?”
“That’smymessageforLeon,then.TellhimI’dlikehimtogiveyouthefacts,soyoucantellmeifyoubelieveme.”
“Hangon.”IreachforapadofPost-itsandapen.“HiLeon,”Isay,readingasIwrite.“ThisisamessagefromRichie.Hesays…”
“I’dlikeTiffytoknowwhathappenedtome.IwanthertobelieveIdidn’tdoit.Sheseemslikeaverynicelady,andIbetshe’sprettytoboot,youcanjusttell,man,she’sgotthatkindofvoice—deepandsexy,youknowthe—”
I’mlaughing.“I’mnotwritingthat!”
“Howfardidyouget?”
“‘Sexy,’”Iadmit,andRichielaughs.
“Allright.Youcansignthenoteoffnow.Butleavethatlastbit,ifyoudon’tmind—it’llmakeLeonsmile.”
Ishakemyhead,butI’msmiling,too.“Fine.I’llleaveit.Itwasgoodtomeetyou,Richie.”
“Youtoo,Tiffy.Youlookaftermybrotherforme,allright?”
Ipause,surprisedattherequest.Forstarters,itseemslikeRichie’stheonewhoneedslookingafter,andforseconds,I’mreallynotbestplacedforlookingafteranyoftheTwomeyfamily,giventhatI’venevermetasingleoneofthem.ButbythetimeIopenmymouthtorespond,Richie’shungupthephone,andallIcanhearisthedialtone.16LEON
Can’thelplaughing.Thisistypical.He’stryingtocharmhiswayintotheaffectionsofmyflatmateevenfromaprisonyard.
Kayleansovermyshoulder,readingthenote.
Kay:Richieisstillhisoldself,Isee.
Istiffen.Shefeelsitandtenses,too,butdoesn’tbacktrackorsaysorry.
Me:He’stryingtokeepthingslight.Keepeveryonelaughing.It’sRichie’sway.
Kay:Well,isTiffyonthemarket?
Me:She’sahuman,notacow,Kay.
Kay:You’resoprincipled,Leon!Itwasanexpression,“onthemarket.”YouknowI’mnotactuallytryingtosellthepoorgirltoRichie.
There’ssomethingelsewrongwiththatsentence,butamtootiredtotraceit
Me:She’ssingle,butinlovewithherexstill.
Kay,interestednow:Really?
Can’tfathomwhyshe’dcare—wheneverImentionTiffysheswitchesofforgetsgrumpy.Thisisfirsttimewe’vebeeninmyflatformonths,actually.Kayhasthemorningoffworksocametoseemeforbrinnerbeforebed.Shegotabitpricklyaboutthenotesstuckeverywhere,forsomereason.
Me:Exseemsaverage.Farinferiortobricklayer-turned—
Kayrollseyes.
Kay:Willyoustoptalkingaboutthatbloodybricklayerbook!
Shewouldn’tbesojudgmentalifshe’dreadit.
Afewweeksonandit’sthesortofsunnydaythatnormallyonlyhappensabroad.Englandisunaccustomedtosuchwarmth,especiallywhenitstrikessosuddenly.It’sonlyJune,barelysummeryet.Commutershurryaroundcorners,headsstilldownlikeit’sraining,backsofpale-blueshirtsstaineddarkwithVsofsweat.TeenageboyswhipoffT-shirtsuntiltherearestarkwhitelimbsandchestsandgawkysticking-outelbowsallovertheplace.Canbarelymovewithoutbeingconfrontedwithsunburntskinand/orunpleasantbodyheatemanatingfrommaninsuit.
AmonmywaybackfromvisittoImperialWarMuseumResearchRoom,followingafinalleadonthehuntforJohnnyWhite.Inmybackpack,Ihavealistofeightnamesandaddresses.Addressesweregatheredthroughendlessrecord-officeriffling,contactingrelatives,andonlinestalking,sonotexactlyfoolproof,butit’sastart—orrather,eightstarts.Mr.Priorgavemeplentytobulkoutmyresearchintheend.Getthemantalkingandheremembersalotmorethanheclaimstoremember.
EverymanonlistiscalledJohnnyWhite.Unsurewheretostart.PickfavoriteJohnny?NearestJohnny?
GetoutphoneandtextTiffy.FilledherinonthesearchforMr.Prior’sJohnnyWhitelastmonth.Wasafteralengthyletterfromheraboutupsanddownsofbookaboutcrochet;Iwasobviouslyinasharingsortofmood.It’speculiar.LikeTiffy’scompulsiveoversharingiscontagious.AlwaysfeelslightlyembarrassedwhenIgettothehospiceandrememberwhateverIendeduprevealinginthatevening’sscribblednotewrittenwithcoffeebeforeheadingtothedoor.
Hi.GoteightJohnnies(sing.Johnny)tochoosefrom.Howtopickwheretostart?Leon
Responsecomesfiveminutesorsolater.She’sworkingonthecrazycrochetauthor’sbookfull-time,anditappearsherconcentrationislow.I’mnotsurprised.Crochetisweirdandboring.Eventriedreadingsomeofthemanuscriptwhensheleftitonthecoffeetable,tocheckwasnotlikebricklayerbook,butno.It’sjustabookofdetailedcrochetinstructions,withendresultsthatlookverydifficulttoachieve.
That’seasy.Eeniemeenieminiemo,catchatigerbyitstoe…xx
Andthen,twosecondslater:
EeniemeenieMINIEMO.Autocorrect.Idon’tthinkyou’dgainmuchbygettinganysmallemosinvolvedxx
Peculiarwoman.Nonetheless,dutifullypauseinpatchofshadeunderbusstoptogetoutlistofnamesanddoeeniemeenie.LandonJohnnyWhite(obviously).It’stheonewholivesupnearBirmingham.
Goodchoice.CanvisitthisonewhennextvisitingRichie—he’sinBirminghamarea.Thanks.Leon.
Afewminutesofsilence.Walkthroughbusy,sweatyLondonasitbasksintheheat,sunglassesturneduptothesky.I’mknackered.Shouldhavebeeninbedhoursago.ButIspendsolittleactualdaylighttimeouthereintheopenairthesedays,andmissthefeelofsunonskin.ConsideridlywhetherImightbevitaminDdeficient,thenthoughtsshift,andI’mwonderinghowmuchopen-airtimeRichiegotthisweek.Accordingtogovernment,heshouldbeletoutsideforthirtyminutesaday.Thatrarelyhappens.Prisonguardsarelowonnumbers;timeunlockedisevenmorelimitedthanusual.
DidyougetmynoteaboutRichie,bytheway?Andtellingmewhathappenedtohim?Idon’twanttopushbutitwasoveramonthagonow,andIjustwantyoutoknowIwouldliketohearit,ifyouwanttotellit.xx
Istaredownathertext,sunbleachingmyscreenuntilthewordsarealmostinvisible.Ishadeitwithonehandandreread.It’sodd,howitcamelikethat,justasIwasthinkingofRichie.
Wasn’tsurewhattomakeofRichie’snoteabouttellingTiffy.AssoonasIknewthey’dspokenIfoundmyselfwonderingifTiffythinkshe’sinnocent,eventhoughshedoesn’tknowhimanddoesn’tknowathingaboutthecase.Ridiculous.Evenifshekneweverything,itshouldn’tmatterifshebelieveshim.Haven’tevenmether.Butit’salwayslikethis—aconstantnaggingthatyoufeelwitheverybody,nomatterwhotheyare.You’reconversingperfectlynormally,andthen,nextmoment,you’rethinking,“Wouldyoubelievemybrotherisinnocent?”
Can’taskpeople,though.Isahorribleconversationtohaveandahorriblethingtobeaskedonthespot,asKaywilltestify.
ReplyvianotewhenIgethome.Don’treallytextTiffymuch;feelsabitweird.LikeemailingMam.Notesarejust…howwetalk.
Onwardrobe(latestnotetrailstopshere):
I’llaskRichietowritetoyou,ifthat’sOK.Hecantellitbest.
Also,athought:CouldyourcrochetauthorcometoSt.Marks(whereIwork)sometime?We’relookingtoputonmoreentertainmentforpatients.Strikesmethatcrochet,thoughdull,mayinterestillelderlypeople.x
HeyLeon,
Ofcourse.WheneverRichie’sready.
Andyes!Please!PRarealwayslookingforopportunitieslikethat.CanIjustsay,though,you’vetimedthisverywell,becauseKatherinhasjustbecomeACELEBRITY.Checkoutthistweetshedid.
Printed-outscreenshotfromTwitter,pastedbelownote:
KatherinRosen@KnittingKatherin
Oneofthefantasticscarfsyoucanmakefrommyupcomingbook,CrochetYourWay.Taketimeoutformindfulness,andcreatesomethingbeautiful!
117comments,8,000retweets,23,000likes.
NewPost-itbelowthat:
Yeah.EIGHTTHOUSANDRETWEETS.(ForoneofMr.Prior’sscarfs,too—besuretotellhim!)
NextPost-it:
I’massumingyoudon’tknowmuchaboutTwitterbecauseyourlaptophasn’tevenmovedforseveralmonths,letalonebeencharged,butthatisalotofretweets,Leon.ALOT.AnditallhappenedbecausethisamazingDIYYouTubercalledTashaChai-Latteretweeteditandsaidthis:
Printed-outscreenshotfromTwitter(nowsolowdownthewardrobedoorIhavetocrouchtoreadit):
TashaChai-Latte@ChaiLatteDIY
Crochetistotallythenewcoloringin!Somuchawefor@KnittingKatherinforheramazingdesigns.#bemindful#crochetyourway
Sixty-ninecomments,32,000retweets,67,000likes.
AnothertwoPost-itnotesbeneath:
Shehas15millionfollowers.ThemarketingandPRteamarebasicallypeeingthemselveswithexcitement.UnfortunatelythismeansI’vehadtoexplainYouTubetoKatherin,andshe’sevenworsethanyouwithtechnology(shehasoneofthoseoldNokiasthatonlydrugdealersuse),plusodiousMartinfromthePRteam“livetweets”fromallKatherin’seventsnow,butstill.It’sexciting!MylovelyoddballKatherinmightactuallybeinwithashotatabestsellerslist!Notthebestsellerslist,obviously,butoneofthenicheonesonAmazon.Like,youknow,numberoneincraftsandorigami,orsomething.xx
…WillwaituntilI’vesleptbeforeattemptingtoreplytothisone.JULY17TIFFY
It’sstilllightwhenIgethome.Ilovesummer.Leon’strainersaremissing,soIguesshewalkedtoworktoday—I’msojealoushecandothat.Thetubeisevenmoregrosswhenit’shot.
Iscantheflatfornewnotes.They’renotalwaysthateasytospotthesedays—there’susuallyPost-itsonprettymucheverything,unlessoneofushasgotroundtodoingaclear-out.
Ispotitonthekitchencountereventually:anenvelope,withRichie’snameandprisonernumberononesideandouraddressontheother.There’sashortnoteinLeon’shandwritingnexttotheaddress.
TheletterfromRichieishere.
Andthen,inside:
DearTiffy,
’Twasadarkandstormynight…
Allright,OK,noitwasn’t.ItwasadarkandgrottynightatDaffie’sNightclubinClapham.IwasalreadyplasteredwhenIgotthere—wewerecomingfromafriend’shousewarming.
Idancedwithafewgirlsthatnight.You’llgetwhyI’mtellingyouthatlater.Itwasareallymixedcrowd,lotsofyoungguysoutofuni,lotsofthosecreepytypeswhohangaroundtheedgesofthedancefloorwaitingforgirlstogettoodrunksotheycanmaketheirmove.Butrightattheback,atoneofthetables,therewereafewguyswholookedliketheybelongedsomewhereelse
It’shardtoexplain.Theylookedliketheywerethereforadifferentreasonfromeveryoneelse.Theydidn’twanttopull,theydidn’twanttogetdrunk,theydidn’twanttodance.
SoIknownowtheywantedtodobusiness.They’reknownastheBloods,apparently.Ionlyfoundthatoutmuchlater,whenIwasinsideandtellingguysheremystory,soI’mguessingyou’veneverheardofthem,either.Ifyou’reaprettymuchmiddle-classpersonwhojusthappenstoliveinLondonandgoesabouttheirbusinessgoingtoworkandeverything,you’llprobablyneverknowgangslikethisexist.
Butthey’reimportant.IthinkeventhenIcouldtellthat,lookingatthem.ButIwasalsoverydrunk.
Oneoftheguyscametothebarwithhisgirl.Therewereonlytwowomenwiththegroup,andthisonelookedboredoutofhermind,youcouldjustseeit.Shecaughtmyeyedownthebarandstartedtolookalotmoreinterested.
Ilookedback.Ifshe’sboredofherbloke,that’shisproblem,notmine.I’mnotgoingtomissthechancetomakeeyeswithaprettyladyjustbecausetheguystandingnexttoherlookstougherthantheaverageblokeinDaffie’s,letmetellyouthat.
Hefoundmelater,inthebathroom.Pushedmeupagainstthewall.
“Keepyourhandsoff,youhearme?”
Youknowthedrill.Hewasshoutingrightinmyface,aveinpulsinginhisforehead.
“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,”Isaid.Calmasacucumber.
Heshoutedalotmore.Pushedmeabit.Istoodfirm,butIdidn’tpushbackorhithim.Hesaidhe’dseenmedancingwithher,whichwasn’ttrue.Iknowshewasn’toneofthegirlsI’ddancedwithearlierinthenight,Iwouldhaverememberedher.
Still,he’dwoundmeup,andwhensheturneduplater,justbeforetheclubclosed,IwasprobablymoreinclinedtochattoherthanIwouldhavebeen,justtopisshimoff.
Weflirted.Iboughtheradrink.TheBloods,outthereattheback,talkedbusinessanddidn’tseemtonotice.Ikissedher.Shekissedmeback.IrememberIwassodrunkIfeltdizzywhenIclosedmyeyes,soIkissedherwithmyeyesopen.
Andthenthatwasit.Shejustsortoffadedbackintotheclubsomewhere—it’sallhazy,Ireallywasplastered.Icouldn’ttellyouexactlywhensheleft,orIleft,orwhatever
Fromthispointon,Ican’tverifyeverything.IfIcould,obviouslyIwouldn’tbewritingthistoyoufromhere,I’dbechillingonyourfamousbeanbagwithacupofLeon’smilkycoffeeandthiswouldprobablyjustbeafunnyanecdoteI’dtellatthepub.
Butanyway.Here’swhatIthinkhappened.
Theyfollowedmeandmymateswhenweleft.Theothersgotnightbuses,butIdidn’tlivefar,soIwalkedit.Iwentintotheoff-licenseonClaphamRoadthatstaysopenallnightandboughtcigarettesandasix-packofbeers.Ididn’tevenwantthem—Idefinitelydidn’tneedthem.ItwasnearlyfourinthemorningandIwasprobablynotevenwalkingstraight.ButIwentin,paidcash,wenthome.Ididn’tevenseethem,buttheycan’thavebeenfarawaywhenIgotoutofthere,becauseaccordingtothecamerainthestore“Icamebackin”twominuteslaterwithmyhoodypulledupandabalaclavaon.
Whenyouwatchthefootage,theguydoeshaveasimilarbuildtome.ButasIpointedoutincourt—whoeveritis,they’redoingabetterjobofwalkingproperlythanIdid.Iwaswaytoodrunktobeabletododgethebargainbinsandgettheknifeoutofthebackofmyjeansallatthesametime.
IhadnoideaanyofthishadhappeneduntiltwodayslaterwhenIwasarrestedatwork.
Theygotthekidatthetilltounlockthesafe.Therewasfourthousandfivehundredpoundsinthere.Theyweresmart,ormaybejustexperienced—theydidn’tspeakanymorethantheyhadto,andsowhenthekidgaveevidenceshehardlyhadanythingtorecount.Otherthantheknifepointedinherface,obviously.
IwasonCCTV.Ihadapreviouscriminalrecord.Theypulledmein.
OnceI’dbeenchargedtheywouldn’tgrantmebail.Mylawyertookmeonbecausehewasinterested,andhefeltconfidentintheonlywitness,thegirlatthetill,buttheygottoheraswellintheend.Wewereexpectinghertostandupthereandsaytheguywhocameinthesecondtimecouldn’thavebeenme.Thatshe’sseenmeintheoff-licensebeforeandI’vebeenperfectlyniceandnottriedtonickanything.
Butshepointedatmeacrossthecourtroom.Saiditwasmeforsure.Itwaslikealivingnightmare,Ican’teventellyou.Icouldjustseeitplayingout,andwatchhowthejurymembers’faceschanged,butIcouldn’tdoanything.Itriedtogetupandspeakandthejudgejustshoutedatme—you’renotallowedtotalkoutofturn.Myturnneverseemedtocome,though.Bythetimetheygottoquestioningme,everyone’smindsweremadeup.
Salaskedmebullshitstupidquestions,andIdidn’tgetthechancetosayanythinggood,myheadwasallovertheplace,Ijusthadn’tthoughtitwouldcometothat.Theprosecutionplayedonmydodgyrecordfromafewyearsback—I’dgotinacoupleoffightsonnightsoutwhenIwasnineteen,whenIwasatmylowest(that’sanotherstory,andIswearitisn’tasbadasitsounds).TheymadeoutlikeIwasviolent.TheyevendredgedupaguyIusedtoworkinacaféwithwhoproperlyhatedme—we’dfallenoutoversomegirlhe’dlikedincollege,whoI’dendeduptakingtothepromorsomeothercraplikethat.Itwaskindofamazing,watchingthemspinit.IcanseewhythejurybelievedIwasguilty.Thoselawyerswerereallyfuckinggoodatmakingitsoundtrue.
Theysentencedmetoeightyearsforarmedrobbery.
SohereIam.Ican’teventellyou.EverytimeIwriteitoutortellittosomeoneIcan’tbelieveitevenmore,ifthatmakessense.AllIgetisangrier.
Itwasn’tacomplicatedcase.WeallthoughtSalwouldsortitonappeal.(Sal’smylawyer,bytheway.)Buthehasn’tfuckinggottotheappealyet.IwassentencedlastNovemberandthere’snoappealeveninsight.IknowLeonistryingtosortit,andIlovethatmanforit,butthefactisnobodygivesashitaboutgettingmeoutofhereexcepthim.AndMam,Iguess.
I’llbehonestwithyou,Tiffy,I’mshakingnow.Iwanttoscream.Thesetimesaretheworst—there’snowheretogo.Press-upsareyourfriend,butsometimesyouneedtorun,andwhenyou’vegotthreestepsbetweenyourbedandyourtoilet,there’snotalotofroomforthat.
Anyway.Thisisaverylongletter,andIknowittookmeawhiletowriteit—you’vemaybeforgottenaboutthewholeconversationwehadbynow.Youdon’thavetoreply,butifyouwantto,Leoncansenditwithhisnextletter,maybe—ifyoudowrite,pleasesendstampsandenvelopes,too.
Ihopeyoubelieveme,evenmorethanIusuallydo.Maybeit’sbecauseyou’reimportanttomybrother,andmybrotherisliketheonlypersonwhoisproperlyimportanttome.
Yours,
Richiexx
ThenextmorningIrereadtheletterinbed,theduvetpulleduparoundmelikeanest.I’mallcoldinmystomach,andmyskinhasgonekindofprickly.Iwanttocryforthisman.Idon’tknowwhythisishittingmesohard,butwhateveritis,thisletterhaswokenmeupathalffiveonaSaturdaymorning.ThatishowmuchIcannotbearit.It’ssounfair
I’mreachingformyphonebeforeI’vereallythoughtaboutwhatI’mdoing.
“Gerty,youknowyourjob?”
“I’mfamiliarwithit,yes.PrimarilyasthereasonthatIamawokenatsixa.m.almosteverymorning,barSaturdaymornings.”
Ilookattheclock.Sixa.m.
“Sorry.But—whatkindoflawdoyoudoagain?”
“Criminallaw,Tiffy.Idocriminallaw.”
“Right,right.Whatdoesthatmean,though?”
“I’mgoingtogiveyouthebenefitofthedoubtandassumethatthisisurgent,”Gertysays.Sheisaudiblygrittingherteeth.“Wedealwithcrimesthatareagainstpeopleandtheirproperty.”
“Likearmedrobbery?”
“Yes.Thatisagoodexample,welldone.”
“Youhateme,don’tyou?I’mtopofyourhatelistrightnow.”
“It’smyonelie-inandyou’veruinedit,soyes,youhaveclimbedpastDonaldTrumpandthatUberdriverIsometimesgetswhohumsforthewholejourney.”
Shit.Thingsarenotgoingwell.
“Youknowthespecialcasesyoudoforfree,orforlessmoney,orwhatever?”
Gertypauses.“Where’sthisgoing,Tiffy?”
“Justhearmeout.IfIgiveyoualetterfromaguyconvictedofarmedrobbery,willyoujusttakealookatit?Youdon’thavetodoanything.Youdon’thavetotakehimonorwhatever,obviously,Iknowyouhavetonsmoreimportantcases.Butwillyoujustreadit,andmaybewritealistofquestions?”
“Wheredidyougetthisletterfrom?”
“It’salongstory,anditdoesn’tmatter.JustknowIwouldn’taskyouifitwasn’timportant.”
Thereisalong,sleepysortofsilenceattheotherendofthephone.
“OfcourseI’llreadit.Comeoverforlunchandbringtheletter.”
“Iloveyou.”
“Ihateyou.”
“Iknow.I’llbringyoualattefromMoll’s,though.DonaldTrumpwouldneverbringyoualattefromMoll’s.”
“Fine.I’llmakemydecisiononyourrelativeplacementonthehatelistwhenI’vetastedhowhotthecoffeeis.Donotringmeagainbeforeten.”Shehangsup.
GertyandMo’sflathasbeencompletelyGerty-fied.Youalmostcan’ttellMoliveshere.Hisroomathislastplacewasatipofwashedandunwashedclothes(nosystem)andpaperworkthatwasprobablyconfidential,buthere,everyobjecthasapurpose.TheflatistinybutIdon’tnoticeitnearlyasmuchasIdidthefirsttimeIsawtheplace—somehowGerty’sdrawnattentionawayfromthelowceilingsandtowardtheenormouswindows,whichfillthekitchendinerwithsoftsummersunlight.Andit’ssoclean.IhavenewrespectforGertyandwhatshecanachievethroughsheerwillpower,orpossiblybullying.
Ihandherthecoffee.Shegivesitasip,thennodsinapproval.Idoalittlefistpump,officiallybecomingalessodioushumanbeingthanthemanwhowantstobuildawallbetweenMexicoandtheU.S.
“Letter,”shesays,stretchingoutherfreehand.
Notoneforsmalltalk,Gerty.Iriflethroughmybagandpassitover,andsheimmediatelyheadsofftoread,pickingupherglassesfromthesidetablebythefrontdoorwhere,unbelievably,sheneverseemstoforgettoputthem.
Ifidget.Ipaceabit.Imessuptheorderofthepileofbooksontheendoftheirdiningtable,justforthethrillofit.
“Goaway,”shesays,notevenraisinghervoice.“Youaredistractingme.Moisatthecoffeeplaceonthecornerwhichdoesinferiorcoffee.Hewillentertainyou.”
“Right.Fine.So…you’rereadingit,though?Whatdoyouthink?”
Shedoesn’tanswer.Irollmyeyes,andthenscamperoffincaseshenoticed.
I’venotevenmadeittothecoffeeshopbeforemyphonerings.It’sGerty.
“Youmightaswellcomeback,”shesays.
“Oh?”
“Thetrialtranscriptwilltakeforty-eighthourstogettomeevenwiththeexpressservice.Ican’ttellyouanythingusefuluntilI’vereadthat.”
I’msmiling.“You’reapplyingforthetrialtranscript?”
“Menoftenhaveveryconvincingstoriesoftheirinnocence,Tiffy,andIwouldrecommendagainstbelievingtheirsummariesoftheircourtcases.Theyare,obviously,extremelybiased,andalsodonottendtobewellversedintheintricaciesofthelaw.”
I’mstillsmiling.“You’reapplyingforthetrialtranscript,though.”
“Don’tgetanyone’shopesup,”Gertysays,andhervoiceisseriousnow.“Imeanit,Tiffy.I’mjustgoingtoreaduponit.Don’ttellthismananything,please.Itwouldbecrueltogivehimunfoundedhope.”
“Iknow,”Isay,smiledropping.“Iwon’t.Andthanks.”
“You’rewelcome.Thecoffeewasexcellent.Nowgetbackhere—ifImustbeupthisearlyonaSaturday,Iwouldatleastliketobeentertained.”18LEON
OnthewaytomeetJohnnyWhitetheFirst.It’sveryearly—four-hourjourneythere,thenthreebusestogetfromJohnnyWhitetheFirst’splacetoHMPGroundsworth,whereIhaveathreep.m.visitwithRichie.Legsstifffromtrainseatswithlimitedlegroom;backsweatyfromcarriageswithoutair-conditioning.AsIrollupshirtsleevesfurther,noticeoldPost-itnotefromTiffystuckinthecuff.SomethingfromlastmonthaboutwhatthestrangemaninFlat5doesatsevena.m.Hmm.Embarrassing.Mustcheckclothesfornotesbeforeleavingtheflat.
Greeton,homeofJohnnyWhite,isasurprisinglyprettylittletown,stretchedoutflatonthemattegreenfieldsofthemidlands.WalkfrombusstationtoJW’saddress.Haveemailedhimacoupleoftimes,butamnotsurewhattoexpectinperson.
WhenIarrive,averylargeandintimidatingJohnnyWhitebarksatmetocomein;Ifindmyselfimmediatelyobeyingandfollowinghimthroughtosparselyfurnishedlivingroom.Onlydistinctivefeatureispianoincorner.It’suncoveredandlookswelltreated.
Me:Youplay?
JWtheFirst:Iwasaconcertpianistinmyday.Idon’tplaysomuchnow,butIkeeptheoldgirlinhere.Itdoesn’tfeellikehomewithouther.
I’mdelighted.It’sperfect.Concertpianist!World’scoolestprofession!Andnopicturesanywhereofwifeorchildren—excellent.
JWtheFirstoffersmetea;whatappearsisathick,chippedmugofbuilder’sbrew.ItremindsmeofteaatMam’s.Astrangemomentofhomesicknessfollows—mustgoandseehermore.
JWtheFirstandIsettleonsofaandarmchair,oppositeoneanother.Suddenlyrealizingthisisapotentiallydifficultsubjecttobroach.DidyouhavealoveaffairwithamaninWorldWarII?IsperhapsnotsomethingthismanwantstotalkaboutwithstrangerfromLondon.
JWtheFirst:So,whatwasityouwereafter,exactly?
Me:Iwaswondering.Um.
Clearthroat.
Me:YouservedinthearmyinWorldWarII,yes?
JWtheFirst:Twoyears,withashortbreakforthemtodigabulletoutofmystomach.
Findmyselfstaringathisstomach.JWtheFirstflashessurprisinglydynamicgrinatme.
JWtheFirst:You’rethinkingtheymusthavehadajobfindingit,aren’tyou?
Me:No!Iwasthinkingtherearelotsofvitalorgansinthestomacharea.
JWtheFirst,chuckling:Germanbuggersmissedthose,luckyforme.Anyway,Iwasmoreworriedaboutmyhandsthanmystomach.Youcanplaythepianowithoutaspleen,butyoucan’tplaythepianoiffrostbite’seatenyourfingersoff.
GazeatJWtheFirstinaweandhorror.Hechucklesagain.
JWtheFirst:Ah,youdon’twantmyoldwarhorrorstories.Didyousayyou’relookingintoyourfamilyhistory?
Me:Notmine.Afriend’s.RobertPrior.Heservedinthesameregimentasyou,thoughI’mnotsureitwasexactlyatthesametime.Doyouhappentorememberhim?
JWtheFirstthinkshard.Scrunchesupnose.Tiltshead.
JWtheFirst:No.Doesn’tringanybells.Sorry.
Eh,waslongshot.Onedown,though,stillsevenonlisttogo.
Me:Thanks,Mr.White.Iwon’ttakemoreofyourtime.Justonequestion—haveyouevermarried?
JWtheFirst,grufferthanever:No.MySallydiedinanairraidbackin’41,andthatwasthatforme.IneverfoundanyonelikemySally.
Ialmostgettearyatthat.Richiewouldlaughatme—healwayscallsmeahopelessromantic.Orruderthingstothateffect.
Kay,onotherendofphone:Honestly,Leon.Ithinkifyouhadyourway,allofyourfriendswouldbeovertheageofeighty.
Me:Hewasaninterestingman,isall.Ienjoyedspeakingtohim.And—concertpianist!World’scoolestprofession,no?
AmusedsilencefromKay.
Me:Stillseventogo,though.
Kay:Sevenwhat?
Me:SevenJohnnyWhites.
Kay:Oh,yeah.
Shepauses.
Kay:AreyougoingtobespendingallyourweekendstraipsingacrossBritaintryingtofindanoldman’sboyfriend,Leon?
Ipausethistime.Hadsortofplannedondoingthat,yes.WhenelseamIgoingtofindMr.Prior’sJohnny?Can’tdoitduringworkingweek.
Me,tentatively:…No?
Kay:Good.BecauseIseeyourarelyenoughasitis,withallyourvisitsandyourshifts.Youdoseethat,don’tyou?
Me:Yes.Sorry.I’m—
Kay:Yep,yep,Iknow,youcareaboutyourjob,Richieneedsyou.Idoknowallthat.I’mnottryingtobedifficult,Leon.Ijustfeellike…itshouldbotheryoumore.Asmuchasitbothersme.Thenotseeingeachother.
Me:Itbothersme!ButIsawyouthismorning?
Kay:Forabouthalfanhour,foraveryrushedbreakfast.
Flashofirritation.Gaveuphalfanhourofthree-hourpowernaptoallowforbreakfastwithKay.Deepbreath.Noticewhereweareoutofwindow.
Me:Gottogo.I’mpullingintotheprison.
Kay:Fine.Let’stalklater.Willyoutextmewhattrainyouget?
Idon’tlikethis—thecheckingup,thetextingabouttrains,alwaysknowingwheretheotherpersonwillbe.But…it’sunreasonableofme.Can’tobject.KayalreadythinksI’macommitment-phobe.It’safavoritetermofhersatthemoment.
Me:Willdo.
ButIdon’t,intheend.Meanto,butdon’t.It’stheworstargumentwe’vehadinages.19TIFFY
“It’stheperfectvenueforyou,Katherin,”Martingushes,spreadingthephotosoutonthetable.
Ismileencouragingly.ThoughinitiallyIthoughtthewholeenormous-venuethingwasridiculous,I’mstartingtocomeroundtoit.TwentydifferentYouTubevideoshavebeenmadebyvariousInternetcelebritiessportingoutfitstheyclaimedtohavecrochetedthemselvesfromKatherin’sinstructions.Afteratenseunscheduledmeetingwiththemanagingdirector,inwhichtheheadofPRdidaquiteconvincingjobofpretendingtoknowwhatthisbookwas,letalonehavebudgetallocatedforit,thewholeButterfingersofficeisnowuptospeedandabuzzwithexcitement.Everyoneseemstohaveforgottenthatlastweektheydidn’tgiveacrapaboutcrochet;yesterdayIheardthesalesdirectordeclareshe’d“alwayssuspectedthisbookwouldbeawinner.”
Katherinisperplexedbyallofthis,particularlytheTashaChai-Lattething.AtfirstshereactedasliterallyeveryonedoeswhentheyseesomerandompersonmakingtonsofmoneyonYouTube:“Icoulddothat!”sheannounced.Itoldhertostartbyinvestinginasmartphone.Babysteps.Nowshe’sjustirritatedatMartinhavingtakencontrolofherTwitteraccount(“Shecan’tbetrustedwiththis!Weneedtomaintaincontrol!”MartinwasyellingatRubythismorning).
“So,whatisaproperbooklaunch?”Katherinasks.“Imean,normallyIjustpotterarounddrinkingthewineandchattingtoanyoldladywhobotherstoturnup.Buthowdoyoudoitwhenthereareallthesepeople?”ShegesturestothephotoofagiganticIslingtonhall.
“Ah,now,Katherin,”Martinsays,“I’mgladyouasked.TiffyandIaregoingtotakeyoualongtooneofourotherbigbooklaunchesintwoweeks’time.Justsoyoucanseehowthesethingsaredone.”
“Aretherefreedrinks?”Katherinasks,perkingup.
“Oh,absolutely,tonsoffreedrinks,”Martinsays,havingpreviouslytoldmethattherewon’tbeanyatall.
IglanceatmywatchasMartinreturnstothetaskofsellingtheenormousvenuetoKatherin.Katherinisveryworriedaboutthepeopleatthebacknotbeingabletosee.I,ontheotherhand,amveryworriedaboutgettingtoLeon’shospiceontime.
It’stheeveningofourvisit.Leonwillbethere,whichmeanstonight,afterfiveandahalfmonthsoflivingtogether,heandIwillfinallymeet.
I’moddlynervous.Ichangedmyclothesthreetimesthismorning,whichisunusual—normallyIcan’timaginethedaylookinganyotherwayonceI’vegotanoutfiton.NowI’mnotsureI’vegotitright.I’vetoneddownthelemon-yellowpoufdresswithadenimjacket,leggings,andmylilyboots,butI’mstilldressedinsomethingasixteen-year-oldgirlwouldweartoprom.There’sjustsomethingfundamentallytry-hardabouttulle.
“Don’tyouthinkweshouldbeheadingovernow?”Isay,interruptingMartinmid-bullshit.IwanttogettothehospiceintimetofindLeonandsaythanksbeforewestart.I’dratherhedidn’twalkinJustin-style,justasKatherin’sstickingpinsintome.
Martinglaresatme,turninghisheadsoKatherinwon’tseequitehowviciousalookheisshootinginmydirection.Sheofcoursespotsitanyway,andcheersupatthesight,chucklingintohercoffeecup.ShewasgrumpywithmewhenIgotherebecauseI’d(clearly)ignoredherinstructiontowear“neutralclothing”again.Myexcusethatwearingbeigesucksthelifeoutofmedidnotfly.“Weallhavetomakesacrificesforourart,Tiffy!”shesaid,wagglingafinger.Ididpointoutthatthisisn’tactuallymyart,it’shers,butshelookedsowoundedIgaveupandsaidI’dcompromisebytakingoutthepoufyunderskirt.
It’sgoodtoseeourmutualdislikeofMartinhasunitedusagain.
I’mnotsurewhyIthinkIknowwhatahospicewilllooklike—I’veneverbeentoonebefore.Thisoneticksafewofmyboxes,evenso:linofloorsinhalls,medicalequipmentspoutingwiresandtubes,poor-qualityartinwonkyframesonthewalls.Butthere’safriendlieratmospherethanIexpected.Everyoneseemstoknoweachother:Doctorsmakesardoniccommentsastheycrosspathsinthecorridor,patientschucklewheezilytotheirwardmates,andatonepointIhearanursearguingquitepassionatelywithanelderlyYorkshiremanaboutwhichflavorofricepuddingisbestontonight’sdinnermenu.
Thereceptionistleadsusdownthebewilderingmazeofcorridorstoasortoflivingarea.There’saricketyplastictablewherewe’retosetup,pluslotsofuncomfortable-lookingseatingandatelevisionliketheoneinmyparents’house—it’sblockyandenormousattheback,likethey’restashingalltheextrashoppingchannelsinthere.
Wedumpthebagsofwoolandcrochethooks.Afewofthemoremobilepatientsdriftintotheroom.Evidentlywordofourcrochetshowhasspread,probablyviathenursesanddoctors,whoseemtoberunningintotallyrandomdirectionsatalltimes,likepinballs.It’sfifteenminutesuntilwestart,though—plentyoftimeformetotrackLeondownandsayhello.
“Excuseme,”Isaytoanursewhosepinballpathhasbrieflycrossedthelivingarea,“isLeonhereyet?”
“Leon?”sheasks,lookingatmedistractedly.“Yeah.He’shere.Youneedhim?”
“Oh,no,don’tworry,”Isay.“It’snot,youknow,medical.Iwasjustgoingtosayhiandthanksforlettingusdothis.”IwaveanarminthedirectionofMartinandKatherin,whoareuntanglingwoolwithvaryingdegreesofenthusiasm.
Thenurseperksupandfocusesonmeproperly.“AreyouTiffy?”
“Um.Yes?”
“Oh!Hi.Wow,hello.Ifyouwanttoseehim,he’llbeinDorsalWard,Ithink—followthesigns.”
“Thankssomuch,”Isayasshescurriesoffagain.
DorsalWard.OK.Icheckthesignfixedtothewall:left,apparently.Thenright.Thenleft,left,right,left,right,right—bloodyhell.Thisplacegoesonforever.
“Excuseme,”Iask,snaggingapassingpersoninscrubs,“amIontracktogettoDorsalWard?”
“Sureare,”hesays,withoutslowing.Hmm.I’mnotsurehowmuchheengagedwiththatquestion.Iguessifyouworkhereyougetreallysickofvisitorsaskingfordirections.Istareatthenextsign:DorsalWardhasnowdisappearedaltogether.
Theguyinscrubspopsupbesideme,havingbacktrackeddownthecorridoragain.Ijump.
“Sorry,you’renotTiffy,areyou?”hesays.
“Yes?Hi?”
“Really!Damn.”Helooksmeupanddownquiteblatantly,andthenrealizeswhathe’sdoingandpullsaface.“God,sorry,it’sjustnoneofusquitebelievedit.LeonwillbeonKelpWard—takethenextleft.”
“Believedwhat?”Icallafterhim,buthe’salreadygone,leavingasetofdoubledoorsswingingbehindhim.
Thisis…weird.
AsIturnbackIspotamalenursewithlightbrownskinanddarkhair,whosenavy-bluescrubslookthreadbareevenfromhere—I’venoticedhowwornLeon’sscrubsarewhenthey’redryingontheclotheshorse.Wemakeeyecontactforasplitsecondbutthenheturnshishead,checkingthepageronhiship,andjogsoffdowntheoppositecorridor.He’stall.Itmighthavebeenhim?Weweretoofaraparttotellforsure.Iwalkmorequicklytofollowhim,getslightlyoutofbreath,thenfeelabitstalkerishandslowdownagain.Crap.IthinkImissedtheturningtoKelpWard
Itakestockinthemiddleofthecorridor.Withoutthetulleskirtmydresshasdeflated,clingingtothefabricofmyleggings;I’mhotandflusteredand,let’sbehonest,completelylost.
ThesignsaysnextleftfortheLeisureRoom,whichiswhereIstarted.Isigh,checkingthetime.Onlyfiveminutesuntilourshowshouldbegin—I’dbettergetbackinthere.I’lltrackLeondownafterward,hopefullywithoutencounteringanymoreslightlyfreakystrangerswhoknowmyname.
There’sasizeablecrowdwhenIheadbackintotheroom;Katherinspotsmewithreliefandkicksofftheshowrightaway.Idutifullyfollowherinstructions,andwhileKatherinenthusiasticallyextolsthevirtuesoftheclosedstitchIscantheroom.Thepatientsareamixofelderlyladiesandgentlemen,abouttwothirdsofwhomareinwheelchairs,andafewmiddle-agedladieswholookquitepoorlybutaremuchmoreinterestedinwhatKatherin’ssayingthananybodyelseis.Therearethreekids,too.Oneisalittlegirlwhosehairisjustgrowingbackafterchemo,I’mguessing.HereyesareenormousandInoticethembecauseshe’snotstaringatKatherinlikeeverybodyelseis,she’swatchingme,andbeaming.
Igiveheralittlewave.Katherinslapsmyhand.
“You’readreadfulmannequintoday!”shescolds,andI’mbroughtbacktothemomentonthecruiseshipinFebruary,thelasttimeKatherinwasmanhandlingmeintovariousuncomfortablepositionsinthenameofcrochet.Foraninstant,IcanrecallJustin’sexpressionexactlyasitwaswhenoureyeslocked—notthewayitlooksinmymemory,fadedandchangedwithtime,butasitactuallywas.Ashivergoesthroughme.
Katherincastsmeacuriouslook,andIsnapoutofthememorywitheffort,managingareassuringsmile.AsIlookupIseeatall,dark-hairedmaninscrubspushthroughadoorintooneoftheotherwards,andmyheartjumps.Butit’snotLeon.I’malmostglad.I’munsettled,off-kilter—it’ssomehownotthemomentIwanttomeethim.
“Armsup,Tiffy!”Katherintrillsinmyear,and,withashakeofmyhead,IgobacktodoingasI’mtold.20LEON
Letteriscrumpledintrouserpocket.TiffyaskedmetoreaditbeforeIsenditontoRichie.Buthaven’t,yet.It’spainful.Feelsuddenlysurethatshewon’tunderstand.Thatshe’llsayhe’sacalculatingcriminal,justlikethejudgedid.Sayhisexcusesdon’taddup,thatgivenhischaracterandhispasthe’sexactlywhatweshouldhaveallexpected.
I’mstressed,shoulderstense.Barelycaughtaglimpse,andyetcan’tshakethefeelingthatredheadedwomanattheotherendofthecorridortoDorsalWardmighthavebeenher.Ifitwas,hopeshedidn’tthinkIranoff.Obviously,didrunoff.Butstill.Wouldrathershedidn’tknowit.
Just…don’twanttofaceherbeforeI’vereadtheletter.
So.Clearly,mustreadletter.Inthemeantime,mighthideoutonKelpWardtoavoidunplannedmid-corridorencounters.
PassthroughreceptiononrouteandamaccostedbyJune,who’satthedesk.
June:Yourfriendhasarrived!
Onlytoldacoupleofpeoplethatthiscrocheteventwasorganizedbymyflatmate.Ithasproventobeincrediblyinterestinggossip.EveryoneseemsinsultinglysurprisedthatIhaveaflatmate;apparentlyIlooklikeamanwholivesalone.
Me:Thanks,June.
June:She’sintheLeisureRoom!
Me:Thanks,June.
June:She’seversopretty.
Blink.Haven’tgivenTiffy’sappearancemuchthought,asidefromwonderingwhethershewearsfivedressesatonce(wouldexplainsheerquantityhanginginourwardrobe).Ambrieflytemptedtoaskifshehasredhair,butthinkbetterofit.
June:Lovelygirl.Reallylovely.I’msogladyou’vefoundsuchalovelygirltolivewith.
IstaresuspiciouslyatJune.Shebeamsbackatme.Wonderwhoshe’sbeentalkingto—Holly?ThatgirlhasbecomeobsessedwithTiffy.
DooddjobsonKelpWard.Takeunprecedentedcoffeebreak.Can’tputthisoffanylonger.Notevenanyseriouslyunwellpatientstokeepmebusy—I’vegotnothingtodobutreadthisletter.
Unfoldit.Lookaway,hearttwisting.Thisisridiculous.Whydoesitevenmatter?
Right.Lookingatletter.Confrontingletter,likeadultfacedwithopinionofanotheradultwhohasaskedthemtoreadsomethingandwhoseopinionshouldn’tevenmatter.
Doesmatter,though.Shouldbehonestwithmyself:IlikehavingTiffy’snotestocomehometo,andI’llbesadtoloseherifsheiscrueltoRichie.Notthatshewillbe.But…that’swhatI’vethoughtbefore.Neverknowhowpeoplewillreactuntilyouseeit.
DearRichie,
Thankssomuchforyourletter.Itmademecry,whichputsyouinthesamecategoryasMeBeforeYou,myex-boyfriend,andonions.Sothat’skindofimpressive.(WhatI’msayingis,I’mnotawilly-nillycrier—ittakessomeseriousemotionalturmoilorweirdvegetableenzymestogetmeweepy.)
Ican’tbelievehowshitthisis.Imean,youknowthingslikethishappen,butIguessit’shardtorelatetountilyouhearthefullstoryfromsomeone’sownmouth/pen.Youdidn’ttellmeanythingaboutwhatitfeltlikebeinginthatcourtroom,whatprisonhasbeenlikeforyou…soIcanimaginethepartsyou’veleftoutwouldmakemecryevenmore.
Butit’snousemejusttellingyouhowshitthisis(youalreadyknowthat)andhowsorryIam(youprobablygetthatalotfrompeople).IwasthinkingthatbeforeIwrotethisletter,andfeelingprettyuseless.Ican’tjustwritetoyouandsay,“sorry,thisisshitforyou,”Ithought.SoIrangmybestfriendGerty.
Gertyisasuperbhumanbeingintheleastobviousway.She’smeantoprettymucheveryone,totallyobsessiveaboutherwork,andifyoucrosshershe’llcutyououtofherlifecompletely.Butsheisdeeplyprincipledinherway,andverygoodtoherfriends,andvalueshonestyaboveallelse.
Shealsohappenstobeabarrister.And,ifherridiculouslysuccessfulcareerisanythingtogoby,abloodygoodone.
I’llbehonest:Shelookedattheletterasafavortome.Butshereadthetranscriptofyourtrialforherowninterest,and—Ithink—foryou,too.She’snotsayingshe’stakingonyourcase(you’llseethatfromhernote,enclosed),butshehasafewquestionsshe’dlikeanswered.Feelfreetototallyignorethis—youprobablyhaveanawesomelawyerwhohasalreadylookedintothisstuff.Imean,maybegettingGertyinvolvedwasmoreaboutmethanyou,becauseIwantedtofeellikeIwasdoingsomething.Sofeelfreetotellmetopissoff.
ButifyoudowanttowritebacktoGerty,sendsomethinginyournextlettertoLeonandwe’llgetitovertoher.Andmaybe…don’tmentionittoyourlawyer.Idon’tknowhowlawyersfeelaboutyoutalkingtootherlawyers—isitlikeadultery?
Tonsofstampsenclosed(anothervictimofthe“wantingtohelp”impulseI’mstrugglingwithhere).
Yours,
Tiffy
DearMr.Twomey,
MynameisGertrudeConstantine.IsuspectTiffanywillhavegivenmesomesortofgrandioseintroductioninherletter,soIshallskipthepleasantries.
Pleaseletmebeclear:Thisisnotanofferofrepresentation.Thisisaninformalletter,notalegalconsultation.IfIofferadvice,itisasafriendofTiffany.
1.ItappearsfromthetrialtranscriptthatthefriendswithwhomyouvisitedDaffie’s,thenightclubinClapham,werenotcalledaswitnessesbyeitherprosecutionordefense.Pleaseconfirm.
2.“TheBloods”arenotmentionedbyyouoranyotherpersoninthetrialtranscript.Ipresumefromyourletterthatyouonlybecameawareofthisgang’schosennamewhileinprison.Canyouconfirmwhichinformationledyoutobelievethatthegroupyousawatthenightclub,andthemanwhoassaultedyouinthetoilets,weremembersofthisgang?
3.Didyoureporttheassaultinthenightclubtoilets?
4.Thebouncersatthenightclubgaveevidencethatthegang(asweshallrefertothem)lefttheclubsoonafteryoudid.Theywerenotquestionedfurther.Fromwheretheystood,mighttheyhavebeenabletoindicatewhetheryouandthegangweretravelinginthesameorasimilardirection?
5.ItappearsthatthejurymadetheirdecisiononthebasisofonlyonesegmentofCCTVfootage,filmedfromwithintheestablishment.WasCCTVfromClaphamRoad,Aldicarpark,andtheadjacentlaundretterequestedbyyourlegalrepresentative?
Yoursfaithfully,
GertrudeConstantine21TIFFY
Whenitcomestothepartwherewetakecrochethooksandwoolouttothecrowd,Iheadtowardthelittlegirlwhowasstaringatmeearlier.ShegrinsasIapproach,allbigfrontteethandcheekiness.
“Hello,”shesays.“AreyouTiffy?”
Istareather,andthenduckdowntothelevelofherwheelchair,becauseloomingfeelsweird.“Yeah!Peoplekeepaskingmethattoday.Howdidyouguess?”
“Youarepretty!”shesaysgleefully.“Areyouniceaswell?”
“Oh,I’mhorrible,actually,”Itellher.“WhydidyouthinkImightbeTiffy?And”—asanafterthought—“pretty?”
“Theysaidyournameatthebeginning,”shepointsout.Oh,right,ofcourse.Thoughthatdoesn’texplainallthecreepynurses.“You’renotreallyhorrible.Ithinkyou’renice.Itwasniceofyoutoletthatladymeasureyourlegs.”
“Itwas,wasn’tit?”Isay.“Ithinkthatparticularactofnicenesshasgonequiteunderappreciatedupuntilthispoint,actually,sothankyou.Doyouwanttolearnhowtocrochet?”
“No,”shesays.
Ilaugh.Atleastshe’shonest,unlikethemanbehindher,whoisvaliantlyhavingagoatmakingaslipknotunderKatherin’ssupervision.“Whatdoyouwanttodo,then?”
“IwanttotalktoyouaboutLeon,”shesays.
“Ah!YouknowLeon!”
“I’mhisfavoritepatient.”
Ismile.“Ibet.Sohe’smentionedme,hashe?”
“Notverymuch,”shesays.
“Oh.Right.Well—”
“ButItoldhimI’dfindoutifyouwerepretty.”
“Didyounow!Didheaskyoutodothat?”
Shethinksaboutit.“No.ButIthinkhewantedtoknow.”
“Idon’tthinkhedoes…”IrealizeIdon’tknowhername.
“Holly,”shesays.“LiketheChristmasplant.”
“Well,Holly,meandLeonarejustfriends.Friendsdon’tneedtoknowiffriendsarepretty.”
SuddenlyMartinisrightatmyshoulder.“Canyouposewithher?”hemuttersinmyear.God,thatmanknowshowtocreepuponyou.Heshouldwearabell,likecatsthateatbirds.
“Pose?WithHolly?”
“Theleukemiagirl,yeah,”Martinsays.“Forthepressrelease.”
“Icanhearyou,youknow,”Hollydeclaresloudly.
Martinhasjustenoughdecencytolookembarrassed.“Hello,”hesaysinastiltedsortofway.“I’mMartin.”
Hollyshrugs.“Allright,Martin.Mymumhasn’tgivenpermissionforyoutotakemyphoto.Idon’twantmyphototaken.PeoplealwaysfeelsorryformebecauseIdon’thaveverymuchhairandIlooksick.”
IcanseeMartinthinkingthatthatwasprettymuchtheidea.Iamovercomebyasuddenbutnotunprecedentedurgetopunchhim,oratleastkickhimintheshins.MaybeIcouldstumbleoverHolly’swheelchairandmakeitlooklikeanaccident.
“Fine,”Martinmutters,alreadyoffinKatherin’sdirection,nodoubthopingthatshe’slocatedasimilarlycutepatientwithfewerqualmsaboutbeingplasteredallovertheInternetinordertofurtherMartin’scareer.
“He’shorrible,”Hollysaysmatter-of-factly
“Yes,”Isay,withoutreallythinking.“Heis,isn’the?”Icheckmywatch;wefinishupintenminutes.
“DoyouwanttogoandfindLeon?”Hollyasks,lookingatmerathercannily.
IglanceoveratKatherinandMartin.Imean,myworkasamodelisdone,andI’mnotevenanygoodatcrocheting,letaloneteachingotherpeopletodoit.It’lltakethemagestogetallthiswoolclearedup,anditwouldbequitenicenottobehereforthatbit.
ItapoutaquicktexttoKatherin.I’mjustheadingofftofindmyflatmatetosaythanksfororganizing.I’llbebackintimetotidyupxx(Idefinitelywon’t.)
“Thatway,”Hollysays,andthen,whenItotallyfailtopushherwheelchair,shelaughsandpointstothebrake.“Everyoneknowsyouhavetotakethebrakeoff.”
“Ijustthoughtyouwerereallyheavy,”Itellher.
Hollygiggles.“LeonwillbeinCoralWard.Don’tfollowthesigns,theytakeyouthelongway.Turnleft!”
IdoasI’mtold.“Youreallyknowyourwayaroundthisplace,don’tyou?”Isay,afterbeingdirecteddownadozencorridorsand,atonepoint,throughanactualcloset.
“I’vebeenheresevenmonths,”Hollysays.“AndI’mfriendswithMr.RobbiePrior.He’sonCoralWardandhewasveryimportantinoneofthewars.”
“Mr.Prior!Doesheknit?”
“Allthetime,”Hollysays.
Excellent!I’monmywaytomeetmylife-savingknitterandmynote-writingflatmate.IwonderifLeonwilltalkthewayhewrites,allshortsentencesandnopronouns.
“Hey,Dr.Patel!”Hollyyellssuddenlyatapassingdoctor.“ThisisTiffy!”
Dr.Patelpauses,lowersherglassesdownhernose,thenflashesmeasmile.“WellInever,”isallshesaysbeforedisappearingintothenearestpatient’sroom.
“OK,MissHolly,”Isay,spinningthewheelchairsowe’refacingeachother.“Whatisgoingon?Whydoeseveryonehereknowmyname?Andwhydotheyseemsosurprisedtoseeme?”
Hollylooksmischievous.“Nobodybelievesyou’rereal,”shesays.“ItoldeveryoneLeonislivingwithagirlandhewriteshernotesandshemakeshimlaugh,andnobodybelievedme.TheyallsaidLeoncouldn’t…”Shescrunchesuphernose.“Tolerateaflatmate.Ithinkthatmeanshewouldn’twantonebecausehe’ssoquiet.Theydon’tknow,though,thatactuallyhesavesallhistalkingupforthereallygoodpeople,likemeandyou.”
“Seriously?”Ishakemyhead,grinning,andsetoffdownthecorridoragain.It’sfunnyhearingaboutLeonfromsomeoneelse.SofarmyonlypointofreferencehasbeenKay,whohardlyeverpopsroundthesedays.
WithHolly’sinstructions,wefinallyreachCoralWard.Shelooksaround,bracingherselfonthearmsofherchairtogetabetterlook.“Where’sMr.Prior?”shecalls.
AnelderlygentlemaninachairoverbythewindowturnsandsmilesatHolly,hisfaceamassofdeepwrinkles.“Hello,Holly.”
“Mr.Prior!ThisisTiffy.She’spretty,isn’tshe?”
“Ah,Ms.Moore,”Mr.Priorsays,attemptingtostandandholdingouthishand.“Whatapleasure.”
Iscuttleover,desperateforhimtositdowninhischairagain.Itlookslikeunfoldinghimselfoutofthatpositionwouldnotbewise.“It’ssuchanhonortomeetyou,Mr.Prior!Ihavetotellyou,Iadoreyourwork—andIcan’tthankyouenoughforcrochetingallthosescarfsandhatsforKatherin’sbook.”
“Oh,Ienjoyeditverymuch.Iwouldhavecometoyourdemonstration,but”—hepatshischestabsently—“Iwasn’tfeelingquiteuptoit,I’mafraid.”
“Oh,that’sallright,”Isay.“It’snotlikeyouneedthelesson.”Ipause.“Idon’tsupposeyou’veseen…”
Mr.Priorsmiles.“Leon?”
“Well,yeah.Ijustwantedtotrackhimdowntosayhi.”
“Mmm,”Mr.Priorsays.“You’llfindourLeonissomewhattrickytopindown.Infact,hejustslippedout.Ithinksomeonetippedhimoffthatyouwerecoming.”
“Oh.”Ilookdown,embarrassed.Ididn’tmeantohoundhimroundthehospital.JustinalwayssaidIneverknewwhentoletsomethingdrop.“Ifhedoesn’twanttoseeme,Ishouldprobably…”
Mr.Priorwavesahand.“Youmistakeme,mydear,”hesays.“Itisn’tthatatall.I’dsayLeonisrathernervousaboutmeetingyou.”
“Whywouldhebenervous?”Iask,asifI’venotbeennervousallday.
“Icouldn’tsayforsure,”Mr.Priorsays,“butLeondoesn’tlikethings…changing.I’dsayheverymuchenjoyslivingwithyou,Ms.Moore,andIdowonderifhedoesn’twanttoruinit.”Hepauses.“IwouldsuggestthatifyouwanttointroduceachangeintoLeon’sroutine,you’rebetteroffdoingitveryquickly,andallatonce,sohehasnomeansofdodgingit.”
“Likeasurprise,”Hollysayssolemnly.
“Right,”Isay.“Well.Anyway,itwasgreattomeetyou,Mr.Prior.”
“Onemorething,Ms.Moore,”Mr.Priorsays.“Leonwaslookingalittleemotional.Andholdingaletter.Idon’tsupposeyou’dknowanythingaboutthat,wouldyou?”
“Oh,god,IhopeIdidn’tsaythewrongthing,”Isay,desperatelytryingtorememberwhatI’dputinthatlettertoRichie.
“No,no,hewasn’tupset.Justinaspin.”Mr.Priortakeshisglassesoffandrubsthemagainsthisshirtwithshaky,gnarledfingers.“Iwouldsay,ataguess,thathewasrather…”Theglassesgobackonhisnose.“Surprised.”22LEON
It’stoomuch.I’mshaking.ThisisthemosthopeIhavefeltinmonths,andI’veforgottenhowtohandlethisemotion—insideshavegonewobblyandskinhasturnedallcoldandhotatsametime.Heartratehasbeenraisedforagoodhournow.Can’tslowdown.
IshouldgoandthankTiffyinperson.She’stryingtofindmeandIkeephiding,whichisclearlychildishandridiculous.Amjustfeelingveryoddaboutthis.Likeifwemeet,everythingwillbedifferent,andtherewillbenogoingbacktohowitwas.AndIlikehowitwas.Is.
Me:June,where’sTiffy?
June:Yourlovelyflatmate?
Me,patiently:Yes.Tiffy.
June:Leon,it’salmostoneinthemorning.Sheleftaftertheshow.
Me:Oh.Didshe…leaveanote?Oranything?
June:Sorry,love.Shewastryingtofindyou,though,ifthat’sanyconsolation.
Itisn’t.Andnonote,either.Feellikeafool.I’vemissedthechancetosaythankyou;probablyupsether,too.Don’tlikethatthought.But—stillbuzzingabouttheletter,anditbuoysmethroughtherestofthenightwithonlytheoccasionalcrushingmemoryofdodgingdowncorridorstoavoidsocialinteraction(extremeantisocialness,evenforme.WinceatthethoughtofwhatRichiewillsay).
AttheendofmyshiftIleaveatajogandheadforthebusstop.CallKayassoonasI’moutthedoor.Cannotwaittotellherabouttheletter,thecriminal-lawyerfriend,thelistofquestions.
Kayisunusuallyquiet.
Me:Thisisamazing,no?
Kay:Thislawyer’snotactuallydoneanything,Leon.She’snottakingonthecase—orevensayingshebelievesRichieisinnocent,really.
Almoststumble,likesomeonehasphysicallyputouthandtostopme.
Me:It’ssomething,though.There’snotbeensomethingforsolong.
Kay:AndIthoughtyouweren’tevergoingtomeetTiffy.ThatwasthefirstrulewesetwhenIagreedtothisflatshare.
Me:What…ever?Can’tmeetherever?She’smyflatmate.
Kay:Don’tmakeoutlikeI’mbeingunreasonable.
Me:Didn’trealizeyoumeant…Eh,thisissilly.Ididn’tmeether,anyway.IcalledtotellyouRichienews.
Anotherlongsilence.Ifrown,walkingslowernow.
Kay:Iwishyou’dcometotermswithRichie’ssituation,Leon.It’sdrainingsomuchofyourenergy,allofthis—it’schangedyoutheselastfewmonths.Ithinkthehealthiestthing—ifI’mhonest—istoreachacceptance.AndI’msureyouwill,it’sjust…it’sbeenawhile.Andit’sreallyputtingastrainonyou.Onus.
Don’tunderstand.Didshenothear?It’snotlikeamsayingsameoldthings,hangingontosameoldhopes—I’msaying,thereisnewhope.Therearenewthings.
Me:Whatareyousuggesting?Wejustgiveup?Butthere’snewevidencetoget,nowthatweknowwhattolookfor!
Kay:You’renotalawyer,Leon.AndSalisalawyer,andyou’vesaidyourselfthathedidhisbest,andIpersonallythinkit’snotrightforthiswomantobeinterferingandgivingyouandRichiehopewhenthecasewassoopenandshut.Thejuryallthoughthewasguilty,Leon.
Coldnessgrowinglowdowninstomach.Heartrateupagain,andforallthewrongreasonsthistime.I’mgettingangry.Thatfeelingagain,thetrappedhatefulrageathearingsomeoneyoutrysohardtolovesayingtheworstthings.
Me:Whatisthis,Kay?Ican’tfigureoutwhatyouwantfromme.
Kay:Iwantyouback.
Me:What?
Kay:Iwantyouback,Leon.Present.Inyourlife.Withme.It’slike…you’vestoppedseeingme.Youdriftinandoutandspendyoursparetimehere,butyou’renotreallywithme.You’realwayswithRichie.YoualwayscareaboutRichie—morethanyoucareaboutme.
Me:OfcourseIcaremoreaboutRichie.
Thepauseislikesilenceafteragunshot.Islaphandtomouth.Didn’tmeantosayit;don’tknowwhereitcamefrom.
Me:Idon’tmeanitlikethat.Idon’tmeanthat.Just…Richieneedsmoreofmy…carerightnow.Hehasnobody.
Kay:Doyouhaveanyofyourcareleftforanyoneelse?Foryou?
Shemeans,forme?
Kay:Please.Actuallythinkaboutit.Actuallythinkaboutyouandme.
She’scryingnow.Ifeelwretched,butthatroaringhot-coldsensationdeepinmystomachisstillburning.
Me:Youstillthinkhe’sguilty,don’tyou?
Kay:Damnit,Leon,I’mtryingtotalkaboutus,notaboutyourbrother.
Me:Ineedtoknow.
Kay:Can’tyoujustlistentome?I’msayingthisistheonlywayyoucanheal.Youcancarryonbelievinghedidn’tdoitifyoulike,butyouneedtoacceptthatheisinprisonandwillbeforagoodfewyears.Youcan’tkeepfighting.It’spullingyourlifeapart.AllyoudoisworkandwritetoRichieandfixateonthings,whetherit’ssomeoldguy’sboyfriendorthelatestdetailinRichie’sappeal.Youusedtodostuff.Goout.Spendtimewithme.
Me:I’veneverhadmuchsparetime,Kay.WhatIhavehasalwaysbeenforyou.
Kay:Yougotoseehimeveryotherweekendthesedays.
Isshereallyangryatmeforvisitingmybrotherinprison?
Kay:IknowIcan’tbemadatyouforthat.Iknowthat.ButIjust…WhatImeanis,youhavesolittletime,andnowIfeelIgetanevensmallerfractionofit,and…
Me:DoyoustillthinkRichieisguilty?
Thereissilence.IthinkI’mcryingnow,too;there’sahotwetnessonmycheeksasyetanotherbusspeedsby,andIcan’tbeartogeton.
Kay:Whydoesitalwayscomebacktothis?Whydoesitmatter?Ourrelationshipshouldn’thavethismuchofyourbrotherinit.
Me:Richieispartofme.We’refamily
Kay:Well,we’repartners.Doesn’tthatmeananything?
Me:YouknowIloveyou.
Kay:Funny.I’mnotsureIdoknowthat.
Silencestretcheson.Trafficspeedsby.Scuffmyfeet,lookingdownatthesun-scorchedpavement,feelingunreal.
Me:Justsayit.
Shewaits.Iwait.Anotherbuswaits,thendriveson.
Kay:IthinkRichiedidit,Leon.It’swhatthejurydecided,andtheyhadalltheinformation.It’sthesortofthinghe’ddo.
Closemyeyesslowly.Itdoesn’tfeellikeIexpecteditto—it’sstrange,butit’salmostarelief.Havebeenhearinghersayitinsilenceformonths,eversinceTheArgument.Thisisanendtotheendlesstwistinginthegut,theendlesswaitingontheedgesofconversations,theendlessknowingbuttryingnottoknow.
Kayissobbing.Ilisten,eyesstillclosed,andit’slikeI’mfloating.
Kay:Thisisit,isn’tit?
It’sobvious,allatonce.Thisisit.Can’tdothisanymore.Can’thavethiseatingawayatmyloveforRichie,can’tbewithapersonwhodoesn’tlovehim,too.
Me:Yes.Thisisit.23TIFFY
Thedayaftermyvisittothehospice,IcomehometothelongestandmostincoherentnoteI’veeverhadfromLeon,lainonthekitchencounterbesideanuneatenplateofspaghetti.
HiTiffy,
AmabitallovertheplacebutthankyousomuchfornoteforRichie.Can’tthankyouenough.Definitelyneedallhelpwecanget.Hewillbethrilled.
SorryIdidn’tfindyouatwork.Wasmyfaultcompletely—leftittoolatetocomeandfindyou,wantedtoreadyourlettertoRichiefirstlikeyou’daskedbuttookmeages,thenjustmessedupandleftittoolate,alwaystakesmeawhiletoprocessthings—sorry,amjustgoingtogotobed,ifthat’sallright,seeyoulaterx
Istareatitforawhile.Well,atleasthedidn’tavoidmeallnightbecausehedidn’twanttoseeme.But…uneatendinner?Alltheselongsentences?Whatdoesitmean?
IlayaPost-itbesidehisnote,stickingitcarefullytothecountertop.
HeyLeon,
Areyouallright?!I’llmakerockyroad,justincase.
Tiffyxx
TheunusualwordinessofLeon’sletterisverymuchaone-off.Forthenexttwoweekshisnotesareevenmoremonosyllabicandlackinginpersonalpronounsthanusual.Idon’twanttopushit,butsomethinghasclearlyupsethim.AreheandKayfighting?She’snotbeenround,andhehasn’tmentionedherforweeks.Idon’tknowhowtohelpwhenhewon’ttellme,though,soIjustbakeabittoomuchanddon’tcomplainthathe’snotbeencleaningtheflatproperly.Yesterdayhiscoffeemugwasn’tontheleftofthesinkortheright—itwasstillinthecupboard,andhemusthavegonetoworkwithoutanycaffeineatall.
InaflashofinspirationIleaveLeonthenextmanuscriptfrommybricklayer-turned-designer,theonewhowroteBuilt.Booktwo—Skyscraping—ismaybeevenbetter,andI’mhopingit’llcheerhimup.
Icomehometothisnoteontopofthering-boundmanuscript:
Thisman.Whataguy!
Thanks,Tiffy.Sorrytheflat’sabitofamess.Willcleansoon,promise.
Leonx
I’mcountingthatexclamationmarkasamajorsignofimprovement.
It’sthedayofourtrialbooklaunch,theonewe’retakingKatherintosoPRcanpersuadeherthatahugelaunchisexactlywhatshe’salwayswanted.
“Notights,”Rachelsaysdecisively.“It’sAugust,forgod’ssake.”
We’regettingreadytogetherintheofficeloos.Everysooftensomeonecomesintopeeandletsoutalittleyelpastheyseethattheroomhasbeentransformedintoadressingroom.Bothourmakeupbagsareemptiedacrossthesinks;theairiscloudedwithperfumeandhairspray.Weeachhavethreeoutfitchoiceshungupalongthemirrors,plustheoneswe’renowwearing(ourfinalchoices:Rachelisinalimegreensilkwraparounddress,andI’minateadresscoveredinenormousprintsofAliceinWonderland—IfoundthefabricinaStockwellcharityshopandbribedoneofmymostobligingfreelancerstomakeitintoadressforme).
Iwrigglearoundandwhipmytightsoff.Rachelnodsinapproval.
“Better.Morelegisgood.”
“You’dhavemedressedinabikiniifyouhadyourway.”
Shegrinscheekilyatmeinthemirrorasshedabsatherlipstick.
“Well,youmightmeetahandsomeyoungNordicman,”shesays.
TonightisallaboutForestryfortheOrdinaryMan,ourwoodworkeditor’slatestacquisition.TheauthorisaNorwegianhermit.It’squiteabigdealthathe’slefthistreehouseforlongenoughtocometoLondon.RachelandIarehopingthathehasacompletemeltdownandturnsonMartin,whoisorganizingthisevent,andreallyshouldhavetakentheauthor’shermitlifestyleasasignthatheprobablydoesn’twanttogiveaspeechtoaroomfullofwoodworkfanatics.
“I’mnotsureI’mreadyforhandsomeyoungNordicmen.Idon’tknow.”IfindmyselfthinkingbacktowhatMosaidtomeaboutJustinafewmonthsago,whenI’drunghiminastateaboutwhetherJustinwouldevergetintouchwithme.“I’mstrugglingwithbeing…readytodate.EventhoughJustinleftagesago.”
Rachelpausesmid-dabtostareatmewithconcern.“Areyouallright?”
“Ithinkso,”Isay.“Yeah,IthinkI’mfine.”
“Soit’sbecauseofJustin?”
“No,no,Idon’tmeanthat.MaybeIjustdon’tneedthatinmyliferightnow.”Iknowthat’snottrue,butIsayitanywaybecauseRachelislookingatmelikeI’mill.
“Youdo,”Racheltellsme.“You’vejustnothadsexfortoolong.You’veforgottenhowexceptionalitis.”
“Idon’tthinkI’veforgottenwhatsexis,Rachel.Isn’titlike,youknow.Ridingabike?”
“Similar,”Rachelconcedes,“butyou’venotbeenwithamansinceJustin,whichended,what,Novemberlastyear?Sothatmeansit’sbeenmorethan…”Shecountsonherfingers.“Ninemonths.”
“Ninemonths?”Wow.Thatisaverylongtime.Youcangrowawholebabyinthattime.NotthatIam,obviously,becauseotherwisethisteadresswouldnotfit.
Unsettled,Iapplyblusherabittoovigorouslyandenduplookingsunburnt.Ugh.I’llhavetostartagain.
MartinfromPRmaybeapaininthearse,butthemancanputonawoodwork-themedparty.We’reinapubinShoreditchwithexposedbeamsloominglowaboveus;therearepilesoflogsascenterpiecesoneverytable,andthebarisdecoratedwithpinebranches.
Ilookaround,ostensiblytryingtofindKatherin,butreallytryingtolocatetheNorwegianauthorwhohasn’tseenahumanbeinginsixmonths.Icheckthecorners,whereIsuspecthewillbecowering.
Racheldragsmetothebartofindoutonceandforallifthedrinksarefree.Theyareforthefirsthour,apparently—wecurseourselvesforarrivingtwentyminuteslateandorderginandtonics.Rachelbefriendsthebartenderbytalkingaboutfootball,whichactuallyworksasurprisingamountofthetime,despitebeingthemostunoriginaltopictoassumeamanwouldbeinterestedin.
Weobviouslydrinkveryquickly,thatbeingtheonlyreasonablereactiontoaone-hourwindowforfreedrinks,sowhenKatherinarrivesIgiveheranespeciallyeffusivehug.Shelookspleased.
“Thisisabitdecadent,”shesays.“Willthisman’sbookpayforthis?”Sheisnodoubtthinkingofherpreviousroyaltychecks.
“Oh,no,”Rachelsaysairily,gesturingforatop-upfromhernewbestfriendandnowfellowArsenalfan(RachelsupportsWestHam).“Notlikely.Butyouhavetodothissortofthingoccasionally,otherwiseeveryonewilljustself-publish.”
“Shhh,”Ihiss.Idon’twantKatheringettinganyideas.
Severalginandtonicslater,Rachelandthebartenderaremorethanfriendly,andotherpeoplearereallyhavingtroublegettingserved.Tomysurprise,Katherinisinherelement.Rightnowshe’slaughingatsomethingourheadofPRhassaid,whichIknowisanact,becausetheheadofPRisliterallyneverfunny.
Theseeventsareperfectforpeople-watching.Iswivelonmybarstooltogetabetterviewoftheroom.ThereareindeedquitealotofhandsomeNordicmenabout.Iconsiderthepossibilityoftakingmyselfoutintotheroomuntilsomeoneobliginglyintroducesmetooneofthem,butIjustcan’tbringmyselftodoit.
“Kindoflikewatchingants,isn’tit?”sayssomeonefrombesideme.Iturn;there’sasmartlydressedbusinesstypeleaningagainstthebartomyleft.Hesmilesruefullyatme.Hislight-brownhairisbuzzedshort,thesamelengthashisstubble,andhiseyesareacuteblue-graywithcrinklesattheedges.“Thatsoundedalotworseoutloudthaninmyhead.”
Ilookbackatthecrowd.“Iknowwhatyoumean,”Isay.“Theyalllookso…busy.Andpurposeful.”
“Excepthim,”themansays,noddingtoaguyintheoppositecorner,whohasjustbeenabandonedbytheyoungwomanhewastalkingto.
“He’salostant,”Iagree.“Whatdoyoureckon—isheourNorwegianhermit?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow,”themansays,givinghimanappraisinglook.“Notgood-lookingenough,Idon’tthink.”
“Why,haveyouseentheauthorphoto?”Iask.
“Yep.Handsomeguy.Dashing,somemightsay.”
Inarrowmyeyesathim.“It’syou,isn’tit?You’retheauthor.”
Hesmiles,andthecrinklesinthecornersofhiseyeslengthenintotinycrow’sfeet.“Guilty.”
“You’reverywell-dressedforahermit,”Isay,alittleaccusingly.Ifeelmisled.Hedoesn’tevenhaveaNorwegianaccent,damnit.
“Ifyou’dreadthis,”hesays,wavingoneofthesamplersthatwasavailableonourwayin,“thenyou’dknowthatbeforeIchosetolivealoneinNordmarka,IwasaninvestmentbankerinOslo.IlastworethissuitonthedayIresigned.”
“Really?Whatmadeyoudoit?”
Heopensthesamplerandbeginstoread.“Tiredofthecorporatetoil,Kenhadarevelationafteraweekendspenthikingwithanoldschoolfriendwhonowmadehislivinginwoodwork.Kenhadalwayslovedtousehishands”—andnowthelookhegivesmeisdefinitelyflirtatious—“andwhenhewentbacktohisoldfriend’sworkshop,hefeltsuddenlyathome.Itwasclearwithinmomentsthathewasanextraordinarilyskilledwoodworker.”
“Ifonlywealwayshadapre-writtenbiographyformeetingnewpeople,”Isay,raisinganeyebrow.“Makesitsomucheasiertobrag.”
“Givemeyours,then,”hesays,snappingthesamplerclosedwithasmile.
“Mybio?Hmm.Letmesee.TiffyMooreescapedthesmallnessofhervillageupbringingforthegreatadventurethatisLondonassoonasshecould.There,shefoundthelifeshehadalwayswanted:overpricedcoffee,squalidaccommodation,andanextraordinarylackofgraduatejobsthatdidn’tinvolvespreadsheets.”
Kenlaughs.“You’regood.AreyouinPR,too?”
“Editorial,”Itellhim.“IfIwereinPR,I’dhavetobeouttherewiththeants.”
“Well,I’mgladyou’renot,”hesays.“Iprefertobeawayfromthecrowd,butIdon’tthinkIcouldhaveresistedsayinghellotothebeautifulwomanintheLewisCarrolldress.”
Hegivesmealook.Averyintenselook.Mystomachflutters.But…Icandothis.Whynot?
“Doyouwanttogetsomeair?”Ifindmyselfsaying.Henods,andIgrabmyjacketoffthechairandheadforthedoortothepubgarden.
It’saperfectsummerevening.Theairisstilltingedwithwarmtheventhoughthesunsethoursago;thepubhashungupstringsoflightbulbsbetweenthetrees,andtheycastasoftyellowglowacrossthegarden.Thereareafewpeopleouthere,mainlysmokers—theyhavethathunchedlookthatsmokersget,liketheworldisagainstthem.KenandItakeaseatonapicnicbench.
“So,whenyousay‘hermit’…”Ibegin.
“WhichIhaven’t,”Kenpointsout.
“Right.Butwhatexactlydoesthatinvolve?”
“Livingalone,somewheresecluded.Veryfewpeople.”
“Veryfew?”
“Theoddfriend,thegrocerydeliverywoman.”Heshrugs.“It’snotasquietaspeoplemakeitouttobe.”
“Thegrocerydeliverywoman,eh?”Igivehimalookthistime.
Helaughs.“I’lladmit,that’sonedownsideofsolitude.”
“Oh,please.Youdon’tneedtolivealoneinatreehousetonothaveanysex.”
Ipressmylipstogether.I’mnotentirelysurewherethatcamefrom—possiblyfromthelastginandtonic—butKenjustsmiles,aslow,reallyquitesexysmile,andthenleansdowntokissme.
AsIclosemyeyesandleanin,Ifeelgiddyonpossibility.There’snothingtostopmegoinghomewiththisman,andit’sasunlight-through-the-cloudsmoment—likesomething’slifted.IcandowhateverIwantnow.I’mfree.
Andthen,asthekissdeepens,withdisorientatingsuddennessIremembersomething.
Justin.I’mcrying.We’vejusthadafightanditwasallmyfault.Justinhasgonecold,hisbackturnedonmeinourenormouswhitebedwithallitstrendybrushedcottonandendlesspillows.
Iamdeeplymiserable.MoremiserablethanIhaverememberedbeingbefore,andyetitdoesn’tfeelatallunfamiliar.Justinturnstowardme,andsuddenly,giddily,hishandsareonmeandwe’rekissing.I’mmuddled,lost.I’msogratefulhe’snotangrywithmeanymore.Heknowsjustwheretotouchme.Themiseryhasn’tgone,it’sstillthere,buthewantsmenow,andthereliefmakeseverythingelseseemsmall.
Backhere,inthegardeninShoreditch,Kenpullsbackfromthekiss.He’ssmiling.Idon’tthinkhecaneventellthatmyskinhasgoneclammyandmyheartisracingforallthewrongreasons.
Fuck.Fuck.Whatthehellwasthat?AUGUST24LEON
Richie:Howareyoufeeling,man?
HowamIfeeling?Untethered.Likesomething’sgotdislodgedsomewhereinmychestandmybodydoesn’tfunctionquiterightanymore.LikeI’malone.
Me:Sad.
Richie:You’venotbeeninlovewithKayformonths,I’mtellingyou.I’msogladyou’reoutofthatrelationship,man—itwasabouthabit,notaboutlove.
WonderwhythefactthatRichie’srightdoesn’tlessenthepaininanymeaningfulway.MissKayalmostconstantly.Likeanaggingache.ItworsenseverytimeIpickupthephonetocallher,andthenhavenobodytocall.
Me:Anyway.AnynewsfromTiffy’slawyerfriend?
Richie:Notyet.Ican’tstopthinkingaboutit.Youknoweverysinglethinginherletterjustmademego,“Oh,yeah,shit,whydidn’twethinkofthat?”
Me:Same.
Richie:Youdidpassonmyreply?Youmadesureshegotit?
Me:Tiffygaveittoher.
Richie:You’resure?
Me:I’msure.
Richie:OK.Allright.Sorry.I’mjust…
Me:Iknow.Me,too.
Forthelasttwoweekends,haveAirbnb’edmywayaroundUKonquestforMr.Prior’sboyfriend.Itwasanexcellentdistraction.MettworadicallydifferentJohnnyWhites—onebitter,furious,andalarminglyright-wing,andtheotherlivinginacaravanandsmokingweedoutofthewindowaswediscussedhislifesincethewar.HasatleastprovidedamusementforTiffy—notesaboutJohnnyWhitesalwaysgetgoodresponse.GotthisafterdescribingtriptomeetJohnnyWhitetheThird:
Ifyou’renotcarefulI’llcommissionyoutowriteabookaboutthis.ObviouslyinorderforittofitwithmypublishinglistI’dhavetointroducesomeelementofDIY—couldyoulearnadifferentcraftfromeachJohnny,orsomething?Youknow,like,JohnnyWhitetheFirstspontaneouslyteachesyouhowtomakeabookcase,andthenthereyouarewithJohnnyWhitetheSecondandhe’smakingroyalicingandyoujusthappentojoinin…Ohmygod,isthisthebestideaI’veeverhad?Ormaybetheworst?Iabsolutelycannottell.xx
Oftenthinkitmustbeverytiring,beingTiffy.Eveninnoteformsheseemstoexpendsomuchenergy.Quitecheeringtocomehometo,though.
Thisweekend’svisittoRichiewascancelled—notenoughprisonstaff.Willhavebeenfiveweeksbetweenvisits.That’stoolongforhim,and,I’mrealizing,formealso.WithKaygoneandRichieabletoringevenlessthanusual—toofewprisonstaffmeansmoretimebangedup,lessaccesstophones—I’mfindingthatevenIcansufferfromnottalkingenough.It’snotliketherearen’tfriendsIcancall.Butthey’renot…thepeopleIcantalkto.
HadbookedAirbnbupnearBirminghamforRichievisit,buthavecancelledthatnow,andamforcedtoconfrontthefactthatthiscomingweekend,Iwillneedsomewheretostay.Iwasclearlytoocomplacentaboutthestateofmyrelationshipwhenarrangingthislivingsituation.Amnowhomelessatweekends.
Wrackbrainsforoptions.Nothingforit.Amonwaytowork;checktimeonphone.It’sabouttheonlywindowofthedaywhenIcanringmymother.IgetoffthebusastopearlyandcallherasIwalk.
Mam,onanswering:Youdon’tcallmeenough,Lee.
Closeeyes.Deepbreath.
Me:Hi,Mam.
Mam:Richiecallsmemorethanyou.Fromprison
Me:Sorry,Mam.
Mam:Doyouknowhowhardthisisforme?Myboysnevertalkingtome?
Me:I’mcallingnow,Mam.I’vegotafewminutesbeforework—Iwanttotalktoyouaboutsomething.
Mam,suddenlyalert:Isittheappeal?HasSalcalledyou?
Ihaven’ttoldMamaboutTiffy’slawyerfriend.Don’twanttogetherhopesup.
Me:No.It’saboutme.
Mam,suspicious:Aboutyou?
Me:KayandIbrokeup.
Mammelts.Suddenlyallsympathy.Thisiswhatsheneeds:asontocallherandaskforhelpwithsomethingshecanhandle.Mymotherisgoodatdealingwithromanticheartbreak.Hashadlotsofpersonalpractice.
Mam:Oh,sweetheart.Whydidsheendit?
Mildlyinsulted.
Me:Iendedit.
Mam:Oh!Youdid?Whatfor?
Me:I…
Oh.It’ssurprisinglydifficult,evenwithMam.
Me:Shecouldn’thandlemyhours.Didn’tlikemehowIwas—wantedmetobemoresociable.And…shedidn’tbelieveRichie’sinnocent.
Mam:Shewhat?
Wait.Silence.Guttwists;itfeelsterribletellingonKay,evennow.
Mam:Thatcow.Shealwaysdidlookdownonus.
Me:Mam!
Mam:Well,I’mnotsorry.Goodriddancetoher.
It’slikespeakingillofthedead,somehow.I’mdesperatetoveeroffsubject.
Me:CanIcomestaythisweekend?
Mam:Stay?Here?Atmine?
Me:Yeah.IusedtostayatKay’severyweekend.It’spartof…thelivingarrangement.WithTiffy.
Mam:Youwanttocomehome?
Me:Yeah.Justfor…
Bitetongue.It’snotjustforthisweekend.It’suntilIfindsolution.Butit’sautomatictoputafirmendpointonthesethings;that’stheonlywaytofeelabletoescape.WhenIgethome,Mamwillhaveme,andwillnotletmego.
Mam:Youcanstayaslongasyouneed,andwheneveryouneed,allright?
Me:Thanks.
Momentofquiet.Icanhearhowpleasedsheis;guttwistsagain.Shouldvisitmore.
Me:CanIcheck…doyou…isthereanyoneelse?Livingthere?
Mam,awkwardly:Nobodyelse,sweetie.I’vebeenonmyownforafewmonthsnow.
That’sgood.Unusual,andgood.Mamalwayshasaman,andhealwaysseemstobelivingwithher,whoeverheis.AlmostalwayssomeonewhoRichiedespisesandIwouldrathernothavetosee.Mamhasunequivocallybadtaste.She’salwaysbeenawomanledastraybyabadman,ahundredtimesover.
Me:I’llseeyouSaturdaynight.
Mam:Can’twait.I’llgetusChinese,allright?
Silence.That’swhatwewoulddowhenRichiecamehome:SaturdaynightChinesefromHappyDuckdownMam’sroad.
Mam:Orlet’sgetIndian.Ifeellikeachange,don’tyou?25TIFFY
“Areyouallright?”Kenasks.
I’mprettymuchfrozen.Myheartispounding.
“Yes.Sorry,yes,I’mfine.”Itryasmile.
“Doyouwanttogetoutofhere?”hesaystentatively.“Imean,theparty’snearlyover…”
DoI?Idid,aboutoneminuteago.Now,evenwiththebuzzofthatkissstillwarmonmylips,Iwanttorunaway.I’mnotreallythinkingthoughts—mybrainisjustproducingthisextremelyunhelpfulone-tonenoteofpanic,likealoudlonguuuhhhhrattlingbackandforthbetweenmyears
Someonecallsmyname.Irecognizethevoice,butIdon’tconnectthedotsuntilIturnandseeJustin.
He’sstandinginthedoorwaybetweenthegardenandthepub,dressedinanopen-neckedshirtwithhisoldleathersatchelslungoverhisshoulder.Helookspainfullyfamiliar,butthingsaredifferenttoo:Hishairislongerthanheeverworeitwhenweweretogether,andhe’sgotnewcity-corporateshoes.IfeellikeI’veconjuredhimupbythinkingabouthim—howelsecouldhepossiblybehere?
HiseyesflicktoKenforamoment,andthenthey’rebacktome.Hecrossesthegrassbetweenus.Iamgluedtothespot,shoulderstensed,crouchedoveronthebenchwithKenbesideme.
“Youlookbeautiful.”
This,unbelievably,isthefirstthinghesays.
“Justin.”ThisisaboutallIcanmanage.IlookbackatKen,andnodoubtmyfaceisapictureofmisery.
“Letmeguess,”saysKenlightly.“Boyfriend?”
“Ex,”Isay.“Ex!Iwouldnever—I…”
Kensmilesaneasy,sexysmileatme,andthenturnsanequallygood-naturedoneonJustin.“Hi,”hesays,holdingouthishandforJustintoshake.“Ken.”
Justinbarelylooksathim;heshakeshishandforapproximatelyhalfasecondbeforeturningbacktome.“CanItalktoyou?”
IlookbetweenhimandKen.Ican’tbelieveIwaseventhinkingaboutgoinghomewithKen.Ican’tdothat.
“I’msorry,”Ibegin.“Ireally…”
“Hey,don’tworryaboutit,”Kensays,standingup.“YouhavemycontactdetailsifyoufancygettingintouchwhileI’mstillinLondon.”Hewavesthesampler,stillinhishand.“Nicetomeetyou,”hesays,extremelypolitely,inJustin’sdirection.
“Yeah,”isallJustinsays.
AsKenwalksaway,theuuuhhhhquietensandIfeellikeI’mwakingupalittle,comingoutofsomesortoftrance.Istand,kneesshaking,andfaceJustin.
“What.Thehell.Areyoudoinghere?”
Justindoesn’treacttothevenominmyvoice.Insteadheputshishandonmybackandstartsleadingmetowardthesidegate.Imovemechanically,unthinking,andthenshrughimoffsharplyassoonasIclockwhat’shappening.
“Hey,whoa.”Helooksatmeaswepauseinthegateway.Theeveningairiswarm,almoststifling.“AreyouOK?SorryifIsurprisedyou.”
“Andruinedmyevening.”
Hesmiles.“Comeon,Tiffy.Youneededrescuing.You’dnevergohomewithaguylikethat.”
Iopenmymouthtospeak,andthencloseitagain.Iwasgoingtosayhedoesn’tknowmeanymore,butsomehowitdoesn’tcomeout.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Imanageinstead.
“Iwasjustcominginforadrink.Icometothisplaceafairbit.”
Imean,thisisjustridiculous.Icannotbelievethis.Thecruiseshipmighthavebeenacoincidence—averyweirdone,butjustaboutplausible—butthis?
“Doyounotthinkthisisodd?”
He’sconfused.Hetiltshishead,like,huh?Mystomachflips—Iusedtolovethatlittlehead-tilt.
“We’vebumpedintoeachothertwiceinsixmonths.Onceonacruiseship.”
Ineedanexplanationforthisthatisn’t“Justinappearswhenyouthinkbadthoughtsabouthim,”whichiscurrentlyallmyhalf-frozenbraincanbelieve.I’mscaringmyselfalittle.
Hesmilesindulgently.“Tiffy.Comeon.Whatareyousuggesting?ThatIgotonthatcruisetoseeyou?ThatIturneduptonightjusttoseeyou?IfIwantedtodothat,whywouldn’tIjustcallyou?Orturnupatyouroffice?”
Oh.I…Iguessthatmakessense.Mycheeksflush;I’msuddenlyembarrassed
Hesqueezesmyshoulder.“Itisgreattoseeyou,though.Andyeah,it’saprettycrazycoincidence.Fate,maybe?IdidwonderwhyIsuddenlywantedapintthisevening,ofallevenings.”Hedoesanexaggeratedmysteriousface,andIcan’thelpsmiling.I’dforgottenhowcuteheiswhenheclownsaround.
No.Notsmiling.Notcute.IthinkofwhatGertyandMowouldsay,andgathermyresolve.
“Whatdidyouwanttotalktomeabout?”
“IamgladIbumpedintoyou,”hesays.“Ireally…Ihavebeenmeaningtocall.Butit’ssohardtoknowwheretostart.”
“Hitthephoneicon,I’dsuggest,thensearchyourcontactsbyname?”Isay.Myvoiceisshakingalittle,andIhopehedoesn’thearit.
Helaughs.“Iforgothowfunnyyouarewhenyou’reangry.No,Imean,Ididn’twanttotellyouthisonthephone.”
“Tellmewhat?Letmeguess.Thatyou’vebrokenupwiththewomanyouleftmefor?”
I’vecaughthimoffguard.There’salittlethrillwhenIseehisperfectconfidentsmilewaver,andthenawashofsomethingelse—morelikeanxiety.Idon’twanttopisshimoff.Itakeadeepbreath.“Idon’twanttoseeyou,Justin.Thisdoesn’tchangeanything.Youstillleftmeforher,youstill—youstill…”
“Inevercheatedonyou,”hesaysimmediately.We’vebegunwalking,I’mnotsurewhere;hestopsmeagainandputshishandsonmyshoulders,turningmesoIhavetolookhimintheface.“Iwouldneverdothattoyou,Tiffy.YouknowhowcrazyIamaboutyou.”
“Was.”
“What?”
“HowcrazyIwasaboutyou,iswhatyoumeanttosay.”AlreadyIwishI’dtakenthechancetotellhimthatthereasonIdon’twanttoseehimisactuallynothingtodowithPatricia.AlthoughI’mnotsurewhatitisabout.It’sabout…alltheotherstuff,whateverthatwas.Ifeelverymuddledallofasudden.Justin’spresencealwaysdoesthistome—makesmeallconfuseduntilIlosemytrainofthought.Thatwaspartoftheromance,Iguess,butrightnowitdoesn’tfeelniceatall.
“Don’ttellmewhatImeananddon’tmean.”Helooksawayforamoment.“Look,I’mherenow.Can’twejustgogetadrinksomewhereandtalkaboutit?Comeon.Wecangotothatchampagnebarroundthecornerwheretheyserveyourdrinksinpaintcans.OrwecangotothetopoftheShard,rememberwhenItookyouthereasatreat?Whatdoyousay?”
Istareathim.Hisbig,browneyes,alwayssoearnest,alwayssparklingwiththatcrazyexcitementthatcaughtmeupeverytime.Hisperfectjawline.Hisconfidentsmile.ItryveryhardnottothinkabouttheawfulmemorythatcamewhenIkissedKen,butitseemstobeinmysystemnow,worsethaneverwithJustinhere.Myskin’scrawlingwithit
“Whydidn’tyoucallme?”
“Itoldyou,”hesays,impatientnow,“Ididn’tknowhowtotellyouaboutthis.”
“Andwhyareyouhere?”
“Tiffy,”hesayssharply,“justcomeforadrink.”
Iflinch,andthentakeanotherdeepbreath.“Youwanttotalktome,youcallaheadandwearrangeatime.Notnow.”
“When,then?”heasks,frowning,hishandsstillheavyonmyshoulders.
“Just…Ineedtime.”Myheadfeelscloudy.“Idon’twanttotalktoyourightnow.”
“Timelikeacoupleofhours?”
“Timelikeacoupleofmonths,”IsaybeforeI’vethoughtaboutit,andthenIbitemylip,becausenowI’vegivenusadeadline.
“Iwanttoseeyounow,”hesays,andsuddenlythehandsthatareonmyshouldershavemovedtotouchmyhair,myupperarm.
Thatflashbackplaysbehindmyeyes.Ishrughimoff.“Trydelayedgratification,Justin.It’stheonlykindyou’regoingtoget,andIhaveafeelingit’llbegoodforyou.”
Andwiththat,IturnbeforeIcanchangemymind,andstumblebackintothebar.26LEON
Hollyhasalmostafullheadofhairnow.She’slikeafemaleHarryPotter—hairstickingupallovertheplacenomatterhowmuchhermumtriestosmoothitflat.
Herfacehaschanged,too,gotfuller,livelier.Eyeslooklessoutofproportionwiththerestofherthesedays.
Shegrinsupatme.
Holly:Haveyoucometosaygoodbye?
Me:I’vecometocheckyourbloods.
Holly:Foronelasttime?
Me:Dependswhattheysay.
Holly:You’rebeinggrumpy.Youdon’twantmetoleave.
Me:OfcourseIdo.Iwantyoutobewell.
Holly:No,youdon’t.Youdon’tlikestuffchanging.Youwantmetostayhere.
Don’tsayanything.It’sannoying,beingsocompletelyunderstoodbyonesoverysmall.
Holly:I’llmissyou,too.Willyouvisitmeathome?
Iglanceathermum,who’swearingatiredbutveryhappysmile.
Me:You’llbetoobusyatschoolandallyourafter-schoolclubs.Youwon’twantvisitors.
Holly:Yes,Iwill.
Holly’sMum:I’dlovetohaveyouroundfordinner.Really—andHollywould,too.Justtosaythankyou.
SheereuphoriasurroundingHolly’smotherlikeacloudofperfume.
Me:Well,maybe.Thanks.
Holly’smumiswellingup.Inevercopewellwiththesesituations.Starttofeelslightlypanicked;edgetowarddoor.
ShehugsmebeforeIcanescape.Feelsuddenlyverywobbly.I’mnotsureifit’sHollyorKayIwanttocryabout,butsomeonehuggingmeisdoingsomethinginvolvingmytearglands.
WipeeyesandhopeHollydoesn’tnotice.Rufflehermessybrownhair.
Me:Begood.
Hollygrins.Gettheimpressionshehasotherplans.
IgetoutofworkintimetoseethelasttracesofatrulyglorioussunrisebehindLondon’sskyscrapersandreflectedinthesteelgrayoftheThames,turningitblue-pink.SeemtohavesomuchtimenowKayisgone.MakesmewonderifIreallydidgiveheraslittletimeasshealwaysclaimed—ifthat’strue,wherehaveallthesehourscomefrom?
Decidetostopsomewhereforatea,thenwalkhome—onlytakesanhourandahalf,andit’sthesortofmorningyouwanttobeoutin.Peoplearebuzzinginalldirections,ontheirwaytowork,coffeesclutchedclose.Iletthemallstreamby.WalkupthroughthebackroadsasmuchasIcan;they’realittlesleepierthanthemainroads.
IfindmyselfonClaphamRoadwithoutreallynoticing.GocoldwhenIseetheoff-license.Butmakemyselfstop.Seemsrespectful,liketakingyourhatoffwhenahearsegoesby.
Can’thelpnoticingthattheAldisecuritycamerasreallydopointineverypossibledirection,includingthisone.Somethingwishfulgripsme.IrememberthewholepointofwhyKayandIbrokeup.I’vebeentoosadtorememberthatthereishopeforRichie.
MaybeGertywillhavewrittenbacktoRichiebynow.Iwalkon,fasternow,keentogethome.Hemighttrytocall,expectingmetobebackatusualtime.Feelsurehehas;amfuriouswithmyselfformissinghim.
Deepbreaths.Ifumblewiththekeyinthedoor,butoddlyit’snotdouble-locked—Tiffyhasneverforgottenbefore.IgiveacursorylookaroundtheroomwhenIgetintomakesurewe’venotbeenburgled,butTVandlaptoparestillthere,soheadstraightforlandlineandcheckformissedcallsorvoicemails.
Nothing.Breatheout.Amsweatyfrompower-walkinginthemorningsunshine;chuckkeysincustomaryspace(theynowliveundertheSpottheDogmoneybox)andyankoffT-shirtasIheadtobathroom.ShovetherowofmulticoloredcandlesofftheedgeofthebathsoIcanactuallyshower.Thenturnthehotwateronandstandthere,washingoffyetanotherweek.27TIFFY
Oh,god.
IthinkthisistheworstI’veeverfelt.It’sworsethanthehangoverIhadafterRachel’stwenty-fifth.It’sworsethanthetimeatuniwhenIdranktwobottlesofwineandvomitedoutsidethefacultyoffice.It’sworsethanswineflu.
I’mstillwearingtheAliceinWonderlanddress.Ihavesleptontopoftheduvet,underjustmyBrixtonblanket.Iatleasthadtheforesighttotakemyshoesoffandleavethematthedoor.
Oh,god.
Theline-of-sightfromwhereIamtotheshoesintersectswiththealarmclock.Itissayingatimethatcannotpossiblybecorrect.Itissaying8:59a.m.
Ishouldbeatworkinoneminute.
Howhasthishappened?Iscrambleup,mystomachlurchingandmyheadspinning,andasIfumbleaboutlookingformypurse—ohgood,atleastIdidn’tlosethat,andah,yes,aspirin—Irememberhowthisallstarted.
I’dgonebackinsideafterwalkingawayfromJustin,anddraggedRacheloffthebartender’sfaceinordertoweepatherforawhile.Shewasnotthebestpersontospeakto—she’stheonlypersonleftwho’sTeamJustin.(Ididn’tmentionthatweirdkissflashback.AndIdonotwanttothinkaboutitnow,either.)AtfirstRacheltoldmetogobackoutthereandhearwhathehadtosay,butthenshecameroundtomydelayedgratificationstrategy,whichKatherinalsoapprovedof—oh,god,ItoldKatherin…
Inecksomeaspirinandtrynottogag.WasIsicklastnight?Ihavevagueandunpleasantmemoriesofbeingwaytooclosetoatoiletseatinthatbar’sbathroom.
ItypeaquickapologytexttotheheadofEditorial,panicrising.I’mneverthislateforwork,andeveryonewillknowit’sbecauseI’mhungover.Iftheydon’t,I’msureMartinwillbehappytoenlightenthem.
Ican’tgotoworklikethis,Irealize,inmyfirstmomentofclarityofthemorning.Ineedtowashandchange.Iunzipthedressandkickitoff,alreadyreachingformytowelonthebackofthedoor.
Idon’theartherunningwater.Thereisaconstantbuzzinginmyearsthatsortofalreadysoundslikeashowerturnedon,andIaminsuchapanicIdon’tthinkIwouldnoticeifmystuffedelephantcamealiveonthearmchairandstartedtellingmeIneedtodetox.
IonlyrealizeLeonisintheshowerwhenIseehimthere.Ourshowercurtainismostlyopaque,butyoucandefinitelyseeabit.Imean,outlines.
Hedoesthenaturalthing:panicsandthrowsthecurtainbacktoseewho’sthere.Westareateachother.Theshowerkeepsrunning.
HecomestohissensesfasterthanIdoandpullsthecurtainagain.
“Ahhh,”hesays.It’smoreofagarglednoisethanaword.
Iaminmyextremelysmall,lacygoing-outunderwear.Ihaven’tevenwrappedmytowelaroundmyself—it’sthrownovermyarm.Somehowthatfeelsalotworsethannothavinganymeansofcoveringmyselfupatall—Iwassoclosetonotexposingmyself,andyetsofar.
“Oh,god,”Isqueak.“I’mso—I’msosorry.”
Heflipstheshoweroff.Heprobablycan’thearmeoverthenoise.Heturnshisbackonme;thefactthatInoticethismakesmerealizethatIshouldreallystoplookingattheoutlinebehindtheshowercurtain.Iturnmybackonhim,too.
“Ahhh,”hesaysagain.
“Iknow,”Isay.“Oh,god.Thisisnot…howIimaginedmeetingyou.”
Iwince.Thatsoundedabitkeen.
“Didyou…”hebegins.
“Ididn’tseeanything,”Iliequickly.
“Good.OK.Meneither,”hesays.
“Ishould…I’msolateforwork.”
“Oh,youneedtheshower?”
“Well,I…”
“I’mfinished,”hesays.Westillhaveourbackstooneanother.Islipthetoweloffmyarmandnow—aboutfiveminutestoolate—wrapitaroundmyself.
“Well,ifyou’resure,”Isay.
“Um.Needmytowel,”hesays.
“Oh,ofcourse,”Isay,grabbingitofftherailandturning.
“Eyesclosed,”heyells.
Ifreezeandclosemyeyes.“They’reclosed!They’reclosed!”
Ifeelhimtakethetowelfrommyhand.
“OK.Youcanopenthemagain.”
Hestepsoutoftheshower.Imean,he’sdecentnow,buthe’sstillnotwearingalot.Icanseeallofhischest,forinstance.Andquitealotofhisstomach.
He’sacoupleofinchestallerthanme.Wet,histhickcurlyhairstilldoesn’tsitflat;it’ssmoothedbackbehindhisearsanddrippingontohisshoulders.Hisfaceisfine-bonedandhiseyesaredeepbrown,afewtonesdarkerthanhisskin;hehaslaughterlines,andhisearsstickoutalittle,likethey’velearntthehabitfromalwayskeepinghishairbackfromhisface.
Heturnstosidesteppastme.He’sdoinghisbestbutthere’sreallynotroomfortwoofus,andasheslidesbymethewarmskinofhisbackbrushesagainstmychest.Iinhale,hangoverforgotten.Despitethelacebraandthetowelbetweenus,myskinhasgonepricklyandsomethinghasstartedfizzinghotlyatthebaseofmystomach,whereallthebestfeelingstendtosit.
Heglancesoverhisshoulderatme,anintense,half-nervous,half-curiouslookthatonlymakesmefeelwarmer.Ican’thelpit.AsheturnstowardthedoorIglancedown.
Ishe…thatlookslike…
Itcan’thavebeen.Itmusthavebeensomebunched-uptowel.
HeclosesthedoorbehindhimandIcollapsebackwardagainstthesinkforamoment.TherealityofthelasttwominutesissopainfullyembarrassingthatIfindmyselfsaying“oh,god”outloudandpressingtheheelsofmyhandsintomyeyes.Thisdoesnothelpwithmyhangover,whichhascomerushingbacknowthatthenakedmanhasleftmybathroom.
God.I’mflushedwithheat,allflusteredandskin-pricklyandbreathless—no,I’mturnedon.Ididn’tseethatcoming.Surelythissituationwasfartooawkwardforthattoevenbepossible?I’magrownwoman!Can’tIhandleseeingamannaked?It’sprobablyjustbecauseIhaven’thadsexforsolong.It’ssomesortofbiologicalthing,likehowthesmellofbacongetsyousalivating,orhowholdingotherpeople’sbabiesmakesyouwanttoendyourcareerandimmediatelystartprocreating.
InasuddenpanicIswiveltolookatmyselfinthemirror,wipingthecondensationfromitssurfacetorevealmypale,gauntface.Mylipstickhasingraineditselfintothedryskinofmylips,andmyeyeshadowandeyelinerhaveblurredintoablackmessaroundeacheye.Ilooklikeatoddlerwho’sattemptedtousetheirmother’smakeup.
Igroan.Thisisadisaster.Thiscouldnothavegoneworse.Ilookterrible,andhelookedreallyquiteastonishinglygood.IthinkbacktothedaywhenIcheckedhimoutonFacebook—Idon’trememberhimbeingattractive.HowdidInotnotice?Oh,god,whydoesitevenmatter?It’sLeon.FlatmateLeon.Leon-with-a-girlfriendLeon.
Right,I’vegottoshowerandgotowork.I’lldealwithmyhormonesandincrediblyawkwardlivingsituationtomorrow.
Oh,god.Iamsolate.28LEON
Ahhh.
Ahhh.
Lieonbackinbed,immobilizedbypoundingshame.Cannotthinkinwords.Ahhhisonlysoundadequatetoexpresssufficienthorror.
Didn’tKaysayTiffywasunattractive?I’djustassumed!Or…or…I’dnoteventhoughtaboutit,actually.But,Jesus.She’slike…ahhh.
Can’tspringascantilycladladyonamanintheshower.Can’tdothat.It’snotfair.
Can’tconnectthatwomaninthebathroomintheredunderwearwiththewomanIwritenotestoandcleanupafter.Hadjustnever…
Landlinerings.Freeze.Landlineisinkitchen.ChanceofbumpingintoTiffyagain:high.
Unfreezeandshakeself.Obviouslyhavetoanswerphone—willbeRichie.Dartoutofbedroom,clutchingtowelatwaist,andlocatephoneunderpileofMr.Prior’shatsonkitchensideboard;answerwhiledashingbacktobedroom.
Me:Hey.
Richie:Areyouallright?
Makegroaningnoise.
Richie,alert:Whatisit?What’shappened?
Me:No,no,nothingbad.Just…metTiffy.
Richie,cheered:Oh!Isshehot?
Repeatgroaningnoise.
Richie:Sheis!Iknewit.
Me:Shewasn’tmeanttobe.IassumedKaymadesureshewasn’t!
Richie:DidshelookanythinglikeKay?
Me:Eh?
Richie:Kaywouldn’tthinkanyone’shotunlesstheylooklikeKay.
Wince,butsortofknowwhathemeans.Can’tgetimageofTiffyoutofhead.Ruffledredhairallovertheplace,likeshe’sjustgotoutofbed.Light-brownfrecklesacrosspaleskin,dustingherarmsanddappledacrossherchest.Redlacebra.Ridiculouslyperfectbreasts.
Ahhh.
Richie:Whereisshenow?
Me:Shower.
Richie:Andwhereareyou?
Me:Hidinginthebedroom.
Pause.
Richie:Yourealizeshe’sgoingtocometherenext,yeah?
Me:Shit!
Sitboltupright.Flounderaroundlookingforclothes.Canonlyfindhers.Seeherdress,thrownonthefloorunzipped.
Me:Hangon.Needtodress.
Richie:Wait,what?
PuthimdownonthebedasIpullonboxersandtracksuitbottoms.HorriblyawareofmybumpointingtowarddoorasIdoso,butisbetteroptionthanfacingtheotherway.Findoldvestwithinreachandthrowiton,thenbreathe.
Me:OK.Right.Ithinkit’ssafestto…gotothekitchen?Shewon’tpassonthewayfromthebathroomtothebedroom.ThenIcanhideinthebathroomuntilsheleaves.
Richie:Whatthehellhappened?Whyaren’tyouwearinganyclothes?Haveyoushaggedher,man?
Me:No!
Richie:Allright.Itwasareasonablequestion.
Makemywayacrosslivingroomtokitchen.Skulkasfaraspossiblebehindfridge,soIcan’tbeseenonroutefrombathroomtobedroom.
Me:Webumpedintoeachotherintheshower.
Richiegivesaproperbellylaughthatmakesmesmilealittledespitemyself.
Richie:Shewasnaked?
Groan.
Me:Nearly.Iwas,though.
Richie’slaughscalesupanotch.
Richie:Ah,man,thishasmademyday.Soshewasin,what,atowel?
Me:Underwear.
Richiegroanstoothistime.
Richie:Good?
Me:I’mnottalkingaboutthis!
Richie:Goodpoint.Canshehearyou?
Pause.Listen.Ahhh.
Me,inahiss:Showerhasstopped!
Richie:Don’tyouwanttobetherewhenshecomesoutinatowel?Whydon’tyoujustgobacktothebedroom?Itwon’tlooklikeyoudiditonpurpose.Imean,youdidnearlydoitaccidentally.Throwyoutogetheronemoretime,younever—
Me:I’mnotgoingtolieinwaitforthepoorwoman,Richie!Ialreadyexposedmyselftoher,didn’tI?She’sprobablytraumatized.
Richie:Didshelooktraumatized?
Thinkback.Shelooked…ahhh.Somuchskin.Andbigblueeyes,frecklesacrosshernose,thatlittleintakeofbreathasImovedpasthertothedoor,waytoocloseforcomfort.
Richie:You’regoingtoneedtospeaktoher.
Soundofbathroomdoorunlocking.
Me:Shit!
Hidefartherbehindfridge,then,whennonoisefollows,peekout.
Shedoesn’tlookmyway.Hertoweliswrappedtightlyunderherarmsandherlonghairisdarkernowanddrippingdownherback.Shedisappearsintothebedroom.
Andbreathe.
Me:She’sinthebedroom.I’mgoingtothebathroom.
Richie:Whydon’tyoujustleavetheflatifyou’rethatworried,man?
Me:Ican’ttalktoyou,then!Icannothandlethisalone,Richie!
IhearRichiegrin.
Richie:There’ssomethingyou’renottellingme,isn’tthere?No,letmeguess…didyougetabitexcited…?
Imakemyloudest,mosthumiliatedgroanyet.Richieroarswithlaughter.
Me:Shecamefromnowhere!Iwasnotprepared!Ihavenothadsexforweeks!
Richie,laughinghysterically:Ah,Lee!Doyouthinkshenoticed?
Me:No.Definitelynot.No.
Richie:Somaybe,then.
Me:No.Shecan’thave.Tooawkwardtothinkabout.
Lockbathroomdoorbehindmeandpulltoiletseatdowntosit.Staredownatmylegs,heartpounding.
Richie:Ihavetogo.
Me:No!Youcan’tleave!WhatdoIdonow?
Richie:Whatdoyouwanttodonow?
Me:Runaway!
Richie:Comeon,now,Lee!Calmyourselfdown.
Me:Thisisterrible.Welivetogether.Ican’tbewalkingaroundwithanerectioninfrontofmyflatmate!It’s…it’s…it’sobscene!It’sprobablyacrime!
Richie:Ifitis,thenIdefinitelydobelonginhere.Comeon,man.Don’tfreakoutaboutit.Likeyousay,youandKayhavebeenbrokenupafewweeksandnotsleepingtogetherforafairwhilebeforethat—
Me:Howdidyouknowthat?
Richie:Comeon.Itwasobvious.
Me:Youhaven’tseenustogetherformonths!
Richie:Thepointis,it’snotabigdeal.Yousawanakedchickandyoustartedthinkingwithyour—hangon,man,giveme…
Hesighs.
Richie:Gottogo.Butchillout.Shedidn’tseeanything,itdoesn’tmeananything,justrelax.
Hehangsup.29TIFFY
Rachelispositivelyvibratingwithexcitement.
“Youarejoking!Youarejoking!”shesays,bouncinginherseat.“Icannotbelievehehadahard-on!”
Igroanandrubmytemples,whichI’vesometimesseentiredpeopledoontelevisionsoamhopingwillmakemefeelbetter.Itdoesn’twork.HowisRachelsobloodyperky?Iwassureshedranknearlyasmuchasme.
“It’snotfunny,”Itellher.“AndIsaidhemighthavedone.I’mnotsayinghedefinitelydid.”
“Oh,please,”shesays.“You’renotsooutofactionthatyou’veforgottenwhatthatlookslike.Threemeninonenight!Youareliterallylivingthedream.”
Iignoreher.TheheadofEditorialluckilyfounditfunnythatIwaslate,butIstillhaveahugepileofworktogetdonetodayandithasn’thelpedmyto-dolistthatIarrivedoveranhourlate.
“Stoppretendingtocheckthoseproofs,”Rachelsays.“Weneedaplanofaction!”
“Forwhat?”
“Well,whatnow?AreyoucallingKenthehermit?GoingforadrinkwithJustin?OrjumpingintheshowerwithLeon?”
“I’mgoingbacktomydesk,”Itellher,grabbingthestackofproofs.“Thishasnotbeenaproductivesession.”
Shesings“Maneater”atmeasIwalkaway.
Rachelisrightabouttheplanofaction,though.IneedtoworkoutwhatthehellI’mgoingtodoabouttheLeonsituation.Ifwedon’tspeaksoon,there’saseriousriskthismorningwillruineverything—nomorenotes,nomoreleftovers,justsilent,painfulawkwardness.Humiliationislikemold:Ignoreitandthewholeplacewillgetsmellyandgreen.
I’vegotto…I’vegottotexthim.
No.I’vegottocallhim,Idecide.Itneedstobedrastic.Ichecktheclock.Well,he’llbeasleepnow—it’stwointheafternoon—soI’vegotagloriousfourhoursorsoinwhichIcan’tdoanythingaboutthissituation.IsupposeIshouldprobablyusethattimetogothroughtheproofsofKatherin’sbook,especiallynowthatthere’sarealdangerthatquitealotofpeoplemightactuallybuyit,whatwithallthissocial-mediabuzzaboutcrochet.
Instead,afteralongnightandmorningoftryingveryhardnotto,IthinkaboutJustin.
Andthen,becauseIamnotgoodatthinkingonmyown,IringMototalkaboutJustin.Hesoundsalittlegroggywhenheanswersthephone,likehe’sjustwokenup.
“Whereareyou?”Iask.
“Athome.Why?”
“Yousoundweird.Isn’titGerty’sdayoff?”
“Yes,she’shere,too.”
“Oh.”It’soddtothinkofthetwoofthemjusthangingouttogetherwithoutme.Itjust…doesn’tworkasacombination.FromfreshersweekofuniitwasGertyandme,inseparable;wetookMounderourcollectivewingattheendoffirstyear,afterseeinghimsolodancingveryenthusiasticallyto“DropItLikeIt’sHot”anddecidinganyonewiththosemovesneededtobeinvolvedinallournightsout.Afterthatwedideverythingasathree,andifararepairingdidcomeaboutitwasalwaysmeplusGertyormeplusMo.“Putloudspeakeron?”Isay,tryingnottosoundpetulant.
“Hangon.Hey,you’reallset.”
“Letmeguess,”Gertysays,“you’vefalleninlovewithLeon’sbrother.”
Ipause.“Normallyyourradarisprettygood,butyou’rewayoff.”
“Damn.Leon,then?”
“Can’tIjustcallyouforachat?”
“Thisisn’tachat,”Gertysays.“Youdon’tcallattwointheafternoonforchats.YouWhatsAppforthat.”
“This,”Itellher,“iswhyIrangMo.”
“So?What’sthedrama?”Gertyasks.
“Justin,”Isay,tootiredtoarguewithher.
“Ooh!Anoldiebutagoodie.”
Irollmyeyes.“CanyouletMochimeinwithsomethingsupportive,atleastoccasionally?”
“Whathappened,Tiffy?”Mosays.
Ifilltheminonmyevening.Oratleast,anabridgedversionofit—Idon’tmentionthedreadfulkissincident.It’sjustalotofdramatofitinonephonecall,especiallywhenyou’retryingtocheckpagenumberswhileyou’retalking.
Also,aswellasthat,there’sthewholeI-desperately-don’t-want-to-think-about-itthing.
“ThisallsoundslikeprettytypicalJustinbehavior,Tiffy,”Mosays.
“Welldoneforsayingno,”Gertysays,withsurprisingfervor.“It’sfuckingcreepythathewasatthecruise,andnowthis?Iwishyoucouldseehow—”There’samufflednoiseandGertystopstalking.IgetthesensethatMomayhavepokedher.
“Ididn’tquitesayno,”Ipointout,staringdownatmyfeet.“Isaid‘inacoupleofmonths.’”
“That’sstillahellofalotbetterthandroppingeverythingandrunningoffwithhimagain,”Gertysays.
There’salongsilence.Mythroatfeelstight.Ineedtotalkaboutthatkiss,IknowIneedto,butIcan’tseemtogetthere.“Gerty,”Isayeventually.“WouldyoumindifIjustspoketoMo?Foramoment?”
There’sanothermuffledsortofsilence.
“Fine,sure,”Gertysays.Sheisaudiblytryingnottosoundmiffed.
“Justmenow,”Mosays.
Iswallow.Idon’twanttotalkaboutthishere—Iheadfortheofficedoors,downthestairs,andoutofthebuilding.Outsideeveryoneismovingalittlemoreslowlythanusual,liketheheathascalmedLondondown.
“Youtoldmeoncethatmy—thatmeandJustin…tookitstollonme.”
Modoesn’tsayanything,hejustwaits
“Yousaidthatwouldsinkineventually.Andyousaidtocallyouwhenitdid.”
Moresilence,butit’sMo-stylesilence,whichmeansitissomehowincrediblyreassuring.Likeanaudiohug.Hedoesn’tneedwords,Mo—hisartsarebeyondthem.
“Somethingweirdhappenedlastnight.Iwas—thatKenguyandIkissed,andthenwe…well,I,Iremembered…”
Whycan’tIsayit?
“IrememberedsleepingwithJustinafterafight.Iwassounhappy.”I’mtearingup;Isniff,tryingveryhardnottocry.
“Howdidyoufeel?”Moasks.“Whenthethoughtcametoyou,Imean.”
“Scared,”Iadmit.“Idon’trememberourrelationshipbeinglikethat.ButnowIthinkImighthavejustsortof—airbrushedit?Forgottenthosebits?Idon’tknow,isthatevenpossible?”
“Yourbraincandoamazingstufftoprotectitselffrompain,”Motellsme.“Butit’llstruggletokeepsecretsfromtherestofyouforlong.HasthisfeelingofrememberingthingsdifferentlyhappenedalotsinceyouleftJustin?”
“Notalot.”But,youknow,abit.LiketherewasthatnoteIwroteaboutnotinvitingJustintoRachel’sparty,eventhoughIknowIdid.ItsoundscrazybutIthinkJustinmight’vemademebelieveI’dnotinvitedhim,becausethatwayhecouldbemadaboutmegoing?AndlatelyIkeepfindingthings—clothes,shoes,jewelry—thatIrememberJustintellingmeI’dsoldorgivenaway.I’dusuallyputitdowntomybadmemory,butI’vehadanaggingsenseofwrongnessformonthsnow,nothelpedbyMo’srelentless,annoyinglysupportivenudgingeverytimewetalkaboutJustin.Iamverygoodatnotthinkingaboutthings,though,soI’vejust…resolutelynotthoughtaboutit.
Motalksaboutgaslightingandtriggers.Isquirmuncomfortably,andfinallyatearcreepsfrommybottomlashesdownmycheek.I’mofficiallycrying.
“Ishouldgo,”Isay,wipingmynose.
“JustthinkaboutwhatI’vesaid,OK,Tiffy?Andrememberhowwellyoustooduptohimlastnight—you’vecomeamillionmilesalready.Giveyourselfcreditforthat.”
Iheadbackinside,suddenlydrained.Thislastdayhasbeentoomuch.Upanddownandupanddown…ugh.Andthehangoveriscrushing.
BythetimeIfinallyfinishcheckingtheproofsofKatherin’sbook,I’vefiledthenastyJustinthoughtsbackintotheirusualbox,andI’mfeelingalotcalmer.I’vealsohadthreepacketsofWotsits,whichRachelsuggestedastheultimatehangovercure,andwhichdoappeartohavetakenmefromfull-onzombietosemi-sentient.SoonceI’vedumpedCrochetYourWayonRachel’sdesk,IscuttlebacktominetodowhatI’vebeenitchingtodosincelastnight:gobackonLeon’sFacebookpage.
Thereheis.He’ssmilingatthecamera,hisarmslungaroundsomeoneatwhatlookslikeaChristmasparty—therearetwinklyfairylightshungupbehindthem,andaroomfullofheads.Iflickthroughhisprofilepicturesandrememberlookingatthesebefore.I’dnotthoughthelookedatallattractive—andit’struethathe’stooganglyandlong-hairedtobemyusualtype.Butclearlyheisjustoneofthosepeoplewhosuddenlybecomesfanciableinperson.
Maybeitwasjusttheinitialshock,andthenakedness.Maybesecondtimeroundit’llallbeniceandplatonic,andIcanforgetaboutitandcallKenthesexyNorwegianhermit.AlthoughIcan’tfacethat,notafterthewayJustinhumiliatedmeinfrontofhim.Ugh,no,don’tthinkaboutJustin—
“Who’sthat?”Martinsaysfrombehindme.Ijump,spillingcoffeeacrossmyscatteringofveryurgentPost-itnotes.
“Whydoyoualwayscreepuponme?”Iask,snappingthewindowclosedanddabbingatthecoffeewithatissue.
“You’rejustjumpy.Sowhowasthat?”
“MyfriendLeon.”
“Friend?”
Irollmyeyes.“Sincewhenhaveyoubeenevenslightlyinterestedinmylife,Martin?”
Hegivesmeanoddlysmuglook,likeheknowssomethingIdon’t,orperhapsisjusthavingsomeintestinalissues.
“Whatdoyouneed?”Iask,throughgrittedteeth.
“Oh,nothing,Tiffy.Don’tletmeinterruptyou.”Andhewalksoff.
Isitbackinmychairandtakeadeepbreath.Rachelpopsherheadupoverhercomputerandmouths,“Stillcan’tbelieveit!Hard-on!”atme,thendoesadoublethumbs-up.Isinkfartherinmyseat,hangoverresettling,anddecidethatIwillabsolutelydefinitelyneverdrinkagain.30LEON
Mamatleastprovidesdistractionfrompainfullyawkwardmemoryofthismorning.
She’smakingastonishingeffort.Anditseemsshewastellingthetruthaboutbeingsingle—notell-talesignsofmanabouthouse(RichieandIgottobeverygoodatidentifyingtheminchildhood)andshe’snotchangedherhairandclothessincelasttimeIsawher,whichmeansshe’snottryingtofittosomeoneelse.
ItalktoheraboutKay.Feelssurprisinglygood.Shenodsintherightplacesandpatsmyhand,wellingupoccasionally,thenmakesmeovenchipswithnuggets,whichallmakemefeeltenyearsoldagain.Notunpleasant,though.Nicetobelookedafter.
ThestrangestpartisgoingbacktothebedroomRichieandIsharedwhenwemovedtoLondoninourearlyteens.I’veonlybeenbackhereoncesincethetrial.Cametostayforaweekafterthat;didn’tthinkMamcouldcopealone.Wasn’tneededforlong,though—shemetMike,whowaskeentohavetheplacetothemselves,soImovedbacktotheflat.
Theroomisunchanged.Hasthefeelingofashellmissingitsseacreature.It’sfullofholeswherethingsshouldbe:BluTackmarksonwallsforposterslong-sincetakendown,bookstippingatdiagonalswithoutenoughtheretoholdthemup.Richie’sstuffstillboxedupfromwhenhisoldhousematesdroppeditround.
Ittakesenormousmentaleffortnottorifflethroughit.Wouldbeunnecessarilyupsetting,andhe’dhatemedoingit.
IliebackonthebedandfindmyminddriftingbacktoimageofTiffy—firstinthatredunderwear,thenpaddingintothebedroomwrappedinatowel.Secondimagefeelsevenmoreunacceptable,asshedidn’tevenknowIwaswatching.Fidget,uncomfortable.It’swrongtobesoattractedtoher.It’sprobablyareactiontoKaybreakup.
Phonerings.Risingpanic.Checkscreen:Tiffy.
Don’twanttoanswer.Phoneringsandrings—seemstogoonforever.
Shehangsupwithoutleavingamessage.Ifeeloddlyguilty.RichietoldmeIhadtotalktoher.ButIpreferoptionoftotalradiosilencegoingforward,or,atmost,theoddnoteleftonkettleorbackofdoor.
Liebackdown.Reflectonthis.Wonderifit’strue.
Phonebuzzes.Atext.
Hey.So.Hmm.Ifeellikeweshouldchataboutthismorning?Tiffyx
Thememoryhitsmeafresh,andIfindmyselfgroaningagain.Shoulddefinitelyreply.Putphonedown.Stareatceiling.
Phonebuzzesagain.
Ishouldtotallyhavestartedwithanapology.Itwasmewhoshouldn’thavebeenthere,accordingtoourflatsharingrules.AndthenIwentandaccostedyouintheshower.Soyes,Iamvery,verysorry!xx
Oddly,Ifeelalotbetterafterseeingthistext.Itdoesn’tsoundlikeshewastraumatized,andalsosoundsfamiliarlyTiffy-ish,soiseasiertoimaginethistextcomingfromtheTiffyIhadinmyheadbeforeImettherealone.Thatonewassortof…notirrelevant,exactly,butinthe“safespace”inmyhead.Personfortalkingto,withoutpressureorimplication.Easyandundemanding.
NowTiffyisdefinitelynotinsafeheadspace.
Imusterthecouragetostartareply.
Don’tapologize.Wewereboundtobumpintoeachothereventually!Noneedtoworry—it’salreadyforgotten.
Deletethislastpart.Clearlythisisnottrue.
Don’tapologize.Wewereboundtobumpintoeachothereventually!Noneedtoworry—amhappytoputitbehindusifyouare.Leonx
Send,thenregretthekiss.DoInormallyputakiss?Havenorecollection.ScrollbackupthreadoflastfewmessagesandfindthatIamentirelyinconsistent,whichisprobablybestoutcome.Isettlebackonthebedandwait.
Andwait.
Whatisshedoing?Shenormallyrepliesfast.Checkthetime—elevenatnight.Couldshehavefallenasleep?Didseemlikeshewasoutlatelastnight.Finally,though:
Let’sforgetallaboutit!Ipromiseitwon’thappenagain(thebarginginORthesleepingin,thatis).IhopeKaydidn’ttotallyflipoutaboutmebreakingtheflatsharerules…?And,youknow,accostingherboyfriendintheshower…xx
Deepbreath.
KayandIbrokeupacoupleofweeksago.x
Replyisalmostinstant.
Oh,shit,I’msosorry.Ididthinksomethingmightbewrong—youwereallquietinyournotes(moresothanusual,Imean!)Howareyouholdingup?
Thinkaboutit.HowamIholdingup?Amlyinginbedinmymother’sflat,fantasizingaboutnakedflatmate,allthoughtsofex-girlfriendbrieflybutgenuinelyforgotten.Isprobablynotentirelyhealthy,but…betterthanyesterday?Igofor:
Gettingthere.x
There’salongpauseafterthisone.WonderifIshouldhavesaidabitmore.Notthatthat’severputTiffyoffbefore.
Well,thismightcheeryouup:InmyhungoverstateIwalkedintotheprinteratworktoday.
Isnort.Abeatlater,animageofprinterappears.It’senormous.CouldprobablyfitfourTiffysinsideit.
Didyounot…spotit?
IthinkIjustlosttheabilitytostopwalkingatthenecessarymoment.Ihadjustcomeoffacallwithmygorgeousbricklayer-turned-designer,though,so…
Ah.Youmust’vestillbeenweakattheknees.
Probably!It’sbeenthatsortofdayxx
Stareatthisoneuntilphonescreentimesout.Thatsortofday.Whatsortofday?Weak-kneedsortofday?Butwhy—becauseshe…
No,no,won’tbebecauseofme.That’sridiculous.Except…whatdidshemean,then?
Hopethisisn’tgoingtobehowIamwhenevercommunicatingwithTiffynow.Isabsolutelyexhausting.31TIFFY
Mydadlikestosay,“Lifeisneversimple.”Thisisoneofhisfavoriteaphorisms.
Iactuallythinkit’sincorrect.Lifeisoftensimple,butyoudon’tnoticehowsimpleitwasuntilitgetsincrediblycomplicated,likehowyouneverfeelgratefulforbeingwelluntilyou’reill,orhowyouneverappreciateyourtightsdraweruntilyouripapairandhavenospares.
KatherinhasjustdoneaguestvlogonTashaChai-Latte’spageaboutcrochetingyourownbikini.TheInternethasgonemental.Ican’tkeeptrackofalltheinfluentialpeoplewhohaveretweetedher—andbecauseKatherinhatesMartin,everytimeshefreaksoutorneedshelpwithsomething,shecallsme.I,whoknownothingaboutPR,thenhavetogotoMartinandfeedbacktoKatherin.IfthiswasadivorceandIwastheirchild,socialserviceswouldbecalled.
GertyringsmeasI’mleavingwork.
“You’veonlyjustleft?Haveyouaskedforaraiseyet?”sheasks.Icheckmywatch—it’shalfseven.HowhaveIbeenatworkforalmosttwelvehours,andyetachievedsolittle?
“Notime,”Itellher.“Andtheydon’tdoraises.They’dprobablyfiremeforasking.”
“Ridiculous.”
“What’sup,anyway?”
“Oh,IjustthoughtyoumightwanttoknowI’vegotRichie’sappealmovedforwardbythreemonths,”Gertysaysairily.
Istopdeadinmytracks.Someonebehindmewalksintomeandswears(stoppingabruptlyincentralLondonisaheinouscrime,andimmediatelygivesthepeoplearoundyoupermissiontokickyou).
“Youtookhiscase?”
“Hispreviousbarristerwasappalling,”Gertysays.“Really.I’vehalfamindtoreporthimtothebarstandardsboard.We’llhavetofindRichieanewsolicitor,too,especiallysinceI’vegoneoverthisone’sheadandroyallypissedhimoff,but—”
“Youtookhiscase?”
“Keepup,Tiffy.”
“Thankyou.Somuch.God,I…”Ican’tstopsmiling.“HasRichietoldLeon?”
“Richieprobablydoesn’tknowyet,”Gertysays.“Ionlywrotetohimyesterday.”
“CanItellLeon?”
“That’dsavemeajob,”Gertysays,“sogoforit.”
MyphonebuzzesalmostassoonasIhangup.It’satextfromLeon;myheartdoesafunnylittletwistyspasmthing.He’snotmessagedmeorleftmeanotesincewetextedattheweekend.
Headsup:enormousbunchofflowersforyouinfoyerfromyourex.Notsurewhethertoruinsurprise(goodorbadsurprise?)butifitwasme,wouldwanttobepre-warnedx
Istopdeadinmytracksagain;thistimeabusinessmanonascooterrunsovermyfoot.
I’venotheardfromJustinsinceThursday.Nocall,notext,nothing.Ihadjustaboutconvincedmyselfthathe’dtakenwhatI’dsaidseriouslyandwasn’tgoingtocontactme,butIshouldhaveknownbetter—thatwouldhavebeenentirelyoutofcharacter.This,though—thisismuchmorelikeit.
Idon’twantabigbunchofflowersfromJustin.Ijustwanthimgone—it’ssohardtogetonwithgettingbetterwhenhekeepspoppingupallovertheplace.AsImarchuptoourbuilding,Ipressmylipstogetherandpreparemyself.
Itreallyisanenormousbunchofflowers.I’dforgottenhowrichheis,andhowinclinedtospendmoneyonridiculousthings.Formybirthdaydinnerlastyearheboughtmeaninsanelypriceydesignergown,allsilversilkandsequins;wearingitfeltlikegoingoutincostumeassomebodyelse.
Stuckinamongsttheflowersisanotethatreads,ToTiffy—we’llspeakinOctober.Love,Justin.Iliftthebouquetandcheckunderneathitforapropernote,butno.Anotewouldbefartoostraightforward—agiant,expensivegestureismuchmoreJustin’sstyle.
Thishasreallyannoyedme,forsomereason.PerhapsbecauseI’venevertoldJustinwhereIlive.Ormaybebecauseit’ssoflagrantlydisregardingwhatIaskedofhimonThursday,andbecausehe’smademy“Ineedacoupleofmonths”intoa“Iwillspeaktoyouintwomonths’time.”
IstufftheflowersintotheornamentalplantpotIusuallykeepmysparewoolin.IwaswaitingforJustintodothis—toturnupwithhisexplanationsandhisexpensivegesturesandsweepmeoffmyfeetagain.ButthatFacebookmessage,theengagement…hetippedmeovertheedge,andnowIaminaverydifferentplacefromthelasttimehetriedtogetmeback.
Islumpdownonthesofaandstareattheflowers.IthinkaboutwhatMosaid,andhowdespitemyselfI’vebeenrememberingthings.ThewayJustinusedtotellmeoffforforgettingstuff,howconfuseditmademefeel.Thehalf-excitement,half-anxietyeverydaywhenhecamehome.TherealityofhowmystomachlurchedwhenheputhishandonmyshoulderandsnappedatmetogoforadrinkwithhimatthepubonThursday.
Thatflashback.
God.Idon’twanttogobacktoallthat.I’mhappiernow—Ilikelivinghere,safelyhiddenawayinthisflatwhichI’vemademyown.Intwoweeks’timeI’llbeattheendofmyleasehere—Leon’snotmentionedit,soI’venotbroughtitup,either,becauseIdon’twanttomoveout.I’vegotmoney,foronce,evenifmostofitispayingoffmyoverdraft.I’vegotaflatmatewhoIcantalkto—whocaresifit’snotface-to-face?AndI’vegotahomethatactuallyfeelslikeit’sexactly50percentmine
IreachformyphoneandreplytoLeon.
Badsurprise.Thanksfortheheadsup.Wenowhavealotofflowersintheflatxx
Herepliesalmostinstantly,whichisunusual.
Gladtohearitx
Andthen,aminuteorsolater:
Abouttheflowersintheflat,notthesurprise,obviouslyx
Ismile.
Ihavesomegoodnewsforyouxx
Perfecttiming—oncoffeebreak.Hitme.x
Hedoesn’tgetit—hethinksthisissmallgoodnews,likeIcookedacrumbleorsomething.Ipause,fingershoveringoverthekeys.Thisistheperfectthingtocheermeup—andwhat’smoreimportant,theinsandoutsofmyoldrelationship,ortherealityofRichie’scaserightnow?
CanIcallyou?Asin,ifIcallyou,canyoupickup?xx
Thereplycomesmoreslowlythistime.
Sure.x
I’mhitwithaveryabruptandintensewaveofnerves,andaflashbacktoLeon,naked,drippingwet,hishairpushedbackfromhisface.Ipressthecallbuttonbecausethereisnownootheroptionbuttodoit,ortocomeupwithaveryweirdandelaborateexcuse.
“Hey,”hesays,hisvoicealittlelow,likehe’ssomewherehehastobequiet.
“Hi,”Isay.Wewait.Ithinkabouthimnaked,andthentryveryhardnotto.“How’stheshift?”
“Quiet.Hencethecoffeebreak.”
HisaccentisalmostexactlylikeRichie’s,andcompletelyunlikeanyoneelse’s.It’slikeSouthLondonhadaflingwithIrish.Isitbackonthesofa,pullingmykneesupandhuggingthemclose.
“So,uh…”hebegins.
“Sorry,”Isay,almostatthesametime.Wewaitagain,andthenIfindmyselfdoingastupidlittleawkwardlaughI’msureI’veneverdonebefore.Whatanexcellenttimetowheeloutabrandnewawkwardlaugh.
“Yougo,”hesays.
“Let’sjust…Ididn’tcalltotalkabouttheotherday,”Ibegin,“solet’sjustpretendthatwholeshowersituationwasastrangeshareddreamforthedurationofthisconversationsoIcantellyoumygoodnewswithoutusbothfeelingincrediblyawkward?”
IthinkIhearhimsmile.“Deal.”
“GertytookRichie’scase.”
AllIhearisasharpintakeofbreath,andthensilence.Iwaituntilithasbeenapainfullylongtime,butIhaveafeelingLeonisthekindofpersonwhoneedstimetoabsorbstuffthesamewayModoes,soIresisttheurgetosayanythingelseuntilhe’sready.
“GertytookRichie’scase,”Leonrepeats,inawonderingsortofway.
“Yeah.Shetookit.Andthat’snoteventhegoodnews!”IfindI’mbouncingslightlyonthesofacushions.
“What’s…thegoodnews?”heasks,soundingslightlyfaint.
“She’sgothisappealmovedforwardbythreemonths.YouwerelookingatJanuarynextyear,right?Sonowwe’retalking,what…”
“October.October.That’s…”
“Soon!Reallysoon!”
“That’stwomonthsaway!We’renotready!”Leonsays,suddenlysoundingpanicked.“Whatif—doesshe—”
“Leon.Breathe.”
Moresilence.IcanhearthedistantsoundofLeontakingdeep,slowbreaths.Mycheeksarestartingtohurtfromsuppressinganenormousgrin.
“She’sanamazinglawyer,”Itellhim.“Andshewouldn’ttakethecaseifshedidn’tthinkRichiestoodachance.Really.”
“Don’tdothistomeifshe’sgoingto—topullout,or…”Hisvoicecomesoutstrangled,andmystomachtwistsinsympathy.
“I’mnottellingyoushe’sdefinitelygoingtogethimoutofthere,butIthinkthere’sreasontohopeagain.Iwouldn’tsaythatifIdidn’tmeanit.”
Heletsoutalong,slowbreath,half-laughing.“DoesRichieknow?”
“Notyet,Idon’tthink.Shewrotetohimyesterday—howlongdoletterstaketogetthere?”
“Depends—theytendtogetheldupatprisonbeforetheygettohim.ItmeansIgettotellhimmyself,though,whenhenextcalls.”
“Gertywillwanttotalktoyouaboutthecasesoon,too,”Isay.
“AlawyerwhowantstotalkaboutRichie’scase,”Leonsays.“Lawyer.Who.Wants.To…”
“Yeah,”Iinterrupt,laughing.
“Tiffy,”hesays,suddenlyserious.“Icannotthankyouenough.”
“No,shh,”Ibegin.
“Really.It’s…Icannottellyouhowmuchthismeansto—toRichie.Andtome.”
“IjustpassedonRichie’sletter.”
“Thatwasmorethananyoneelsehasdoneofftheirownbackformybrother.”
Ifidget.“Well,youtellRichieheowesmealetter.”
“He’llwrite.Ishouldgo.But—thankyou.Tiffy.I’msogladitwasyou,andnotthedrugdealerorthemanwiththehedgehog.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’tworry,”hesaysquickly.“Seeyoulater.”32LEON
Newstringofnotes(Tiffyalwaysusesseveral.Neverhasenoughroom):
Leon,canIask…What’sthedealwiththeneighbors?!I’veonlyeverseenthestrangemaninFlat5(doyouthinkheknowsabouttheholeinthosetrackies,bytheway?Helivesalone,maybenobodyhastoldhim!).IthinkFlat1isthosetwooldladieswhohangoutatthebusstoponthecornerreadinggorytruecrimenovels.ButwhataboutFlat4and2?xx
Flat4isnicemiddle-agedmanwithunfortunatecrackhabit.AlwaysassumedFlat2belongstothefoxes.x
Writtenonbackofdraftmanuscriptoncoffeetable:
Ah,yes!Thefoxes.Well,Ihopethey’repayingrent.DidyounoticeFatimaFoxhashadthreelittlecubs?!
Below:
…FatimaFox?
And,speakingofrent.Haveanalertinmyphonesayingwe’vehitsixmonthssinceyoumovedin.TechnicallyendofyourleaseIthink?Youwanttostay?
Then,addedthateveningpost-sleep:
Asin,hopeyouwanttostay.Don’tneedthemoneysobadlyanymorewhatwithscarfsalesandnew,unbelievablyexcellentfreelawyer.Butnotsurewhatflatwouldlooklikewithoutyouinitnow.Couldnotsurvivewithoutbeanbag,forstarters.x
Beneaththis,Tiffyhassketchedagroupoffoxesonasofa,withheadingFlat2.Eachfoxiscarefullylabelled.
FatimaFox!She’sthemamafox.Thechiefvixen,ifyouwill.
FlorentinaFox.Thecheekysecond-in-command.Herusualhauntisthesmellycornerbythebins.
FlissFox.Thewhimsicalyoungchancer.Generallyfoundattemptingtoenterthebuildingviaawindow.
FabioFox.Theresidentdogfox.(ThisisactuallywhatmalefoxesarecalledbutIdoalsoimaginehe’sabitofadog.)
Thenewbabies,asyetunnamedbyme.Wouldyouliketodothehonors?
Belowthis:
Yes,please,thebeanbagandIwouldlovetostayawhilelonger.Shallwesayanothersixmonths?xx
Anothersixmonths.Perfect.Donex
Newnote,besideemptyrockyroadtray:
I’msorry,WHAT?Noggle,Stanley,andArchibald?
Theydon’tevenbeginwithF!
Samenote,nowleftbesidelargeplateofshepherd’spie:
WhatcanIsay.FabioFoxlikedNoggle.TheothertwowereFatima’sidea.
Also,sorry,couldn’thelpnoticingrecyclingbincontentswhenputtingitouttoday.AreyouOK?x
Shepherd’spieallgone.Newnote:
Yeah,don’tworry,I’mactuallyreallygood.Apurgeofex-relatedmemorabiliawaslongoverdue,andithasalsofreedupalotmoreunder-bedspaceforstoringscarfs.(Incaseyouwerewondering,we’rereallynotTeamExanymore.)xx
Ah,no?MustsayI’dbecomelesskeenonExanyway.Well,morescarfspaceiscertainlywelcome.Gotmyfootcaughtinoneyesterday—itwaslyingonbedroomfloorwaitingtosnagtheunwary.x
Oops,sorry,sorry,IknowImuststopleavingclothesonthebedroomfloor!Also,apologiesifthisiswaytoopersonalbuthaveyoubought,like,ENTIRELYnewboxers?Suddenlyalltheoldoneswithamusingcartooncharactersareneverontheclotheshorse,andtheflathasbecomeanhomagetoMr.Kleinwheneveryoudolaundry.
Andwhilewe’reonthesubjectofexes…HaveyouheardanythingfromKay?xx
NewdoublePost-it.Veryoccasionally,Irunoutofroom.Also,thoughtquitehardaboutwhattosayinthisone.
Sawherlastweekend,atanoldfriend’swedding.Wasweird.Nice.Chattedasfriends,andfeltgood.Richiewasright:relationshiphadendedlongbeforeitended.
Eh.Yes,didageneralclothesoverhaul.RealizedIhadn’tboughtnewclothesinapprox.fiveyears.Also,becamesuddenlyawarethatawomanlivesinthisflatandseesmylaundry.
Seemsyou’vebeenshopping,too.Iliketheblueandwhitedressonthebackofthedoor.LookslikethesortofonetheFamousFivemightwearforgoingonadventures.x
Thanks?Itfeelsliketheperfecttimeforanadventuredress.It’ssummer,I’msingle,thefoxesarefrolickingacrossthetarmac,thepigeonsaresingingfromthedrainpipes…Life.Is.Good.XxSEPTEMBER33TIFFY
I’msittingonthebalconycryinglikeatoddlerwho’sdroppedtheiricecream.Fullon,stuttering,mouth-pulled-widecrying.
Thesuddenrememberingsarestrikingatentirelyrandomtimesnow,justbobbingupoutofnowhereandsendingmeabsolutelyreeling.Thisonewasparticularlynasty:IwasmindingmyownbusinessheatingupsomesoupandthenBAM,upitpopped—thenightJustincameroundinFebruary,beforetheFacebookmessage,andbroughtPatricia.He’dlookedatmewithtotaldisgust,barelysayingawordtome.Then,whenPatriciawasoutinthehallway,he’dkissedmegoodbyeonthelips,onehandonthebackofmyneck.LikeIwashis.Foramoment,asIwasrememberingit,IfeltwithabsolutehorrorthatIstillwas.
So.Despitemebeingtechnicallymuchhappier,thisrememberingthingkeepshappeningandruiningit.ItisclearthatIhavesomeproblemstoconfronthere,andmydiversionarytacticsarenolongerservingme.Ihavetothinkaboutthis.
ThinkingtimemeansIneedMoandGerty.Theyarrivetogether,anhourorsoafterItextthem.AsGertypoursoutglassesofwhitewine,IrealizeI’mnervous.Idon’twanttotalk.ButthenonceIstartIcan’treallystop,anditallcomesoutinthisbiggarbledmess:thememories,theoldstufffromtheverystart,allofitrightthroughtotheflowershesentmelastweek.
EventuallyItrailoff,exhausted.Idowntherestoftheglassofwine.
“Let’snotbeataroundthebush,”saysGerty,whohasliterallyneverbeatenaroundasinglebushinherwholelife.“You’vegotacrazyex-boyfriend,andheknowswhereyoulive.”
Mypulsestartstoquicken;itfeelslikethere’ssomethingtrappedinmychest.
MoshootsGertythesortoflookthatusuallyonlyGertyisallowedtogivepeople.“I’lltalk,”hesays,“andyoucanbeinchargeofthewine.OK?”
Gertylookslikesomeone’sjustslappedherintheface.Butthen,curiously,sheturnsherheadawayfromhim,andfromwhereI’msittingIcanseeshe’ssmiling.
Weird.
“IwishIhadn’tsaidI’dgoforadrinkwithhiminOctober,”Isay,facedwithMo’slisteningface.“WhydidIsaythat?”
“I’mnotsureyoudidsaythat,didyou?Ithinkhechosetotakeitthatway,”Mosays.“Butyoudon’thavetoseehim.Youdon’towehimanything.”
“Doyoutworememberallofthis?”Iaskabruptly.“I’mnotimaginingit?”
Mopausesforamoment,butGertydoesn’tmissabeat.
“Ofcoursewedo.Iremembereverybloodyminuteofit.Hewasviletoyou.He’dtellyouwheretobeandhowtogetthere,andthenhe’dwalkyoutherebecauseyouwouldn’tbeabletofindyourwayonyourown.He’dmakeeveryargumentyourfault,andhewouldn’tgiveupuntilyouweresorry.He’dditchyouandthenpickyouupagainatamoment’snotice.Hetoldyouyouwereoverweightandweirdandnobodyelsewouldwantyou,eventhoughyouareclearlyagoddessofawomanandheoughttohavefeltluckytohaveyou.Itwasterrible.Wehatedhim.Andifyouhadn’tbannedmefromtalkingabouthim,Iwouldhavetoldyouthateverybloodyday.”
“Oh,”Isay,inasmallvoice.
“Isthathowitfelttoyou?”Moasks,withtheairofahandymanwithlimitedtoolstryingtopatchupthedamagedonebyabombgoingoff.
“I…Irememberbeingreallyhappywithhim,”Isay.“Aswellasbeing,youknow,reallybloodymiserable.”
“Hewasn’thorribletoyouallthetime,”Gertybegins.
“Hewouldn’thavebeenabletokeepyouwithhimifhewas,”Mogoeson.“Heknewthat.He’sasmartguy,Tiffy.Heknewhowto…”
“Playyou,”Gertyfinishes.
Mowincesatherchoiceofwords.
“ButIthinkwewerehappytogetheronce.”Idon’tknowwhythisfeelsimportant.Idon’tlikethethoughtofeveryoneseeingmeinthatrelationshipandthinkingIwasanidiotforbeingwithsomeonewhotreatedmethatway.
“Sure,”Mosays,nodding.“Especiallyatthestart.”
“Right,”Isay.“Atthestart.”
Wesipourwineinsilenceforawhile.Ifeelveryodd.LikeIoughttobecrying,andIsortofwanttobecrying,butthere’sastrangetightnessinmyeyesthat’smakingtearsimpossible.
“Well.Thanks.Youknow,fortrying.Andsorryfor…makingyoustoptalkingabouthim,”Isay,lookingdownatmyfeet.
“It’sallright.Atleastthatmeantyouwouldstillseeus,”Mosays.“Youhadtocometothisonyourown,Tiff.Astemptingasitwastobulldozeinandwhiskyouawayfromhim,youwouldhavejustgoneback.”
ImusterthecouragetoglanceupatGerty.Sheholdsmygaze;herexpressionisfierce.Ican’timaginehowhardshefounditstickingtoherwordandnotmentioningJustin.
IwonderhowonearthMopersuadedhertoleavemetodothisonmyown.Hewasright,though—Iwouldhavejustpushedthemawayifthey’dtoldmetoleaveJustin.Thethoughtisfaintlynauseating.
“You’redoinggreat,Tiff,”Mosays,toppingupmywine.“Justholdontowhatyou’refiguringout.Itmightbehardtorememberitallthetime,butit’simportant.Sodoyourbest.”
Somehow,whenMosayssomething,itseemstomakeittrue.
Itissohardtoremember.OneweekwithnosuddenmemoriesorrandomJustinappearances,andIwaver.Iwobble.IalmosttopplealtogetheranddecideImadethewholethingup.
ThankfullyMoistheretotalkto.WegothroughincidentsasIrememberthem—shoutedarguments,subtlejabs,theevensubtlerwaysmyindependencewaseroded.Ican’tbelievehownot-OKmyrelationshipwithJustinwas,butevenmorethanthat,Ican’tbelieveIhadn’tnoticed.Ithinkthatwilltakeawhiletosinkininitself.
Thankgodforfriendsandflatmates.Leonhasnoideathisisallgoingon,ofcourse,butseemstohaveclockedthatIneedsomedistraction—he’scookingmore,andifwedon’tspeakforawhilehe’llstartanewthreadofnotes.Itusedtoalwaysbemethatdidthat—IgetthefeelingthatinitiatingconversationisnotsomethingLeonisparticularlykeenondoing,asarule.
ThisoneisonthefridgewhenIgethomefromworkwithRachel,who’scomeroundsoIcancookherdinner(shesaysIoweherindefinitefreemealsbecauseI’veruinedherlifebycommissioningCrochetYourWay):
HuntforJohnnyWhiteisgoingpoorly.GotdrunkunderthetablebyJohnnyWhitetheFourthatverygrimypubnearIpswich.Nearlyhadarepeatofourmemorablebathroomcollision:sleptinandwasextremelylatex
Rachelraiseshereyebrowsatme,readingitovermyshoulder.“Memorable,eh?”
“Oh,shutup.Youknowwhathemeans.”
“IbelieveIdo,”shesays.“Hemeans:Ikeepthinkingaboutyouinyourunderwear.Doyouthinkaboutmenaked?”
Ichuckanonionather.“Dicethatandmakeyourselfuseful,”Isay,butIcan’thelpsmiling.34LEON
AlreadySeptember.Summerstartingtocool.NeverthoughtitpossiblethattimecouldpassquicklywhenRichiewasinprison,buthesaysthesame—hisdaysmoveliketheyshould,insteadofdraggingandtrailingandforcinghimtofeeleveryminute.
It’sallbecauseofGerty.I’veonlymetherafewtimesbutwespeakonthephoneeveryfewdays;oftenthesolicitorjoinsthecall,too.Barelyeverspoketolastsolicitor.Thisoneseemstobeendlesslydoingthings.Amazing.
Gertyisbrusquebeyondthepointofrudeness,butIlikeher—shedoesnotseemtohavethecapacityforbullshitting(oppositeofSal?).She’softenintheflat,andhastakentojoiningTiffyinwritingmenotes.Thankfully,though,it’sveryeasytotellthemapart.Thesetwoaresidebysideonbreakfastbar:
Hey!I’msorrytohearaboutthattwo-dayhangover—Ifeelyourpain,andrecommendWotsits.However…noWAYdoesyourhairgetcurlieronhangoverdays!Thatjustcan’tbeathing,becausethereisnoupsidetoahangover.And,frommylimitedknowledgeofwhatyoulooklike,I’mbettingthecurlieryourhairisthecooleryoulook.xx
Leon—tellRichietocallme.Hehasnotsuppliedmewiththeanswerstotheten-pagelistofenquiriesIsenthimlastweek.PleaseremindhimthatIamanextremelyimpatientpersonwhoisusuallypaidalotforreviewingthings.G
OnwaybackfromthelastRichievisit,IpoppedintoseeaJohnnyWhite.HelivesinacarehomenorthofLondon,and,withinmoments,Ifeltsurehewasnotourguy.Wifeandsevenchildrenwasstrongsign(though,obviously,notconclusive),butthen,afteraverydifficultconversation,Idiscoveredheonlyservedinthearmyforthreeweeksbeforebeingshippedhomewithagangrenousleg.
Thisresultedinalongconversationaboutgangrene.Feltalotlikebeingatwork,exceptmuchmoreawkward.
ThefollowingweekMr.Priorisunwell.Findmyselfsurprisinglydistressed.Mr.Priorisaveryoldman—it’sentirelytobeexpected.Myjobistomakehimcomfortable.HasbeenfromthefirstdayImethim.ButIalwaysthoughtI’dfindhimtheloveofhislifebeforehehadtogo,andnoneofmyfiveJohnnyWhiteshasbeenanyuseatall.Threetogo,butstill.
Iwasna?ve.PrettysureKaysaidsoatthetime
Ontheboiler:
So,ifyou’vereachedthispoint,you’veprobablyfiguredoutthattheboilerisbroken.Butdon’tworry,Leon,Ihaveexcellentnewsforyou!I’vealreadycalledaplumberandsheisgoingtocometomorroweveningtosortit.Untilthenyou’llhavetoshowerinICE-COLDWATERbutactuallyifyou’vecometolookattheboileryoumaywellhavealreadydonethat,inwhichcase,theworstisover.Irecommendcurlingupinthebeanbagwithahotcupofspicedappletea(yes,Iboughtanewfruittea.No,wedon’talreadyhavetoomanyinthecupboard)andourlovelyBrixtonblanket.That’swhatIdid,anditworkedatreatxx
NotsurehowIfeelaboutitbeingourBrixtonblanket,assumingshemeanstherattymulticoloredthingI’malwayshavingtothrowoffthebed.Isdefinitelyoneoftheworstobjectsintheflat
SettledownonbeanbagwithlatestvarietyoffruitteaandthinkaboutTiffy,here,inthisspot,justafewhoursbeforeme.Wethair,bareshoulders.Wrappedinjustatowelandthisblanket.
Blanketisn’tsobad.It’s…characterful.Quirky.MaybeI’mcomingroundtoit.35TIFFY
ThisismyfirstsessionwithSomeoneOtherThanMo.
Mohimselfsuggestedit.Hesaiditwouldbenefitmetodopropercounselingandtalktoapersonwhodidn’talreadyknowme.AndthenRacheltoldmethat,unbelievably,ouremployeebenefitsactuallyincludeuptofifteensessionsofcounseling,paidforbyButterfingers.Ihavenoideawhythey’rewillingtoprovidethatbutnotpayaboveminimumwage—maybethey’resickofemployeesleavingonstress.
SohereIam.Itisveryweird.SomeoneOtherThanMoiscalledLucieandiswearingagiganticcricketjumperasadress,whichobviouslyimmediatelymakesmelikeherandaskherwheresheshops.WetalkedaboutvintagestoresinSouthLondonforawhile,andthenshegotmeawater,andnowhereweare,inheroffice,facingoneanotherinmatchingarmchairs.I’mextremelynervous,thoughIhaven’tgotacluewhy.
“SoTiffy,whatwasitthatmadeyouwanttocomeandseemetoday?”Lucieasks.
Iopenmymouthandcloseitagain.God,there’ssomuchtoexplain.WheredoIevenbegin?
“Juststartwiththat,”Luciesays.ShehasMo’smindreadingskills,clearly—theymustteachthemthatwhenthey’reaccredited.“Thethingthatmadeyouwanttopickupthephoneandmakeanappointment.”
“Iwanttofixwhateverthehellitwasmyex-boyfrienddidtome,”Isay,andthenpause,startled.HowhaveImanagedtosaythatoutrighttoacompletestrangerwithinfiveminutesofmeetingher?Howembarrassing.
ButLuciedoesn’tevenblink.“Sure,”shesays.“Wouldyouliketotellmeabitmoreaboutthat?”
“Areyouhealed?”Rachelasksme,plonkingacoffeedownonmydesk.
Ah,coffee,elixiroftheoverworked.Recentlyithasovertakenteainmyaffections—asignofhowlittleI’msleeping.IblowRachelakissasshemakesherwayovertoherscreen.Asperusual,wecontinuetheconversationoninstantmessenger.
Tiffany[9:07a.m.]:Itwasreallyweird.Iliterallytoldherthemostembarrassingstuffaboutmewithinliketenminutesofmeetingher.
Rachel[9:08a.m.]:Didyoutellheraboutwhenyouvomitedinyourhaironthenightbus?
Tiffany[9:10a.m.]:Well,thatdidn’tactuallycomeup.
Rachel[9:11a.m.]:Howaboutthetimeyoubrokethatguy’spenisatuniversity?
Tiffany[9:12a.m.]:Didn’tcomeup,either.
Rachel[9:12a.m.]:That’swhathesaid.
Tiffany[9:13a.m.]:Doesthatjokework?
Rachel[9:15a.m.]:Well,anyway,IamnowreassuredthatIknowmoreofyourembarrassingsecretsthanthisnewimposterintoyouraffections.OK.Goon.
Tiffany[9:18a.m.]:Shedidn’treallysaymuch.EvenlessthanModoes.Ithoughtshe’dtellmewhatwaswrongwithme.ButinsteadIkindoffiguredsomestuffoutallonmyown…whichItotallycouldn’thavedonewithouthersittingthere.Soweird.
Rachel[9:18a.m.]:Whatkindofstuff?
Tiffany[9:19a.m.]:Like…Justinwascruelsometimes.Andcontrolling.Andotherbadstuff.
Rachel[9:22a.m.]:CanIjustsay,IofficiallystandcorrectedontheJustinissue.Gertyisright.He’sscumoftheearth.
Tiffany[9:23a.m.]:Yourealizeyoujusttyped“Gertyisright”?
Rachel[9:23a.m.]:Iforbidyoutotellher.
Tiffany[9:23a.m.]:Screenshotalreadysent.
Rachel[9:24a.m.]:Bitch.Allright,soyou’llgoagain?
Tiffany[9:24a.m.]:Threesessionsthisweek.
Rachel[9:24a.m.]:Blimey.
Tiffany[9:25a.m.]:IhavethisfearthatbecausethefirstflashbackhappenedwhenthatKenguykissedme…
Rachel[9:26a.m.]:Yes?
Tiffany[9:26a.m.]:Whatifthat’swhathappensnow?WhatifJustinhas,like,reprogrammedme,andIWILLNEVERBEABLETOKISSAMANAGAIN?!
Rachel[9:29a.m.]:Imean,thatisfuckingterrifying.
Tiffany[9:30a.m.]:Thanks,Rachel.
Rachel[9:31a.m.]:Youshouldseesomeoneaboutthat.
Tiffany[9:33a.m.]:[glaringemoji]Thankyou,Rachel.
Rachel[9:34a.m.]:Oh,comeon.Iknowthatmadeyoulaugh.Asin,IliterallyjustwatchedyoulaughandthentryandturnitintoacoughwhenyourealizedtheheadofEditorialwaswalkingpast.
Tiffany[9:36a.m.]:Diditwork,doyouthink?
“Tiffy?Doyouhaveaminute?”callstheheadofEditorial.
Shit.“Doyouhaveaminute”isalwaysbad.Ifitwasurgentbutnon-problematic,he’djustshoutitacrosstheroomorsendmeanemailwithoneofthosepassive-aggressiveredexclamationmarksonit.No,“doyouhaveaminute”meansit’sconfidential,andthatalmostcertainlymeansit’sworsethanjustsniggeringatmydeskbecauseI’mmessagingRachelaboutkissing.
What’sKatherindone?HassheuploadedapictureofhervaginaonTwitter,asshethreatenstodoliterallyeverytimeIaskhertodoanotherinterviewatMartin’srequest?
Orisitoneofthemany,manybooksthatIhavecompletelyignoredinthemadnessthathasbeenCrochetYourWay?Ican’tevenremembertheirtitlesanymore.I’veshiftedpubdateslikeI’vebeenplayingBananagrams,andIdefinitelyhaven’trunthechangesbytheheadofEditorial.It’llbethat,won’tit?I’veignoredsomeone’sbookforsolongthatit’sactuallygonetoprintwithoutanywordsinit.
“Sure,”Isay,pushingawayfromthedeskinwhatIhopeisabriskandprofessionalmanner.
Ifollowhimintohisoffice.Heclosesthedoorbehindme.
“Tiffy,”hebegins,perchingontheedgeofhisdesk.“Iknowit’sbeenabusyfewmonthsforyou.”
Iswallow.“Oh,it’sbeenfine,”Isay.“Thanks,though!”
Hegivesmeaslightlyoddlookatthispoint,whichisentirelyunderstandable.
“You’vedoneafantasticjobwithKatherin’sbook,”hesays.“Itreallyisastellarpieceofpublishing.Youspottedthattrend—no,youshapedit.Really,topnotch.”
Iblink,bewildered.Ineitherspottedthattrendnorshapedit—I’vebeenpublishingcrochetbookseversinceIstartedatButterfingers.
“Thanks?”Isay,feelingabitguilty
“We’resoimpressedwithyourrecentwork,Tiffy,thatwe’dliketopromoteyoutoeditor,”hesays.
Ittakesagoodfewsecondsforthewordstosinkin,andwhentheydo,Imakeaverypeculiarchokingnoise.
“Areyouallright?”heasks,frowning.
Iclearmythroat.“Fine!Thanks!”Isqueak.“Imean,Ijustdidn’texpect…”
…Toevergetpromoted.Literally,ever.Ihadentirelygivenuphope.
“It’sextremelywelldeserved,”hesays,smilingbenevolently.
Imanagetosmileback.Idon’treallyknowwhattodowithmyself.WhatIwanttodoisaskhowmuchmoremoneyI’llbegetting,butthere’snodignifiedwaytoaskthatquestion.
“Thankssomuch,”Igushinstead,andthenIfeelabitpatheticbecause,let’sbehonest,theyshouldhavepromotedmetwoyearsago,andit’sundignifiedtogrovel.Idrawmyselfuptomyfullheightandgivehimamorepurposefulsmile.“Ibettergetbacktowork,”Isay.Seniorpeoplealwaysliketohearyousaythat.
“Absolutely,”hesays.“HRwillsendoverdetailsofthesalaryincreaseetcetera.”
Ilikethesoundofthatetcetera.
Congratulationsonthepromotion!Betterlatethannever?Madeyoumushroomstroganofftocelebrate.x
Ismile.Thenoteisstuckonthefridge,whichisalreadyonelayerdeepinPost-its.MycurrentfavoriteisadoodleLeondid,depictingthemaninFlat5sittingonanenormousheapofbananas.(Westilldon’tknowwhyhekeepssomanybananacratesinhisparkingspace.)
Irestmyforeheadagainstthefridgedoorforamoment,thenrunmyfingersacrossthelayersofpaperscrapsandPost-its.There’ssomuchhere.Jokes,secrets,stories,theslowunfoldingoftwopeoplewhoseliveshavebeenchanginginparallel—or,Idon’tknow,insync.Differenttimes,sameplace.
Ireachforapen.
Thankyou?I’vebeendoingalotofcelebratorydancingaroundtheflat,justsoyouknow.Like,seriouslyuncool,trying-to-moonwalkdancing.Ican’timaginethat’ssomethingyoueverpartakein,somehow…
CanIaskwhatyou’reuptothisweekend?I’mguessingyou’llbestayingatyourmum’sagain?Ijustwonderedifyouwantedtomaybegooutforadrinkorsomethingtocelebratewithme.xx
Waitingforthereplymakesmewish,fortheveryfirsttime,thatLeonandIcommunicatedviaWhatsApplikenormalpeople.I’dkillforalittledoublebluetickrightnow.Then,whenIgethome,pastedcarefullybelowmynoteonthefridge:
Ampartialtotheoccasionalmoonwalkfromkitchentolivingroom.
Can’tcomeforadrinkunfortunatelyasI’moffhuntingJohnnyWhites.ThisoneisinBrighton.
Then,justbelow,butinadifferentcolorpen:
Mightberidiculousideabutifyoufancyatriptotheseasideyoucouldcome,too?
I’mstandinginthekitchen,facingthefridge,absolutelybeaming.
I’dlovetocome!Itotallylovetheseaside.Itlegitimizeswearingasunhat,forstarters,orcarryingaparasol,whicharebothwonderfulthingsthatIdoNOTgettodoenough.Wheredoyouwanttomeet?xx
Theresponsetakestwodaystocome.IwonderifLeonislosinghisnerve,butthen,eventually,scribbledfastinblueink:
VictoriastationathalftenonSaturday.It’sadate!X36LEON
It’sadate?It’sadate?!
Whathashappenedtome?Shouldhavewrittenseeyouthere.Instead,Isaidit’sadate.Whichit’snot.Probably.Also,amnotapersonwhosaysthingslikeit’sadate,evenwhenitis.
Rubeyesandfidgetonthespot.I’munderthedepartureboardsatLondonVictoriastation,alongwithahundredorsootherpeople,butwhilethey’reallstaringupattheboards,I’mkeepingmyeyesontheexitfromtheunderground.WonderifTiffywillrecognizemewhenI’vegotclotheson.Onthatpoint:It’safreakishlywarmdayforSeptember.Shouldnothavewornjeans.
CheckdirectionsfromBrightonstationareloadeduponmyphone.Checktime.Checktrainplatform.Fidgetsomemore.
Whenshefinallyappears,there’snodangerofmissingher.She’sinacanaryyellowjacketandtighttrousers;herorange-redhairisthrownoverhershouldersandbouncesasshewalks.She’salsotallerthanmostofthepeoplestreamingallaroundher,andiswearingyellowsandalswithaheel,givingheranextrafewinchesonthegeneralpopulation.
Sheseemsentirelyobliviousofhowmanyeyesshecatchesasshewalksby,whichonlymakesthewholeeffectmoreattractive.
Smileandwaveasshespotsme.Proceedtostandawkwardlysmilingassheapproaches,then,atthisextremelylatemoment,amstruckbyquestionofwhetherweshouldhughello.Couldhavespentlasttenminutesofwaitingtimedebatingthis.Instead,haveleftituntilsheisrightinfrontofme,eyetoeye,hercheeksflushedfromthestuffyheathanginginthestationair.
Shehangsback;toolateforahug.
Tiffy:Hey.
Me:Hi.
Andthen,simultaneously:
Tiffy:SorryI’mlate—
Me:Notseenthoseyellowshoesbefore—
Tiffy:Sorry,yougo.
Me:Don’tworry,you’rehardlylate.
Thankgodshespokeoverme.WhywouldIdrawattentiontothefactIamfamiliarwithmostofhershoes?Soundsextremelycreepy.
Wewalktotheplatformsidebyside.Ikeepglancingather;can’tgetoverhowtallsheis,forsomereason.Didn’timaginehertall.
Tiffylookssidewaysatme,catchesmyeye,andsmiles.
Tiffy:Notwhatyouexpected?
Me:Sorry?
Tiffy:Me.AmIwhatyouexpected?
Me:Oh,I—
Tiffyquirksaneyebrow.
Tiffy:Asin,beforeyousawmelastmonth.
Me:Well,didn’texpectyoutobeso…
Tiffy:Big?
Me:Iwasgoingtosaynaked.Butalsotall,yes.
Tiffylaughs.
Tiffy:Iwasn’tasnakedasyouwere.
Me,wincing:Don’tremindme.I’msosorryfor—
Ahhh.Howtofinishthatsentence?Itmightbemyimagination,buthercheeksseemtobeflushedalittlepinker.
Tiffy:Seriously,itwasmyfault.Youwerejustinnocentlyshowering.
Me:Notyourfault.Everyoneoversleeps
Tiffy:Especiallywhenthey’vedrunkprettymuchawholebottleofgin.
We’reonthetrainnow,soconversationstopsaswemovedowntheaisle.Shechoosesusatableseat;inasplitsecond,Idecideit’slessawkwardtositfacingoneanotherratherthansidebyside,butasIslideintotheseat,realizemymistake.Thiswayisveryeye-contact-y.
Sheslipsoffherjacket;underneathshe’swearingablousecoveredinenormousgreenflowers.Herarmsarebare,andtheblousedropstoalowVacrossherchest.MyinnerteenagerattemptstotakecontrolofmygazeandIjustaboutcatchmyselfintime.
Me:So—wholebottleofgin?
Tiffy:Ohyeah.Well,Iwasatthisbooklaunch,thenJustinturnedup,and—anyway,lotsofginwasinvolvedintheaftermath.
Frown.
Me:Theex?That’s…weird?
Tiffyshakesherhairoutandlooksalittleuneasy.
Tiffy:Ithoughtthat,too,atfirst,andwonderedifhe’dtrackedmedownorsomething,butifhewantedtoseemehecouldhavejustcometomywork—or,apparently,myflat,judgingbythatbunchofflowers.I’mclearlyjustparanoid.
Me:Didhesaythat?Thatyouwereparanoid?
Tiffy,afterapause:No,heneversaidthatexactly.
Me,catchingup:Wait.Youdidn’ttellhimwhereyoulive?
Tiffy:No.I’mnotsurehowhefoundme.Facebookorsomething,probably.
Sherollseyeslikeit’saminorirritation,butI’mstillfrowning.Thisdoesn’tsoundright.HavenastysuspicionIknowmenlikethisfrommymother’slife.Menwhotellyouyou’recrazyforgettingsuspiciousoftheirbehavior,whoknowwhereyoulivewhenyoudon’texpectthemto.
Me:Wereyoutogetherlong?
Tiffy:Acoupleofyears.Itwasallveryintense,though.Lotsofbreakingupandshoutingandcryingandthings.
Shelooksslightlysurprisedatherself,openshermouthasthoughtocorrectthat,thenthinksbetterofit.
Tiffy:Yeah.Itwasabouttwoyearsinall.
Me:Andyourfriendsdon’tlikehim?
Tiffy:Theyneverdid,actually.Notevenatthestart.Gertysaidshegot“badvibes”evenwhensheonlysawhimfromfaraway.
AmlikingGertymoreandmore.
Tiffy:Anyway,soheturnedupandtriedtowhiskmeoffsomewhereforadrinktoexplaineverythingaway,asper.
Me:Yousaidno?
Tiffynods.
Tiffy:Isaidhehastowaitawhiletoaskmeoutforadrink.Acoupleofmonths,atleast.
Tiffylooksoutthewindow,eyesflickingasshewatchesLondonslideawayaroundus.
Tiffy,quietly:Ijustdidn’tfeellikeIcouldsayno.Justin’slikethat.Hemakesyouwantwhathewants.He’svery…Idon’tknow.Heownsaroomstraightaway,youknow?He’sforceful
Trytoignorewarningsirensinmyhead.I’mnotlikingthissituationatall.Hadn’tgotthissenseofthingsfromthenotes—butmaybeTiffyherselfhadn’tgotthissenseofthingsuntilrecently.Itcantakepeopletimetonoticeandprocessemotionalabuse.
Tiffy:Anyway!Sorry.God.Weird.
Shesmiles.
Tiffy:Thisisaverydeepconversationtohavewithsomeoneyou’veonlyjustmet.
Me:We’venotjustmet.
Tiffy:True.Therewasthememorablebathroomcollision.
Anothereyebrowquirk.
Me:Imeant,itfeelslikewe’veknowneachotherages.
Tiffysmilesatthat.
Tiffy:Itdoes,doesn’tit?Iguessthat’swhyit’ssoeasytotalk.
Yes.It’strue:Itiseasytotalk,whichisevenmoresurprisingtomethantoher,probably,becausethereareaboutthreepeopleintheworldIfinditeasytotalkto.37TIFFY
Idon’tunderstandwhatcompelledmetogoonaboutJustinlikethat.I’venotmentionedanythingaboutthecounselingortheflashbacksinmynotestoLeon—thosePost-itsmakemewarmandfuzzy,I’mnotruiningthemwithJustincrap—butsuddenlynowthatI’mface-to-facewithhimitfeelsnaturaltotalktohimaboutthethingsoccupyingmythoughts.Hejusthasoneofthosenonjudgmentalfacesthatmakesyouwantto,youknow…share.
Weslipintosilenceasthetrainspeedsthroughopencountryside.IgetthesensethatLeonlikessilence;itdoesn’tfeelasawkwardasIwouldexpectitto,morelikethisishisnaturalstate.It’sstrange,becausewhenhetalkshe’sreallyengaging,albeitinaquiet,intensesortofway.
He’slookingoutofthewindow,squintingagainstthesunlight,soIsneakachancetolookathim.He’salittlescruffy,inaworngrayT-shirtwithacordnecklaceroundhisneckthathasthelookofsomethinghehardlyevertakesoff.Iwonderwhatitssignificanceis.Leondoesn’tstrikemeasthetypetowearaccessoriesforanythingotherthansentimentalreasons.
Hecatchesmelookingandmeetsmygaze.Mystomachflutters.Suddenlythesilencefeelsdifferent.
“How’sMr.Prior?”Iblurt.
Leonlooksstartled.“Mr.Prior?”
“Yeah.Mylife-savingknitter.ThelasttimeIspoketohimwasatthehospice.”Igivehimawrysmile.“Whenyouwerebusyavoidingme.”
“Ah.”Herubsthebackofhisneck,lookingdown,thenshootsmealittlelopsidedgrin.It’ssoquickIalmostmissit.“Wasn’tmyfinestmoment.”
“Mmm.”Ipullamocksternface.“DoIscareyou,isthatit?”
“Abit.”
“Abit!Why?”
Heswallows,Adam’sapplebobbing,andpusheshishairbackfromhisface.Ithinkhe’snervous-fidgeting.It’sabsolutelyadorable.
“You’revery…”Hewavesahand.
“Loud?Brash?Largerthanlife?”
Hewinces.“No,”hesays.“No,notthat.”
Iwait.
“Look,”hesays,“haveyoueverlookedforwardtoreadingabooksomuchyoucan’tactuallystartit?”
“Oh,totally.Allthetime—ifIhadagrainofself-restraintIneverwould’vebeenabletoreadthelastHarryPotterbook.Theanticipationwaspainful.Youknow,like,whatifitdoesn’tliveuptothelastones?Whatifit’snotwhatIhopeit’llbe?”
“Right,well.”Hewavesahandatme.“Ithinkitmighthavebeen…likethat.”
“Butwithme?”
“Yeah.Withyou.”
Ilookdownatmyhandsinmylap,tryingveryhardnottosmile.
“AsforMr.Prior…”Leon’stalkingoutofthewindownow.“I’msorry.Can’treallytalkaboutapatient.”
“Oh,ofcourse.Well,IhopewefindhisJohnnyWhite.Mr.Priorislovely.Hedeservesahappyending.”
Aswerumbleon,slippinginandoutofcomfortableconversation,IsneakmorediscreetlittlelooksatLeonacrossthetable.Atonepointoureyesmeetinthewindow’sglass,andwebothlookawayfast,likewe’veseensomethingweshouldn’thave.
I’mjustaboutfeelingthatallawkwardnesshasdepartedwhenwearriveatBrighton,butthenhegetsuptograbhisrucksackfromtheoverheadspaceandhe’ssuddenlystanding,withhisT-shirtridinguptoshowthedarkbandofhisCalvinKleinboxersabovehisjeans,andI’mbacktonotknowingwhattodowithmyself.Iattempttofindthetableveryinteresting.
WhenwereachBrightonthere’saweakSeptembersunshining;it’snotquiteautumnyet.FromoutsidethestationIcanseestreetsofwhitetownhousesstretchingoutaheadofus,dottedwiththesortsofpubsandcafesthateveryoneinLondonwouldoverpaytohaveontheirstreetcorner.
LeonhasarrangedtomeetMr.Whiteonthepier.WhenwereachtheseafrontIletoutaninvoluntarysquealofexcitement.Thepierstretchesoutintothegray-bluesealikethisisapaintingofoneofthoseoldseasideresortswhereVictoriansusedtohangoutinridiculousknee-lengthswimwear.It’sperfect.Ireachintomybagandgetoutmybig,floppy,1950ssunhat,yankingitontomyhead.
Leonlooksatmewithamusement.
“Whatahat,”hesays.
“Whataday,”Icounter,spreadingmyarmsoutwide.“Nootherheadwearwoulddoitjustice.”
Hegrins.“Tothepier?”
MyhatbobsasInod.“Tothepier!”38LEON
WespotJohnnyWhitewithoutanydifficulty.Veryoldmansatonendofpier.Literally,rightontheend,satontherailingswithfeetdanglingover—I’msurprisednobodyhashadhimmoved.Itlooksprettydangerous.
Tiffy,ontheotherhand,isnotworried.Shebounces,sunhatflapping.
Tiffy:Look!AJohnnyWhiteofmyveryown!Ibethe’stherealdeal.Icanjusttell.
Me:Impossible.Youcan’twinonfirstgo.
Buthavetoadmit,Brighton-dwellerisabetterbetthanweed-smokingmidlanderwas.
TiffyisovertherebeforeI’vehadtimetocollectmythoughtsorconsiderthesafestmeansofapproaching;sheclimbsontotherailingstojoinhim.
Tiffy,toJWtheSixth:Hello,areyouMr.White?
Theoldmanturns.He’sbeaming.
JWtheSixth:Iamindeed.AreyouLeon?
Me:I’mLeon.Pleasedtomeetyou,sir
JWtheSixth’sbeamwidens.
JWtheSixth:Thepleasure’sallmine!Willyoujoinme?It’smyfavoritespot.
Me:Isit…safe?
Tiffyhasalreadyswungherfeetover.
Me:Don’tpeopleworry?Aboutyoujumping,orfallingin?
JWtheSixth:Oh,everyonehereknowsme.
Hegivesacheerfulwaveinthedirectionofthemanrunningthecandyflossstall,whoequallycheerfullyflipshimthebird.JWtheSixthchuckles.
JWtheSixth:Sowhat’sthisfamilyproject,then?Areyoumylong-lostgrandson,youngman?
Me:Unlikely.Thoughnotimpossible.
Tiffygivesmeacuriouslook.Doesn’tfeellikethetimetofillherinonthemanygapsinmyfamilyhistory.Ishift,uncomfortablywarm;theheatisstrongerherewiththesunonthewater,andIcanfeelsweatpricklingonmyhairline.
Tiffy:We’rehereforafriend.A…aMr.Prior?
Aseagullcawsbehindus,andJohnnyWhitetheSixthgivesalittlestart.
JWtheSixth:You’regoingtoneedtogivememorethanthat,I’mafraid.
Me:RobertPrior.Thinkheservedinthesameregimentasyouduringthe—
JWtheSixth’ssmiledrops.Heholdsupahandtostopme.
JWtheSixth:Ifyoudon’tmind,Iwouldpreferyoustoppedthere.That’snot…myfavoritetopicofconversation
Tiffy,smoothly:Hey,Mr.White,howaboutwegosomewheretocooloff?I’venotgotthecomplexionforthissortofsunshine.
Sheholdsoutherarmstoshowhim.Hissmilereturnsslowly.
JWtheSixth:AnEnglishrose!Andwhatabeautifulone.
Heturnstome.
JWtheSixth:You’realuckyman,findingawomanlikethat.Theydon’tmake’emthatwayanymore.
Me:Oh,she’snot—
Tiffy:I’mnot—
Me:We’reactuallyjust…
Tiffy:Flatmates.
JWtheSixth:Oh!
Looksbetweenthetwoofus.Doesnotseemconvinced.
JWtheSixth:Anyhow.Thebestwaytocooloffaroundhereistogoforadip.
Hegesturestowardthebeach.
Me:Ididn’tbringtrunks.
But,atthesametime:
Tiffy:Iwillifyouwill,Mr.White!
Istareather.Tiffyisfullofsurprises.It’sratherdisorientating.NotsureIlikethisidea.
JWtheSixth,ontheotherhand,seemsdelightedatTiffy’sproposal.Sheisalreadyhelpinghimbackovertherailings.Irushtohelpher,whatwiththisbeingaveryelderlyman,verynearasuddendrop.
Walkingdownpierpastridesandpackedarcadesgivesmeplentyoftimetobottleit.
Me:Oneofushadbetterlookafterourstuff.
JWtheSixth:Don’tyouworryaboutthat.We’llleavethemwithRadley.
Radleyturnsouttobemanwithmulticoloredturbanrunningold-schoolPunchandJudystand.Tiffyshootsmeadelightedlookasweintroduceourselvesanddumpourbags.Isn’tthisbrilliant?shemouthsatme.Can’thelpsmiling.ThisJohnnyWhiteisfastbecomingmyfavorite,Ihavetoadmit.
IfollowTiffyandJohnnyastheyweavetheirwaybetweensunbathersanddeckchairsontheirwaytotheshoreline.Stopforamomenttokickoffmyshoes,thepebblescoolbeneathmyfeet.Sunblazeslowacrossthewaterandwetshingleshinessilver.Tiffy’shairburnsred.JohnnyWhiteiswrestlingoffhisshirtashegoes.
Andnow…ahhh.Tiffyis,too.39TIFFY
Ihaven’tfeltlikethisinwaytoolong.Infact,ifyou’daskedmeafewmonthsago,I’dhavetoldyouIcouldonlyfeelthiswaywithJustin.Thisrushofdoingsomethingridiculouslyspontaneous—thetotalalivenessofwhirlingyourselfoff-planandshuttingupallthebitsofyourbrainthattellyouwhythisisn’tasensibleidea…God,I’vemissedthis.Laughing,tripping,myhairinmyface,IwriggleoutofmyjeansandduckasMr.Whitechuckshisshortsinthedirectionofourimpromptuclothingpile.
Leonisbehindus;Iglancebackandhe’sgrinning,too,sothat’sgoodenoughforme.Mr.Whiteisdowntohisbriefs.
“Ready?”Iyellathim.It’sbreezyouthere;myhairwhipsmycheeksandthewindticklesthebareskinofmystomach.
Mr.Whitedoesn’tneedtellingtwice.He’swadingintotheseaalready—hecanmoveveryquicklyforamanwhomustbeatleastninety.IlookbackatLeon,whoisstilldressed,andlookingatmeinanunreadablymuddledsortofway.
“Comeon!”Ishoutathim,runningbackwardintothewater.Ifeelgiddy,almostdrunk.
“Thisisridiculous!”hecalls.
Iholdmyarmsoutwide.“What’sstoppingyou?”
Itmightbemyimagination,andhe’sprettyfarawaytotell,buthiseyesdon’tseemtobespendingalltheirtimeonmyface.Isuppressasmile.
“Comeon!”JohnnyWhiteshoutsfromthesea,wherehe’salreadydoingbreaststroke.“It’slovely!”
“Idon’thaveswimmingtrunks!”Leonsays,hoveringintheshallows.
“What’sthedifference?”Iyell,gesturingtomyunderwear,which—plainblack,nolacethistime—isprettyindistinguishablefromthebikinisotherpeopleoutherearewearing.I’minuptomyhipsnow,andIbitemylipagainstthecoldofthewater.
“Maybenothingifyou’reawoman,butit’salittledifferentif—”
PresumablyLeonfinisheshissentence,butIdon’theartherestofit.SuddenlyI’munderwater,andallIcanthinkaboutisasearingpaininmyankle.
Ishriekandswallowagulpofseawatersosaltyitburnsthebackofmythroat;myhandsflail,andforamomentmygoodfootconnectswiththeground,butthenmyotherfoottriestofindpurchase,too,andthepainsendsmefallingagain.I’mtwisted,spinning;everythingisflashesofwaterandsky.Imusthavetwistedmyankle,somedistantcornerofmybrainregisters.Don’tpanic,ittriestotellme,butit’stoolate,I’mcoughingupwaterandmyeyesandthroatareburning,Ican’tturn,Ican’tfindmyfooting,myankleroarswithpaineverytimeImoveitasItrytoswim—
Someone’stryingtograbme.Icanfeelstronghandsscrabblingtogetagriponmybody;somethingknocksmybadankleandItrytocryoutbutit’slikemythroat’sclosedup.It’sLeon,andhe’shaulingmeupoutofthewater,pullingmeclose;Ireachforhimandhestumbles,almosttumblinginwithme,buthekicksoutuntilhe’sswimming,armstightaroundmywaist,anddragsmeclosertoshoreuntilhecanfindhisfooting.
I’msodizzyeverythingisslidingbackandforth.Ican’tbreathe.IgriphissoddenT-shirt,retchingandcoughingashelaysmedownonthepebblesofthebeach.I’msotired—thekindoftiredyougetwhenyou’vebeenupallnightbecauseyou’resick,whereyoureyesjustcan’tbeartostayopen.
“Tiffy,”Leonissaying.
Ican’tstopcoughing.There’ssomuchwaterlodgedinmythroat—Ivomitgreatspurtsofitontothewetshingle,myvisionstillspinning,myheadsoheavyIcanhardlykeepitlifted.Distant,almostforgotten,myanklethrobs.
I’mgasping.Therecan’tpossiblybeanymorewaterinsideme.Leonhassmoothedmyhairawayfrommyfaceandispressinghisfingersgentlyintotheskinofmyneckasthoughcheckingforsomething,andnowhe’swrappingmeinmyjacket,rubbingmyarmswiththefabric;ithurtsmyskinandItrytorollawayfromhim,butheholdsmetight.
“You’reOK,”hesays.Aboveme,hisfaceslidesbackandforth.“Thinkyou’vesprainedyourankle,Tiffy,andyouswallowedalotofwater,butyou’regoingtobeOK.Trytobreathemoreslowlyifyoucan.”
Idomybest.BehindhimappearstheworriedfaceofJohnnyWhitetheSixth.Heisstrugglingbackintohisjumper,trousersalreadybackon.
“Istheresomewherewarmnearbywherewecantakeher?”Leonaskshim.
“TheBunnyHopInn,justupthere,”Mr.Whitesays.Ivomitagainandrestmyforeheadonthepebbles.“Iknowthemanager.She’llgiveusaroom,noproblem.”
“Grand.”Leonsoundsperfectlycalm.“I’mgoingtoliftyou,Tiffy.IsthatOK?”
Slowly,myheadpounding,Inod.Leonpicksmeupandcarriesmeinbotharms.Mybreathingslowing,Iletmyheadfallagainsthischest.Thebeachpassesinabluraroundme;facesareturnedourway,shockedpinkandbrownsplodgesagainstthemulticoloredbackdropoftowelsandsunshades.Iclosemyeyes—keepingthemopenmakesmefeelsicker.
Leonswearsunderhisbreath.“Wherearethesteps?”
“Thisway,”JohnnyWhitesays,somewhereofftomyleft.
Ihearthescreechofbrakesandtherushoftrafficaswecrosstheroad.Leonisbreathinghard,hischestrisingandfallingagainstmycheek.Incontrast,mybreathingisgettingeasier—thattightnessinmythroatandtheweirdheavinessinmylungshasliftedalittle.
“Babs!Babs!”JohnnyWhitetheSixthisshouting.We’reinside,andthesuddenwarmthmakesmerealizehowmuchI’mshivering.
“Thankyou,”Leonsays.There’scommotionallaroundme.ForamomentI’membarrassed,andtrytoshiftoutofLeon’sarmstowalk,butthenmyheadlurchesandIclingbackontohisT-shirtagainashestumbles.“Easythere,”hesays.
Icryout.He’sknockedmyankleintothebannister.Heswears,pullingmeclosersomyheadlollsbackagainsthischest.
“Sorry,sorry,”hesays,backingupthestairs.Icanseepalepinkwallscoveredwithpaintingsinostentatiousframes,allgiltandswirlybits,thenadoor,thenLeon’slayingmedownonagloriouslysoftbed.Unfamiliarfacesshiftinandoutofview.There’ssomeonedressedinalifeguard’skit;Iblearilywonderifshe’sbeenherethiswholetime.
Leonispullingthepillowsupbehindme,supportingmyweightwithoneforearm.
“Canyousitup?”heasksquietly.
“I…”Itrytotalkandstartcoughing,rollingontomyside.
“Careful.”Heshiftsmysoddenhairbackbehindmyshoulders.“Arethereanyextrablanketsinhere?”
Someoneisspreadingthick,scratchyblanketsoverme.Leonisstilltuggingmeup,tryingtogetmeintoasittingposition.
“I’llfeelbetterifyou’reupright,”hesays.Hisfaceisclosetomine;Icanseethestartofstubbleonhischeeks.Helooksmerightintheeyes.HisareasoftdarkbrownthatmakesmethinkofLindtchocolate.“Canyoudothatforme?”
Ishiftmyselfhigheragainstthepillowsandgrabineffectuallyattheblanketswithfreezingfingers.
“Howaboutateatowarmyouup?”hesays,alreadylookingroundforsomeonetofetchone.Oneofthestrangersslipsoutofthedoor.There’snosignofJohnnyWhiteanymore—Ihopehe’sgonetogethimselfsomewarmclothes—buttherearestillaboutamillionpeoplehere.Icoughagainandturnmyfaceawayfromallthestaringfaces.
“Let’sgivehersomespace.Canwehaveeveryoneout,please?Yes,don’tworry,”Leonsays,gettinguptousherpeoplefromtheroom.“Justletmedoanexaminationwithabitofpeaceandquiet.”
Alotofpeoplesaythingsaboutwhattodoifweneedanything.Theyfileoutonebyone.
“I’msosorry,”Isay,asthedoorclosesbehindeveryone.Icough;it’sstillhardtotalk.
“Noneofthat,”Leonsays.“Howareyoufeelingnow?”
“Coldandabitachy.”
“Ididn’tseeyougodown.Doyourememberifyoubangedyourheadonarockoranything?”
Hekicksoffhisshoesandpullshisfeetuptositcross-leggedontheendofthebed.Inotice,finally,thathe’ssoakingwetandshivering,too.
“Shit,you’redrenched!”
“Justreassuremeyou’venotgotbrainfluidseepingoutfromanywhere.ThenI’llgogetchanged,OK?”
Ismilealittle.“Sorry.No,Idon’tthinkIbangedmyhead.Justtwistedmyankle.”
“That’sgood.Andcanyoutellmewhereweare?”
“Brighton.”Ilookaround.“Hey,andtheonlyplaceI’veeverbeenwithnearlyasmuchfloralwallpaperasmymother’shouse.”Thefullsentencemakesmecough,butit’sworthittoseeLeon’sfrownloosenalittle,andhislopsidedgrinreturn.
“I’lltakethatasacorrectanswer.Canyoutellmeyourfullname?”
“TiffanyRoseMoore.”
“Didn’tknowthemiddlename.Rose—itsuitsyou.”
“Shouldn’tyoubeaskingmequestionsyouknowtheanswersto?”
“IthinkIlikedyoubetterwhenyouwerealldrownedanddopey.”Leonleansforward,onehandraised,andliftshispalmtomycheek.It’sveryintenseandalittleoutofnowhere.Iblinkashestaresintomyeyes,checkingforsomething,Iguess.“Areyoufeelingatallsleepy?”heasks.
“Um.Notreally.I’mtired,butnotinasleepyway.”
Henodsandthen,alittlebelatedly,dropshishandfrommycheek.“I’mgoingtogivemycolleaguearing.She’sadoctor,andshe’sjustcomeoffherrotationinAccidentandEmergency,soshe’llknowthedrillwithanankleexam.IsthatOK?Prettysureit’sjustasprainfromyourhistoryandwhatI’veseenofhowyou’removing,butwe’dbettercheck.”
“Um.Sure.”
It’sstrangebeingintheroomforaconversationbetweenLeonandoneofthedoctorsheworkswith.He’snodifferent—justasquietandmeasuredaswhenhespeakstome,withjustthesameliltingtouchofanIrishaccent—butheseemsmore…grownup.
“OK,it’saprettysimpleexam,”Leonsays,turningbacktomeoncehe’shungup.Hisforeheadisfurrowedinafrown,andheperchesonthebedagain,shiftingtheblanketssohecanreachmyankle.“Areyouhappyformetogiveitago?SeeifyouneedtogotoA&E?”
Iswallow,suddenlyalittlenervous.“OK.”
Hepauses,lookingatmeforamomentlikehe’swonderingwhetherI’llchangemymind,andmycheeksgethot.Thenheslowlypresseshisfingerstotheskinofmyankle,gentlyfeelingfordifferentpointsuntilIwincewithpain.
“Sorry,”hesays,layingacoolhandonmyleg.Myskingoesgoosepimplyalmostinstantaneously,andIpulltheblanketup,alittleembarrassed.Leontwistsmyfootverygentlyfromsidetoside,eyesmovingfrommyankletomyfaceashetriestogaugemyreaction.
“Howpainfulisthat,outoften?”heasks.
“Idon’tknow,like,six?”I’mreallythinkingeighteighteightbutIdon’twanttoseempathetic.
ThecornerofLeon’smouthliftsalittleandIgettheimpressionheknowsexactlywhatI’mdoing.Ashecontinuesexaminingme,Iwatchhishandsmoveovermyskin,andIwonderwhyI’veneverrealizedhowpeculiarlyintimatemedicalstufflikethisis,howmuchofit’sabouttouch.Iguessgenerallyyou’reinadoctor’soffice,notscantilycladandinabigdoublebed.
“Right.”Leonsetsmyfootdowngently.“I’dsayyouhaveofficiallysprainedyourankle.Youprobablydon’tneedtobotherwithfivehoursinA&E,tobehonest.Butwecangoifyou’dlike?”
Ishakemyhead.IfeellikeI’minsafehandsrighthere.
Someoneknocksatthedoorandthenamiddle-agedladyappearswithtwosteamingmugsandapileofclothes.
“Oh,perfect.Thankyou.”Leongrabsthemugsfromherandpassesonetome.It’shotchocolate,anditsmellsamazing.
“ItookthelibertyofmakingyoursanIrishone,”thewomansays,givingmeawink.“I’mBabs.How’reyouholdingup?”
Itakeadeep,shudderingbreath.“AlotbetternowI’mhere.Thankyousomuch.”
“CouldyoujuststaywithherwhileIchange?”LeonasksBabs.
“Idon’tneed…”Istartcoughingagain.
“Watchherlikeahawk,”Leonsayswarningly,andthenhe’sslippedofftothebathroom.40LEON
Leanbackonbathroomdoor,eyesclosed.Noconcussionandasprainedankle.Couldhavebeenmuch,muchworse.
GottimetothinkabouthowcoldIamnow;shrugoffmywetclothesandturntheshowerontohot.Itapoutaquickthank-youtexttoSocha.Phoneisthankfullystillfunctional,ifalittledamp—itwasinmytrouserpocket.
IgetintheshowerandmakemyselfstanduntilIstopshivering.RemindmyselfthatBabsiswithher.Still,dressfasterthanIhaveeverdressedbefore,anddon’tevenbotherwithbelttokeepupridiculouslyoversizedtrousersthatBabshasfoundforme;willjustwearthemlow,ninetiesstyle.
WhenIheadbackintothebedroom,Tiffyhasscrapedherhairupintoabun.There’satouchofpinkinherlipsandcheeksagain.ShesmilesupatmeandIfeelsomethingshiftinmychest.Hardtodescribe.Maybelikealockclickingintoplace.
Me:How’sthathotchocolategoingdown?
Tiffypushestheothermugalongthebedsidetabletowardme.
Tiffy:Tryyoursandsee.
Someoneknocksatthedoor;ItakethehotchocolatewithmeasIgotoanswerit.It’sJohnnyWhitetheSixth,lookingveryworriedandalsowearingcomicallylargetrousers.
JWtheSixth:How’sourgirl?
IhaveafeelingTiffybecomes“ourgirl”easily—she’sthesortofpersondistantrelativesandabsentneighborsstillliketoclaimsomecreditfor.
Tiffy:I’mfine,Mr.White!Don’tyouworryaboutme.
Shelapsesintoanill-timedfitofwetcoughing.JWtheSixthfidgetsinthedoorway,lookingmiserable.
JWtheSixth:I’msosorry.Ifeelresponsible—itwasmyideatogoswimming.Ishouldhavecheckedyoucouldbothswim!
Tiffy,oncerecovered:Icanswim,Mr.White.Ijustlostmyfootingandgotalittlepanicked,that’sall.Blametherockthatknackeredmyankleifyoufeeltheneedtoblamesomething.
JWtheSixthlooksalittlelessanxiousnow.
Babs:Well,youtwoarestayingheretonight.Noarguments.It’sonthehouse
BothTiffyandItrytoprotest,butagainTiffydescendsintosplutteryhalfcoughing,halfretching,takingsomeofthestingoutofourargumentthatshedoesn’tneedtostayinbed.
Me:Ishouldatleastgo—youdon’tneedmenowthat—
Babs:Nonsense.It’snoextrabothertome,isit?Besides,Tiffyneedslookingafter,andmymedicalknowledgedoesn’textendmuchfurtherthanwhataglassofwhiskeycando.John,doyouwantalifthome?
JWtheSixthtriestoarguehiswayoutofthisfavoralso,butBabsisoneofthoseformidablenicepeoplewhowillnottakenoforananswer.It’sagoodfiveminutesbeforetheyagreeandheadoutthedoor.Whenthey’regonetheclickofthedoormakesmebreatheoutinrelief.Hadn’trealizedhowmuchIwantquiet.
Tiffy:Areyouallright?
Me:Fine.Justnotafanof…
Tiffy:Commotion?
Inod.
Tiffysmiles,pullingherblanketsupcloser.
Tiffy:You’reanurse—howcanyouavoidit?
Me:Workisdifferent.Butitstilldrainsme.Ineedquietafterward.
Tiffy:You’reanintrovert.
Makeaface.I’mnotafanofthoseMyersBriggs–typethingsthattellyouyourpersonalitytype,likehoroscopesforbusinesspeople.
Me:Guessso.
Tiffy:I’mtheopposite.Ican’tprocessanythingwithoutcallingGerty,orMo,orRachel.
Me:Youwanttocallsomeonenow?
Tiffy:Oh,shit,myphonewasinmy…
Shespotsthepileofherclothes,broughtupfromtheshorelinebyoneofthehundredhelpfulstrangerswhofollowedusupthebeachinprocession.Tiffyclapshandsinglee.
Tiffy:Wouldyoupassmytrousers?
Ihandthemoverandwatchassherummagesinthepocketsforherphone.
Me:I’llgogetussomelunch.Howlongdoyouneed?
Tiffypushesafewstraystrandsofhairbackfromherface,lookingupatme,phoneinhand.Thatclicked-inlockhumsinmychestagain.
Tiffy:Halfanhour?
Me:Gotit.41TIFFY
“Areyouallright?”isMo’sfirstquestion.“HaveyoubeentoA&E?”
Gerty,ontheotherhand,isfocusedontherealissue.“Whydidn’tyoutellusaboutthebathroomincidentbefore?Areyouinlovewiththismanyou’resharingabedwith,andhidingitbecauseyou’regoingtoendupsleepingwithhimandIexplicitlytoldyouthatthefirstruleofflatsharingisthatyoudon’tsleepwithyourflatmate?”
“Yes,I’mfine,andno,butLeonexaminedmyanklewithsomehelpfromafriendofhiswho’sadoctor.Ijustneedlotsofrest,apparently.Andwhiskey,dependingonwhosemedicalopinionyou’reasking.”
“Myquestionnow,”Gertysays.
“No,I’mnotinlovewithhim,”Itellher,shiftingmyweightonthebedandwincingasmyanklethrobs.“AndI’mnotgoingtosleepwithhim.He’smyfriend.”
“Ishesingle?”
“Well,yes,actually.But—”
“Sorry,butjusttocheck,Tiffy,hasanyoneexaminedyoufor—”
“Ohshutup,Mo,”Gertyinterrupts.“She’swithatrainednurse.Thewomanisfine.Tiffy,areyousureyou’renotsufferingfromStockholmSyndrome?”
“Pardon?”
“AnA&Enurseisverydifferentfromapalliativecarenurse—”
“StockholmSyndrome?”
“Yes,”Gertysays.“Thismangaveyouahomewhenyouwerehomeless.Youareforcedtosleepinhisbed,andnowyouthinkyouareinlovewithhim.”
“Idon’tthinkI’minlovewithhim,”Iremindherpatiently.“Itoldyou,he’smyfriend.”
“Butthiswasadate,”Gertysays.
“Tiffy,youdoseemfine,butIjustwanttodoublecheck—I’monNHSChoicesnow—canyouweight-bearonthatankle?”
“YouwithGoogleisnotbetterthananursewithadoctoronthephone,”GertytellsMo.
“Itwasn’tadate,”Isay,eventhoughI’mprettysureitwas.IwishMoandGertyhadn’tgotintothisnewhabitofansweringthephonetogetherwheneverthey’rebothhome.IcalledMobecauseIwantedtotalktoMo.It’snotthatIdon’tliketalkingtoGerty,it’sjustthatthatisaverydifferentexperience,andnotnecessarilyoneyouwantafternearlydrowning.
“You’regoingtoneedtoexplainthiswholeJohnnyWhitethingtomeagain,”Gertysays.
Icheckthetimeonmyphonescreen.OnlyfiveminutesuntilLeongetsbackwithlunch.
“Listen,Ihavetogo,”Isay.“ButMo,I’mfine.AndGerty,calmyourprotectiveinstincts,please.He’snottryingtosleepwithmeorentrapmeorlockmeawayinhisbasement,OK?Infact,Ihaveverylittlereasontothinkthathe’satallinterestedinme.”
“Butyouareinterestedinhim?”Gertyinsists.
“Goodbye,Gerty!”
“Lookafteryourself,Tiffy,”MomanagestosaybeforeGertyhangsup(she’snotbigongoodbyes).
IdialRachel’snumberwithoutpause.
“Sothekeypointhere,”Rachelsays,“isthatyouareyettohaveaninteractionwithLeonthatdoesn’tinvolveyoustrippingdowntoyourunderwear.”
“Um.”I’mgrinning.
“Youbetterkeepyourclothesonfromnowon.He’llthinkyou’rea—what’sitcalledwhenyou’reoneofthosemenwholikesexposingthemselvesinthepark?”
“Hey!”Iprotest.“Idonot—”
“I’mjustsayingwhateverybody’sthinking,myfriend.You’redefinitelynotabouttokickthebucket?”
“Ifeelfine,really.Justachyandexhausted.”
“Allright,then.Inthatcase,makethemostofyourfreehotelstay,andcallmeifyoufindyourselfaccidentallywhippingyourbraoffduringdinner.”
There’saknockatthedoor.
“Shit.Gottogo,bye!”Ihissintothephone.“Comein,”Icall.ImanagedtoputonthejumperBabsleftmewhileLeonwasout,soI’mnowdecentfromthewaistup,atleast.
Leonsmilesatmeandholdsupaveryfullbagofwhatsmellslikefishandchips.Igaspindelight.
“Properseasidefood!”
“And…”Hereachesintothebagandpullsoutanotherone,handingittome.Ilookinside:redvelvetcupcakeswithcream-cheeseicing.
“Cake!Thebestkindofcake!”
“Doctor’sorders.”Hepauses.“Well,Sochasaid,‘gethersomefood.’Thefriedfishandcupcakeswereabitofartisticlicense.”
Hishairisnearlydry;thesalthasturneditevencurlier,anditkeepsspringingfrombehindhisears.Hecatchesmewatchinghimtryandsmoothitbackandgrinsruefully.
“You’renotmeanttoseemelookinglikethis,”hesays.
“Oh,andthisisexactlyhowyou’remeanttoseeme,”Isay,gesturinginthevaguedirectionofmyenormousbaggyjumper,paleface,andcrazymattedhair.“‘Drownedrat’isafavoritelookofmine.”
“Mermaid-like?”Leonsuggests.
“Funnyyoushouldmentionthat.Idoactuallyhaveafinunderhere,”Isay,pattingtheblanketovermylegs.
Leonsmilesatthat,spreadingoutthefishandchipsonthebedbetweenus.Hekicksoffhisshoesandsits,carefultoavoidmyswollenankle.
Thefoodisamazing.It’sjustwhatIneed,thoughIwouldn’thaveknownituntilIsmelledit.Leongotprettymucheveryadd-ontofishandchipsyoucanimagine—mushypeas,onionrings,currysauce,pickledonions,evenoneofthoseplastic-lookingsausagestheyalwayshavebehindtheglass—andweeatourwaythroughitall.Whenitcomestothecupcake,finishingthelastmouthfulsrequiresseriousmentaleffort.
“Nearlydyingisexhausting,”Ideclare,suddenlyovercomebysleepiness.
“Nap,”Leontellsme.
“You’renotworriedaboutmefallingasleepandneverwakingupagain?”Iask,eyelidsalreadydrooping.Beingwarmandfullisamazing.I’llnevertakebeingwarmandfullforgrantedeveragain.
“I’lljustwakeyoueveryfiveminutestocheckyou’renotsufferingfrombraintrauma,”hesays.
Myeyesflyopen.“Everyfiveminutes?”
Hechuckles,alreadygatheringuphisstuffandheadingforthedoor.“Seeyouinafewhours.”
“Oh.Nursesshouldn’tmakejokes,”Icallafterhim,butIdon’tthinkhehearsme.MaybeIonlythinkofsayingit.I’mslippingofftosleepevenasIhearthedoorclosebehindhim.
Iwakewithajoltthatsendsashockofpainthroughmyankle.Cryingout,Ilookaroundme.Floralwallpaper.AmIathome?Who’sthatmaninthechairbythedoor,reading…
“Twilight?”
Leonblinksatme,puttingthebookdowninhislap.“Youwentfromunconscioustojudgmentalveryquicklythere.”
“Ididthinkthiswasaweirddreamforasecond,”Isay.“Butmydreamversionofyouwouldhavemuchbetterbooktaste.”
“It’sallBabshadtooffer.How’reyoufeeling?”
Igivethequestionsomethought.Myankleisthrobbingandmythroatfeelshorriblysoreandsalty,buttheacheinmyheadhasdisappeared.Icanfeelthatmystomachmusclesaregoingtobepainfulfromallthecoughing,though.
“Muchbetter,actually.”
Hesmilesatthat.Heisverycutewhenhesmiles.Whenhe’sserioushisfaceisalittlesevere—fine-bonedbrow,cheekbones,jaw—butwhenhe’ssmiling,it’sallsoftlipsanddarkeyesandwhiteteeth.
Icheckthetimeonmyphone,moretobreakeyecontactthananything—andI’msuddenlyveryawarethatI’mlyinginbed,hairmussedandbarelegsonlyhalfhiddenundertheblankets.
“Halfsix?”
“Youweresleepy.”
“Whathaveyoubeendoingthiswholetime?”Iaskhim.Heshowsmehisbookmark—he’snearlyreadthewholeofTwilight
“ThisBellaSwanisaverypopularlady,foronewhodeclaresherselftobesounattractive,”hetellsme.“Seemseverysinglemaninthebookwhoisn’therfatherisinlovewithher.”
Inodsolemnly.“It’sveryhardbeingBella.”
“Sparklyboyfriendscan’tbeeasy,”Leonagrees.“Youwanttotrywalkingonthatankleofyours?”
“Can’tIjuststayinbedforever?”
“Dinnerandmorewhiskeyifyoucangetdownstairs.”
Ishoothimalook.Helooksback,perfectlyplacid,andIrealizewhatanexcellentnursehemustbe.
“Fine.Butyouneedtolookawayfirst,soIcanputmytrouserson.”
Hedoesn’tsayanythingaboutthefactthathe’salreadyseenwaytoomuchforturningaroundtobenecessary;hejustswivelsinthearmchairandreopensTwilight42LEON
Definitelydon’tgetdrunk.Amtellingmyselfthisonrepeat,butstillcan’tstopsippingmydrink.It’sawhiskeyontherocks.Horrible.OritwouldbeifBabshadn’tsaiditwasonthehouse,whichinstantlymadeitmuchmoreappetizing.
We’reataricketywoodentablewithaseaviewandateapotwithabigfatcandlestuckinit.Tiffyisdelightedwithteapotcandleholder.Cueanimatedconversationwithwaitingstaffaboutinteriordesign(or“interiors,”astheycallit).
Tiffyhasherfootupandrestingonacushion,asperSocha’sorders.Theotherfootisnowup,too—she’sbasicallyhorizontalatthetable,hairthrownbackandblazingagainstthesunsetoverthesea.She’slikeaRenaissancepainting.Whiskeyhaspaintedthecolorbackinhercheeksandbroughtaslightflushtotheskinofherchest,whichIcan’tstoplookingatwheneverherattentioniselsewhere.
Havebarelythoughtaboutanythingbutherallday,evenbeforeallthedrowningstarted.Mr.Prior’ssearchforJohnnyWhitehasshiftedintothebackground—lastweekthatprojectwaswhatKaywouldcallmy“fixation.”NowitfeelslikesomethingIwantbecauseI’veshareditwithTiffy.
She’stellingmeaboutherparents.Everysooftenshetipsherheadback,throwsherhairfartheroverthebackofherchair,halfcloseshereyes.
Tiffy:Aromatherapyistheonlyonethat’sstuck.Mumdidcandle-makingforawhile,butthere’snomoneyinthatandafterawhileshejustsortofsnappedanddeclaredthatshewasbuyingtheonesfromPoundlandagainandnobodywasallowedtotellhertheytoldherso.Thenshewentthroughareallyweirdphasewhereshegotintoséances.
Thatsnapsmeoutofstaringather.
Me:Séances?
Tiffy:Yeah,youknow,whenyousitaroundatableandtryandtalktodeadpeople?
WaiterappearsatTiffy’sfoot’schair.Looksatit,mildlypuzzled,butdoesn’tcomment.Yougettheimpressionthey’reusedtoallsortshere,includingbedraggledpeoplewiththeirfeetupastheyeat.
Waiter:Wouldyoulikeapudding?
Tiffy:Oh,no,I’mstuffed,thanks.
Waiter:Babssaysit’sonthehouse.
Tiffy,withoutpause:Stickytoffeepudding,please.
Me:Samehere.
Tiffy:Allthisfreestuff.It’slikeadreamcometrue.Ishoulddrownmoreoften.
Me:Pleasedon’t.
Sheliftsherheadtolookatmeproperly,hereyesalittlesleepy,andholdsmygazeforafewsecondslongerthanisstrictlynecessary.
Clearthroat.Swallow.Flounderforsubject.
Me:Yourmumdidséances?
Tiffy:Oh,yeah.SoforacoupleofyearswhileIwasatsecondaryschoolI’dcomehometofindallthecurtainsdrawnandabunchofpeoplesaying,“Pleasemakeyourselfknown,”and“Knockonceforyes,twiceforno.”Ireckonatleast60percentofthevisitationswereactuallyjustmegettinghomeandchuckingmybaginthecupboardunderthestairs.
Me:Sowhatwasafterséances?
Tiffythinksaboutit.Stickytoffeepuddingarrives;it’senormousanddrenchedintoffeesauce.Tiffymakesanexcitednoisewhichmakesmystomachclench.Ridiculous.Can’tbegettingturnedonbyawomanmoaningaboutpudding.Mustpullselftogether.Sipmorewhiskey.
Tiffy,mouthfullofpudding:Shemadecurtainsforabit.Buttheupfrontcostsweremassive,sothatturnedintomakingdoilies.Andthenitwasaromatherapy.
Me:Isthatwhywehavesomanyscentedcandles?
Tiffysmiles.
Tiffy:Yeah—theonesinthebathroomareallcarefullychosenwithscentsthathelpyourelax.
Me:Theyhavetheoppositeeffectonme.HavetomovethemeverytimeIwanttoshower.
Tiffygivesmeacheekylookoverherspoon.
Tiffy:Somepeoplearebeyondaromatherapeutichelp.Youknow,mymumchosemyperfume,too.It“reflectsandenhancesmypersonality,”apparently.
IthinkofthatfirstdaywhenIwalkedintotheflatandsmelledherperfume—cutflowersandspicemarkets—andhowodditfelt,havingsomeoneelse’sscentinmyflat.It’sneverstrangenow.Wouldbeoddtocomehometoanythingelse.
Me:What’sthat,then?
Tiffy,promptly:Topnoterose,thenmusk,thenclove.Whichmeans,accordingtomymum…
Crinkleshernosealittleinthought.
Tiffy:“Hope,fire,strength.”
Looksamused.
Tiffy:That’sme,apparently.
Me:Soundsaboutright.
Sherollshereyesatthat,havingnoneofit.
Tiffy:“Broke,mouthy,stubborn”wouldbebetter—probablywhatshemeantanyway.
Me,definitelytipsynow:WhatwouldIbe,then?
Tiffytiltsherhead.Shelooksrightatmeagain,withanintensitythatmakesmehalfwanttolookaway,halfwanttoleanacrossthetableandkissheroverthecandleteapot.
Tiffy:Well,there’shopeinthere,definitely.Yourbrother’srelyingonit
Thatcatchesmebysurprise.TherearesofewpeoplewhoreallyknowaboutRichie;evenfewerwho’llbringhimupunprompted.She’swatchingme,testingformyreaction,likeshe’llpullawayifithurts.Ismile.Feelsgoodtotalkabouthimlikethis.Likeit’snormal.
Me:SoIgetrosesmellinmyaftershave?
Tiffymakesaface.
Tiffy:There’sprobablyawholedifferentsetofsmellsifyou’reaman.Iamonlyversedintheartofperfumeryforwomen,I’mafraid.
Iwanttopushherfortheotherwords—wanttohearwhatshethinksofme—butit’sconceitedtoask.Sowesitinsilenceinstead,candleflamedartingbackandforthbetweenusinitsteapot,andIsipmorewhiskey.43TIFFY
I’mnotdrunk,butI’mnotexactlysober,either.Peoplealwayssayswimmingintheseamakesyouhungry—well,nearlydrowninginitmakesyoualightweight.
Plus,whiskeyontherocksisreallyverystrong.
Ican’tstopgiggling.Leonisdefinitelytipsy,too;he’sloosenedupattheshoulders,andthatlopsidedsmileisalmostapermanentfixturenow.Plushe’sstoppedtryingtosmoothhishairdown,soeverysooftenanewcurlbreaksfreeandbobsuptostickoutsideways.
He’stellingmeaboutwhenhewasakid,livinginCork,andtheelaborateman-trapsheandRichiewouldcomeupwithtopissofftheirmum’sboyfriend(whichiswhyI’mgiggling).
“So,hangon,you’dstringwireacrossthehall?Didn’teveryoneelsetripup,too?”
Leonshakeshishead.“We’dsneakoutandsetupafterMamhadputustobed.Whizzalwaysstayedlateatthepub.Itwasarealeducationinswearwords,hearinghimtripover.”
Ilaugh.“HisnamewasWhizz?”
“Mhmm.Though,Iwouldguess,notbybirth.”Hisexpressionsobers.“HewasoneoftheworstforMam,actually.Awfultoher,alwaystellingherhowstupidshewas.Andyetshealwaysstuckwithhim.Alwayslethimbackineverytimeshekickedhimout.Shewasdoingthisadultlearningcoursewhentheygottogether,buthesoonhadherdroppingout.”
Iscowl.Theman-trapstorysuddenlyisn’tsofunnyanymore.“Seriously?Whatanabsolutefuckingprick!”
Leonlooksalittlestartled.
“DidIsaythewrongthing?”Iask.
“No.”Hesmiles.“No,justsurprising.Again.You’dgiveWhizzarunforhismoneyinaswearingcontest.”
Iinclinemyhead.“Why,thankyou,”Isay.“WhataboutyourandRichie’sdad?Washenotinthepicture?”
LeonisalmostashorizontalasIamnow—he’ssharingmyfootchair,hisfeetcrossedattheankles—andhe’sdanglinghiswhiskeyglassbetweenhisfingers,spinningitbackandforthinthecandlelight.There’shardlyanyoneelselefthere;thewaitingstaffarediscreetlyclearingtablesoverontheothersideoftheroom.
“HeleftwhenRichiewasborn,movedtotheU.S.Iwastwo.Idon’trememberhim,or…justtheoddshapeandsortof…”Hewavesahand.“Theoddfeeling.Mamalmostnevertalksabouthim—allIknowishewasaplumberfromDublin.”
Iwidenmyeyes.Ican’timaginenotknowinganymorethanthataboutmyfather,butLeonsaysitlikeit’snothing.Heclocksmyexpressionandshrugs.
“It’sjustneverbeenathingforme.Findingoutmoreabouthim.ItbotheredRichieinhisteens,butdon’tknowwherehegotwithit—wedon’ttalkaboutit.”
Itfeelslikethere’smoretobesaidthere,butIdon’twanttopushhimandruintheevening.Ireachacrossandlaymyhandonhiswristforamoment;heshootsmeanothersurprised,curiouslook.Thewaiterdriftscloser,perhapssensingthatouraimlessconversationisunlikelytomoveanywhereelseifhedoesn’tdosomethingtonudgethingsalong.Hestartsclearingthelastbitsandpiecesfromourtable;IbelatedlytakemyhandfromLeon’swrist.
“Weshouldgotobed,shouldn’twe?”Isay.
“Probably,”Leonsays.“IsBabsstillabout?”heasksthewaiter.
Heshakeshishead.“Shewenthome.”
“Ah.Didshesaywhichroomwasmine?ShesaidTiffyandIcouldstayover.”
Thewaiterlooksatme,thenLeon,thenmeagain.
“Err,”hesays.“Ithink…sheassumed…youwere…”
IttakesLeonawhiletoclocktheissue.Whenherealizes,hegroansandfacepalms.
“It’sallright,”Isay,gettingthegigglesagain,“we’reusedtosharingabed.”
“Right,”saysthewaiter,lookingbetweenusagain,morepuzzledthanever.“Well.That’sgood,then?”
“Notatthesametime,”Leontellshim.“Weshareabedatdifferenttimes.”
“Right,”thewaiterrepeats.“Well,err,shallI…?Doyouneedmetodosomething?”
Leonwavesahandgood-naturedly.“No,yougohome,”hesays.“I’lljustsleeponthefloor.”
“It’sabigbed,”Itellhim.“It’sfine—wecanjustshare.”
Iletoutayelp—I’dbeenwaytooambitiouswithtryingtoputweightonmysprainedankleasIgetupfromthetable.Leonisatmysideinaninstant.Hehasveryfastreactionsforamanwhohasconsumedquitealotofwhiskey.
“I’mOK,”Itellhim,butIlethimputhisarmaroundmetohelpsupportmeasIhop-walk.Afteracertainamountofthat,whenwegettothestairs,hesays,“Feckit,”andpicksmeupagaintocarryme.
Ishriekinsurpriseandthenburstoutlaughing.Idon’ttellhimtoputmedown—Idon’twanthimto.AgainIseethepolishedbannisterandquirkypicturesintheircurlygiltframesslidingbyashejogsmeupthestairs;againheopensthedoortomyroom—ourroom—withhiselbowandcarriesmethroughthedoorway,kickingthedoorshutagainbehindhim.
Helaysmeonthebed.Theroomisalmostdark,thelightfromthestreetlampoutsidethewindowlayingsoftyellowtrianglesacrosstheduvetandrunninggoldthroughLeon’shair.Hisbig,browneyesstaredownatme,hisfaceonlyinchesfrommineashegentlytakeshisarmfromunderneathmetosettlemyheadonthepillows.
Hedoesn’tmove.Westareatoneanother,ourgazeslocked,justabreathortwobetweenus.Themomenthangstaut,chargedwithpossibility.Alittleflickerofpanicsparkssomewhereinthebackofmymind—whatifIcan’tdothiswithoutfreakingout?—butI’machingforhimtokissme,andthepanicflickersoutagain,blissfullyforgotten.IcanfeelLeon’sbreathonmylips,seehiseyelashesinthehalf-light.
Thenhecloseshiseyesandpullsback,turninghisheadasidewithaquicksighlikehewasholdinghisbreath.
Oof.Ipullback,too,suddenlyuncertain,andthattautsilencebetweenusbreaks.DidI…misreadthatwholegazes-locked,staring-at-each-other,lips-almost-touchingthing?
Myskin’shot,mypulsefluttering.Heglancesbackatme;there’sstillheatinhiseyesandalittlefrownbetweenhiseyebrows.I’msurehewasthinkingaboutkissingme.MaybeIdidsomethingwrong—I’malittleoutofpracticewithallthis,afterall.OrmaybetheJustincursehasstretchedtoruiningkissesbeforetheyevenbegin.
Leonliesbackonthebed;he’slookingmiserablyawkward,andashefidgetswithhisshirtIwonderifIshouldtaketheleadandkisshim,justpressmyselfupbesidehimandturnhisfacetowardmine.ButwhatifI’vemisunderstoodthesituationandthisisoneofthosetimeswhenIshouldjustletthingsdrop?
Iliedowncarefullybesidehim.“Weshouldprobablygotosleep?”Isay.
“Yeah.”Hisvoiceislowandquiet.
Iclearmythroat.Well,Iguessthat’sthat,then.
Heshiftsalittle.Hisarmbrushesmine;myskinturnsgoose-bumpy.Ihearhimbreatheinaswetouch,justaquiethuffofstartlement,andthenhe’sup,headingforthebathroom,andI’mleftherewithmygoosebumpsandmyheartfluttering,staringattheceiling.44LEON
Herbreathingslows.Riskasidewaysglanceather;canjustmakeoutthesoftflutteringofhereyelidsasshedreams.She’sasleep,then.Ibreatheoutslowly,tryingtorelax.
Really,reallyhopeIhavenotmessedthisup.
Itwasveryoutofcharacterforme,pickingheruplikethat,layingherdownonthebed.Itjustseemedlike…Idon’tknow.Tiffyissoimpulsiveit’scontagious.Butthen,ofcourse,amstillme,soimpulsivenessranoutatpotentiallycrucialmoment,tobereplacedbyfamiliar,panickedindecision.She’sdrunkandinjured—youdon’tkissdrunkinjuredwomen.Doyou?Maybeyoudo.Maybeshewantedthat?
Richiegetsthereputationforbeingtheromantic,butit’salwaysbeenme.Heusedtocallmeapussywhenwewereteenagers,himchasinganythingthat’dgivehimsomuchasalook,mepiningafterthegirlI’dfanciedsinceprimaryschoolandbeentooscaredtotalkto.I’vealwaysbeentheonewhothinksbeforetheyfall—thoughbothofusfalljustashard.
Iswallow.ThinkofthefeelingofTiffy’sarmpressedagainstmine,howthehairsonmyforearmstoodonendatthemerestbrushofherskin.Stareattheceiling.Realizebelatedlythatcurtainsarestillopen,streetlightstreamingintolightourroominribbons.
AsIliethere,thinking,watchingthelightmoveacrossthefloor,itcomestomeslowlythatIhaven’tbeeninlovewithKayforaverylongtime.Lovedher,feltclosetoher,likedherbeingpartofmylife.Thatwassafeandeasy.ButIhadforgottentheblazingcan’t-think-of-anything-elsemadnessoftheseearlydaysofmeetingsomeone.Therewasn’tevenasparkofthatleftwithKayforthelast…year,maybe,even?
IlookacrossatTiffyagain,hereyelashescastingshadowsonhercheeks,andthinkbacktowhatshe’stoldmeaboutJustin.Notesmademefeelhewasn’tespeciallygoodtoher—whydidshehavetopaybackthatmoneyallofasudden?Butnothingasalarmingaswhatshe’dsaidonthetrain.Butthen,asmuchastheyweresignificanttome,theywerejustnotes.Easiertolietoyourselfinwritingandfornobodytospotit.
Headistoofullofpanic,regret,andwhiskeybuzzformetosleep.Stareupattheceiling.ListentoTiffy’sbreath.Playoutallthewaysitcouldhavegone:Ifwe’dkissedandshe’dstoppedme,ifwe’dkissedandshehadn’t…
Bestnottopursuethatone.Thoughtsstrayingintoinappropriateness.
Tiffyturnsover,draggingtheduvetwithher.Halfofmybodyisnowexposedtonight-timeair.Can’treallybegrudgeher,though.Importantthatshegetswarmafternear-drowning.
Sheturnsoveragain.Moreduvet.Nowonlymyrightarmhascoverage.Absolutelycannotsleeplikethis.
I’llhavetojustpullitback.Tryitgentlyatfirst,butit’slikeplayingtug-of-war.Thewomanhastheduvetinavice-likegrip.Howcanshebethisstrongwhenunconscious?
Goingtohavetooptforanassertiveyank.Maybeshewon’twakeup.Maybeshe’lljust—
Tiffy:Ow!
Shecamewiththeduvet,rollingover,andIseemtohavemigratedtowardthemiddle,too,andnowwe’refacetofaceinthedarkness,tantalizinglyclose.
Mybreathquickens.Hercheeksareflushed,hereyesheavywithsleep.
Ibelatedlyclockthatshejustsaidow.Themovementmusthavejerkedherankle
Me:Sorry!Sorry!
Tiffy,confused:Didyoutryandpulltheduvetoffme?
Me:No!Iwastryingtogetitback.
Tiffyblinks.Ireallywanttokissher.CouldIkisshernow?She’sprobablysoberedup?ButthenshewincesatthepaininherankleandIfeelliketheworld’sworsthumanbeing.
Tiffy:Getitbackfromwhere?
Me:Well,yousortof…stoleitall.
Tiffy:Oh!Sorry.Nexttime,justwakemeupandtellme.I’llgorightbacktosleep.
Me:Oh,OK.Sure.Sorry.
Tiffyshootsmeahalf-amused,half-asleeplookassherollsbackover,pullingtheduvetuptoherchin.Iturnmyheadintothepillow.Don’twanthertoseethatI’msmilinglikealove-struckteenagerbecauseshejustsaid“nexttime.”45TIFFY
Iwaketothedaylight,whichismuchlesspleasantthanpeoplemakeitsound.Wedidn’tclosethecurtainslastnight.Iturnmyfaceawayfromthewindowinstinctively,rollingoverandrealizingtheright-handsideofthebedisempty.
Atfirstitfeelstotallynormal:IwakeupeverydayinLeon’sbedwithouthimthere,afterall.Mysleepybraingoes,Oh,ofcourse—no,hangon,wait…
There’sanoteonhispillow.
Goneoutinsearchofbreakfast.Backsoon,bearingpastriesx
Ismile,androllbacktheotherwaytocheckthetimeonmyphoneonthebedsidetable.
Shit.Twenty-sevenmissedcalls,allfromanunknownnumber.
Whatthe—
Iscrambleoutofbed,heartthumping,thenyelpwithpainasIknockmyankle.Fuck.Idialvoicemail,abadfeelingbloominginthebaseofmystomach.It’slike…yesterdaywastoogoodtobetrue.Somethingterriblehashappened—IknewIshouldn’thave—
“Tiffy,areyouallright?IsawRachel’sstatusonFacebook.Didyounearlydrown?”
It’sJustin.Igoverystillasthemessagerollson.
“Look,Iknowyou’reinamoodwithmeatthemoment.ButIneedtoknowyou’reOK.Callmeback.”
Therearemorelikethis.Twelvemore,tobeprecise.I’ddeletedhisnumberafteraparticularlygirl-power-inducingcounselingsession,sothat’dbewhythecallscamefromanunknownnumber.IthinkIknewwhoitwasgoingtobe,though.Nobodyelsehasevercalledmethatmanytimesbefore,butJustinhas—usuallyafterafight,orabreakup.
“Tiffy.Thisisridiculous.IfIknewwhereyouwereI’dcomeoutthere.Callme,allright?”
Ishiver.Thisfeels…Ifeelawful.LikeyesterdaywithLeonshouldneverhavehappened.ImagineifJustinknewwhereI’dbeen,andwhatI’dbeendoing?
Ishakemyself.Icanfeelthatthatdoesn’tmakesenseevenasIthinkit.I’mscaringmyselfagain.
Itapoutatext.
I’mfine,Ilightlysprainedmyankle.Pleasedon’tcallmeanymore.
Withinmoments,hereplies.
Oh,thankgod!Whatareyoulikewithoutmetheretolookafteryou,hey?Youmademesoworried.I’llbegoodandsticktoyourrules,nocontactuntilOctober.JustknowI’llbethinkingofyouxx
Istareatthemessageforawhile.Whatareyoulike.AsifI’msuchaklutz.YesterdayLeonpulledmeoutofthesea,andyetthisisthefirsttimeallweekendI’vefeltlikethegirlwhoneedsrescuing.
Fuckthis.Ihitblockanddeleteallthevoicemailsfrommyphone.
Ihoptothebathroom.It’snotthemostdignifiedmethodoftravel—thechintzylampsonthewallsarevibratingalittleasIgo—butsomethingaboutthegeneralstompinessisquitetherapeutic.Stomp,stomp,stomp.Stupid,bloody,Justin.Islamthebathroomdoorwithsatisfyingforce.
ThankgodLeonwentoutforbreakfast,bothbecauseheavoidedwitnessingthismessofamorningandbecausehewillhopefullyreturnwithsomethinghighlycalorifictomakemefeelbetter.
OnceI’veshoweredandredressedinyesterday’sclothes—which,becausethey’recoveredingrainy,shinglygrit,alsoticksexfoliatingoffmyto-dolist—Ihopbacktothebedandlaunchmyselfontoitwithathud,buryingmyfaceinthepillow.Ugh.Yesterdaywassolovely,andnowIfeelallhorribleandmucky,likethevoicemailsleftataintonme.Still,Iblockedhim,somethingIwouldneverhavebeenabletobringmyselftodoafewmonthsago.MaybeIshouldbegladofallthosevoicemailsforpushingmetodoit.
IsituponmyelbowsandreachforthenoteLeonwroteme.It’sonhotelstationery;TheBunnyHopInnistracedinjauntylettersacrossthebottomofthepaper.Thehandwritingisjustthesameasever,though—Leon’sneat,tiny,roundedletters.Inamomentofembarrassingsentimentality,Ifoldthepaperinhalfandreachtoslipitintomyhandbag.
There’saquietknockonthedoor.
“Comein,”Icall.
He’sdressedinagiantT-shirtwithapictureofthreesticksofrockonthefront,andBRIGHTONROCKSinbiglettersunderneath.Mymoodimmediatelyimprovesabouttenfold.There’snothinglikeamaninanoveltyT-shirttobrightenupyourmorning—especiallywhenhe’sholdingaverypromisingpaperbagwithPatisserieValeriewrittenontheside.
“OneofBabs’sfinest?”Isay,pointingattheT-shirt.
“Mynewpersonalstylist,”Leonsays.
Hepassesmethebagofpastriesandsitsdownontheendofthebed,smoothinghishairback.He’snervousagain.WhydoIfindhisnervousfidgetingsoadorable?
“YoumadeittotheshowerOK?”heaskseventually,noddingtowardmywethair.“Withyourfoot,Imean?”
“Ishoweredflamingostyle.”Icurlonekneeup.Hesmiles.GettingoneofthoselopsidedgrinsfromhimfeelslikewinningatagameIwasn’tawareIwasplaying.“Thedoordoesn’tlock,though.Ithoughtyoumightwalkinonme,butitseemsKarmawasbusyelsewherethismorning.”
Hemakesastrangledsortofmhmmsoundandbusieshimselfeatinghiscroissant.Isuppressasmile.AnunfortunatesideeffectoffindinghisnervousfidgetingadorableisthatIseemunabletoresistsayingthingsIknowwillmakehimfidget.
“Butanyway,you’vebasicallyseenmenaked,”Igoon.“Twice.Already.Soyouwouldn’thavebeeninforanyhugesurprises.”
Helooksupatmethistime.“Basically,”hesaysemphatically,“isnotthesameasactually.Somekeydifferences,infact.”
Mystomachflips.Whateverthatawkwardnesswaslastnight,Idefinitelywasn’timaginingthesexualtension.Theairisheavywithit.
“Itshouldbemeworryingaboutthelackofsurprises,”hesays.“You’veactuallyseenmenaked.”
“Ididwonder…whenIwalkedinonyouintheshower,didyou…”
HedisappearsinthedirectionofthebathroomsofastIbarelyheartheexcusehemakesashegoes.Asheclosesthedoorbehindhimandturnstheshoweron,Ismile.Iguessthere’smyanswer.Rachelwillbedelighted.46LEON
Haveneverthoughtthishardaboutthenotesbefore.WasmucheasierwhenIwasjustscribblingrandomthoughtstofriendwhoIhadnotmet.Nowamcarefullycraftingmessagestowomanwhohastakenupresidenceinmostofmywakingthoughts.
It’sterrible.SitdownwithpenandPost-itandsuddenlyforgetallthewords.Hermessagesarecheeky,flirty,noisilyher.ThiswasthefirstaftertheweekendinBrighton,fixedtothebedroomdoorwithBluTack:
So,hey,roomie.How’sthetransitionbacktonocturnallifegonetoday?IseethatFatimaandfamilywentthroughthebinsagainwhilewewereaway—littleminxes.
Iwantedtowriteandsaythanksagainforwhiskingmeoutofthesea.JustmakesureyoufallinalargebodyofwateratsomepointsoIcanreturnthefavor,youknow,inthenameofequality.AlsobecauseIfeellikeyou’dreallyownthewholeMr.Darcyjust-out-of-the-lakelook.xx
Minearestiltedandoverthought.WritethemwhenIgetinfromwork,thenrewritethembeforeIwalkoutthedoor,thenregretthemallnightinthehospice.UntilIgethometoareplyandfeelinstantlybetteragain.Thusthecyclerepeats.
Eventually,onWednesday,Imusterthecouragetoleavethisoneonthekitchencounter:
Weekendplans?x
Wasparalyzedbyself-doubtassoonasI’dleftthebuildingandgotfarenoughawayforgoingbacktobeinconceivable.Inretrospect,wasaveryshortnote.Perhapstooshortformeaningtobeclear?Perhapsinsultinglyshort?Whyisthissodifficult?
Now,though,I’mfeelingbetter.
WellI’llbehomealonethisweekend.Doyoufancycomingoverandcookingmeyourmushroomstroganoff?I’veonlyeverhaditreheated,andIbetit’sevenbetterfreshouttheoven.xx
IreachforaPost-itandscribblemyreply.
Rockyroadfordessert?x
Richie:You’renervous,aren’tyou?
Me:No!No,no.
Richiesnorts.He’singoodmood—he’sgenerallyinagoodmoodnow.HecallsGertyatleasteveryotherdaytocatchuponappealcaseprogress.Somuchtotalkabout,callseveryotherdayareapparentlyessential.Evidencere-examined.Witnessescomingforward.And,atlast,CCTVobtained.
Me:OK.Abitnervous.
Richie:You’llbegreat,man.Youknowshe’sintoyou.What’stheplan?Istonightthenight?
Me:Ofcoursenot.Fartoosoon.
Richie:Haveyoushavedyourlegsjustincase?
Don’tdeigntorespondtothis.Richiechuckles.
Richie:Ilikeher,man.You’vegotagoodone.
Me:NotsureI’ve“got”heryet.
Richie:What?Youthink—theex?
Me:Shedoesn’tlovehimanymore.Butit’scomplicated.I’mabitworriedabouther.
Richie:Washeaprick?
Me:Mm.
Richie:Hehurther?
Guttwistsatthethought.
Me:Tosomedegree,Ithink.Shedoesn’treallytalkaboutitwithmebut…gotabadfeelingabouthim.
Richie:Shit,man.Arewedealingwithsomekindofpost-traumasituationhere?
Me:Youthinkso?
Richie:You’respeakingtothekingofthenightsweats.Idunno,Ihaven’tmether,butifsheisstillprocessingsomeshitshehadtodealwith,allyoucandoisbethereandletherdecidewhenshe’sreadyforwhatever.
ThetraumaofthetrialandfirstmonthinprisonhitRichieaboutsixweeksintohissentence.Shakinghands,suddenterrors,intrusiveflashbacks,jumpingattheslightestnoises.Thelastpartalwaysannoyedhimthemost—heseemedtothinkthatparticularbrandofPTSDshouldbereservedforpeoplewhosetraumahadactuallyinvolvedloudnoises,likesoldiers.
Richie:Anddon’ttryandmakethedecisionforher.Don’tassumeshecan’tbefeelingbetteryet.That’shercall.
Me:You’reagoodman,RichardTwomey.
Richie:Holdthatthoughtandtellittothejudgesinthreeweeks’time,bro
Arriveattheflatatfiveish;Tiffy’swithMoandGertyfortheday.Weird,beinghereataweekend.It’sherflatnow.
Stopshortofshavinglegs,butdospendinordinatelylongtimegettingready.Can’tstopthinkingaboutwherewe’reeachgoingtosleeptonight.WillIgobacktoMam’s,orsleephere?We’vealreadysharedabedinBrighton…
IconsidermessagingtosayI’llstayatMam’stonight,toshowgoodwill.Butdecidethat’sputtingnailincoffinearlierthannecessary,andisanexampleofmakingdecisionsforher,asadvisedagainstbyRichie,soIleaveitbe.
Keyindoor.Itrytospringupfromthebeanbag,butthatwouldbeimpossibleevenforapersonwiththighsofsteel,soTiffywalksintofindmeinahalfsquat,attemptingtoextricatemyself
Tiffy,laughing:It’slikequicksand,isn’tit?
Shelooksbeautiful.Tightbluetopandalongfloatygrayskirtwithbrightpinkshoesthatsheproceedstobalanceonhergoodlegtoremove.
Imovetogiveherahandbutshewavesmeoff,hikingherselfuptositonkitchencounterandmakethejobeasier.Heranklelooksmoremobile,though—goodsign.Seemstobehealingwell.
Sheraiseshereyebrowsatme.
Tiffy:Checkingoutmyankles?
Me:Purelymedicalinterest.
Tiffygrinsatme,slidingdownfromthecounterandlimpingovertoexaminethepotonthehob.
Tiffy:Smellsamazing.
Me:Somethingtoldmeyou’dlikemushroomstroganoff.
Shesmilesoverhershoulder,andIwanttomovebehindher,putmyarmsaroundherwaistandkissherneck.Resisttheurge,onaccountofitbeingverypresumptuousandinappropriate.
Tiffy:Thatwasinyourcubbyholedownstairs,bytheway.
Shepointstosmallwhiteenvelopeonthekitchencounter,addressedtome.Iopenit.It’saninvite,handwrittenincareful,slightlywobblyjoined-upletters.
DearLeon,
IamhavingabirthdaypartyonSundaybecauseIamgoingtobeeight.Pleasecome!!!BringyourfriendTiffywholikesnitting.SorrythatthisislateMumsaysyourproperinvitasiongotlostatSt.Marksbyoneofthenurseswhoisrubbishandthentheysaidwecouldn’thaveyou’readdressbuttheysaidtheywillsendthisforussoIhopethey
Hollyxoxoxoxoxox
SmileandshowittoTiffy.
Me:Maybenotwhatyouhadplannedfortomorrow?
Tiffy,lookingdelighted:Sheremembersme!
Me:Shewasobsessedwithyou.Wedon’thavetogo,though.
Tiffy:Areyoujoking?!We’retotallygoing.Please.Youonlyturneightonce,Leon.47TIFFY
Ireallydidn’tthinkrocky-roadeatingcouldbesosexuallycharged.We’resittingonthesofainfrontofourtelevision(whichisbasicallyjustanoveltyornamentshelf)withwineglassesinourhandsandourlegstouching.I’mnotfaroffsittinginhislap,really.That’sdefinitelywhereIwanttobesitting.
“Goon,”Isay,nudginghimwithmyknee.“Tellmethetruth.”
Helooksshifty.Inarrowmyeyesathim,slidingnearer,mygazeflickingtohislips.He’sdoingthesame—thateyes-lips-eyesthingthatseemstotugyoucloser,andwehoverinthemomentlikewe’reatthetopofaropeswing,waitingforgravitytokickin,feelingthetugbutnotquitegoing.Nodoubtsthistime:Iknowhe’sthinkingaboutkissingme.
“Tellme,”Isay.
Hetiltshishead,butatthelastmomentIpullbackjustalittle,andheletsoutaquiethuff,halfamused,halffrustratedattheteasing.
“Muchshorter,”hesaysreluctantly,pullingback,too,andreachingforanothersquareofrockyroad.Iwatchhimlickchocolatefromhisfingers.Amazing,really—I’vealwaysfounditweirdhowinfilmspeoplethinklickingthingslikethatissexy,buthereLeonis,provingmewrong.
“Shorter?That’sit?Youtoldmethatalready.”
“And…dumpier.”
“Dumpier!”Icrow.ThiswasthestuffIwasafter.“YouthoughtI’dbedumpy?”
“Ijust—assumed!”Leonsays,shiftinginandpullingmecloseragainsoI’malmostbundledupagainsthischest.
Ileanintohim,relishingthefeeling.“Shortanddumpy.Andwhatelse?”
“Ithoughtyouwoulddressweirdly.”
“Well,Ido,”Ipointout,gesturingtothelaundrydryinginthecorner,whichincludesmybrightredpantaloonsandtherainbowknittedjumperMogotmeformybirthdaylastyear(thoughevenIwoulddrawthelineatwearingthosetwoitemssimultaneously).
“Youmakeitlookgood,though,”hesays.“Likeyoudoitonpurpose.Itmakesyoulooklikeyou.”
Ilaugh.“Well,thanks.”
“Andyou?”heasks,shiftinghisholdonmetotakeanothersipofhiswine.
“Andmewhat?”
“WhatdidyouthinkI’dlooklike?”
“IcheatedandlookedyouuponFacebook,”Iadmit.
Leonlooksshocked,winehalfwaytohismouth.“Ididn’teventhinkofthat!”
“Ofcourseyoudidn’t.Imean,Iwouldwanttoknowwhatsomeonelookedlikeiftheyweremovinginandsleepinginmybed,butyoudon’tcareaboutappearancesmuch,doyou?”
Hepausestothinkaboutit.“IcaredaboutyoursonceI’dseenit.Butotherwise,whywoulditmakeadifference?Thefirstruleoftheflatsharewasthatwewouldn’tmeet.”
Ilaughdespitemyself.“Webrokethatone,then.”
“Thatone?”
“Don’tworry.”Iwavehimoff.Idon’tfancyexplainingGerty’s“firstrule,”orquitehowmuchtimeI’vespentthinkingaboutbreakingit.
“Ahhh,”Leonsayssuddenly,catchingsightofthetimeonmyPeterPanclockontopofthefridge.Halfmidnight.“It’slate.”Helooksatmeworriedly.“Losttrackoftime.”
Ishrug.“That’sOK?”
“Can’tgetbacktoMam’snow—lasttrainwasattenpasttwelve.”Helookspained.“I’lljust…sleeponthesofa?Ifthat’sallright?”
“Onthesofa?Why?”
“Soyoucanhavethebed?”
“Thissofaistiny.You’dhavetocurlupinthefetalposition.”Myheart’sthumping.“Youhaveyourside,Ihavemine.We’vestucktotheleftandrightruleallyearsofar.Whyshouldwechangeitnow?”
Hewatchesme,hiseyesflickingbackandforthacrossmyfacelikehe’stryingtoreadme.
“It’sjustabed,”Isay,movingcloseragain.“We’vesharedabedbefore.”
“Notsure…thiswillbequiteasstraightforward,”Leonsays,inaslightlystrangledvoice.
Onimpulse,Ileanforwardandpressmylipslightlytohischeek,thenagain,andagain,untilI’vekissedapathfromhischeekbonetotheveryedgeofhislips.
Isitbackandmeethiseyes.Myskinisalreadybuzzing,butthelookhegivesmesendsajoltthroughme,andnowit’slike80percentofmybodyhassuddenlybecomeheartbeat.Iswallow.We’reascloseastwohumanscanpossiblybewithoutkissing.There’snoflickerofpanicthistime,justblissful,fierywanting.
So,atlast,Ikisshim.
WhenIkissedhimonthecheekI’dplannedtomakeourfirstproperkisssoftandslow,thekindofkissyoufeelinyourtoes,butwhenIactuallygetthereit’sclearthere’sbeenwaytoomuchwaitingandsexyrocky-road-eatingforthat.Thisisaproperkiss,thekindthatpromisesveryimminentundressing,thekindthatgenerallyhappenswhileintheprocessofstumblingtowardabed.I’mnotsurprised,then,tofindthatwhenwesurfaceforair,I’mstraddlinghim,myhairhangingdownoneithersideofus,mylongskirtruchedtomythighs,hishandsonmybackpullingmeascloseasIcanpossiblybe.
Wedon’tpauseforlong.Itwisttounceremoniouslydumpmywineglassonthecoffeetableandshiftalittletoeasetheangleonmyankle,andthenwe’rekissingagain,hungry,andmybodyisrespondingwithaheatIgenuinelydon’tthinkI’vefeltbefore.Oneofhishandsshiftstothebackofmyneck,grazingthesideofmybreastonroute,andIprettymuchyelpasthesensationhits.Everywhereandeverythingseemstobeinoverdrive.
Ihavenoideawhatwillhappennext.Iactuallycan’tevenconsiderthequestion.I’mincrediblygratefulforthat—allthoughtofflashbacksandexeshasevaporatedaltogether.Leon’sbodyishardandwarmandallIcanthinkaboutisgettingalloftheseclothesoutofthewaysoIcanbeasclosetoitaspossible.ThistimewhenImovetounbuttonhisshirt,hedropshisgriponmywaisttohelpme,shruggingitoffandchuckingitoverthebackofthesofa,whereithangslikeaflagfromthelamp.IrunmyhandsoverLeon’schest,marvelingatthestrangenessofbeingabletotouchhimlikethis.Ibreakawayfromhimforjustlongenoughtowriggleoutofmytop.
Hebreathesinsharply,andasIleanbackintokisshimagain,hestopsme,handsonmyupperarms,eyesonmybody.I’mwearingathinchemiseunderthetop,itsnecklinefollowingthelineofmybra,dippingtoalowV
“God,”hesays,hisvoicehoarse.“Lookatyou.”
“Nothingyou’venotseenbefore,”Iremindhim,alreadyduckinginimpatientlytogetanotherkiss.Heholdsmebackagain,stillstaring.Iletoutalittlefrustratednoise,butthenhemovestopresshislipsagainstmycollarbone,thenlower,kissingacrossthetopofmybreasts,andIstopobjecting.
It’sbecomingimpossibletoformthoughtsforlongerthanabouttwoseconds.Theyjustevaporate.Icanfeelgreatsectionsofmybrainrededicatingthemselvestothinkingaboutsex.Thepartofmybrainthatdealswithpain,forinstance,hasentirelyforgottenaboutmyankleandisnowmuchmoreinterestedinwhatexactlyLeon’slipsaredoingashiskissesdiplowerandlowertotheedgeofmybra.ThesectionthatusuallybusiesitselfwonderingifIlookfatinthingsseemstohavediedoffaltogether.I’veresortedtomoaningbecausemybrain’sspeechcenterisclearlyoutofaction,too.
Leon’shandsdipunderthewaistlineofmyskirt,touchingthesilkofmyunderwear.Iworeniceunderwear,obviously.Imaynothaveplannedforthis,butIhadn’tnotplannedforit.
Ipullawayandyankoffthechemise—it’sonlygettinginthewaynow.I’mgoingtohavetostopstraddlinghiminorderforeitherofustoremoveanymoreclothes,butIreallydon’twantto.Mybrainmakesarealeffortatsomelong-termthinking,butthat’snouse,obviously,soIabandontheproblemandhopeLeonhassomesortofsolution.
“Bed?”Leonsays,hislipsbackuponmyneck.
Inod,butwhenheshiftsunderneathmeImumbleanobjection,dippingmyheadtokisshimagain.Icanfeelhissmileagainstmylips.
“Can’tgettobedwithoutyoumoving,”heremindsme,tryingtoshiftagain
Imakeanotherincoherentobjection.Hechuckles,lipsstillpressedagainstmine.
“Sofa?”hesuggestsinstead.
Better.IknewLeonwouldhaveasolution.Reluctant,Islideoffhislapsohecanmove.Hishandstugatthefabricofmyskirt,fingerssearchingforaziporbutton.
“It’sgotahiddenzip,”Isay,twistingtofindtheziptuckedintheseamalongmyhip.
“Devilishwomenclothes,”Leondeclares,helpingmepulltheskirtoffonceit’sundone.Likebefore,Imovetopressmyselfagainsthimagain,buthestopsmesohecanlookatmeproperly.Thelookinhiseyesmakesmycheeksglow.Iundohisbeltandhebreathesinsharply,hisgazebackonmyfaceasIunbuttonhisjeans.
“Alittlehelp?”Isay,eyebrowraised,asIfumblearoundwiththebuttons.
“Leavingthatparttoyou,”hesays.“Takeaslongasyouneed.”
Igrin,andhetugsoffhisjeans,thenpullsmetoliedownbesidehimonthesofa.We’reamessoflimbsandcushionsandskin.Wecompletelydon’tfit.There’snospace.We’relaughingnow,butonlyinbetweenkisses,andwhereverhisbodytouchesmineit’slikesomeone’sreprogrammedmynervestofeelfivetimesasmuchasusual.
“Whoseideawasthesofa?”Leonasks.Hisheadislevelwithmychest;hekisseshiswayalongthebottomofmybranow,andImoan.I’mincrediblyuncomfortablebutdiscomfortisasmallpricetopay,asfarasI’mconcerned.
It’sonlywhenheelbowsmeinthestomachinanefforttositupenoughtokissmethatIcalltime.“Bed,”Isayfirmly.
“Sensiblewoman.”
Ittakesusanothertenminutesorsotoactuallygetmoving.Hegetsupfirst,then,asIshifttostand,bendstopickmeupagainandcarryme.
“Icanwalkfine,”Iprotest.
“It’sourthing.Plus,it’sfaster.”He’sright—he’slaidmeoutonthebedinseconds,andthenhe’sontopofme,hislipshotonmine,hishandonmybreast.Nolaughingnow.Icanhardlybreathe,I’msoturnedon.It’sabsurd.Ican’tpossiblywaitanylonger.
Andthenthedoorbellrings.48LEON
Webothfreeze.Iliftmyheadtolookather.Hercheeksareflushedred,herlipsswollenfromkissing,andherhairliesinatangleoforangeagainstthewhitepillows.Impossiblysexy.
Me:Foryou?
Tiffy:What?No!
Me:ButnobodyIknowthinksI’mhereatweekends!
Tiffygroans.
Tiffy:Don’taskmecomplicatedquestions.Ican’t…dothinkingrightnow
Ipressmylipsagainsthersagain,butthedoorbellringsforasecondtime.Curse.Rolltoside;trytocalmdown.
Tiffyrollswithmesoshe’sontopofme.
Tiffy:They’llgoaway.
Thissuddenlyseemslikebyfarthebestsuggestion.Herbodyisincredible.Can’tstopmyselffromtouching—IknowI’mbeingwaytooscattergun,handsalloverher,butdon’twanttomissanything.Ishouldhaveatleasttenmorehands,ideally.
Doorbellringsagain.Andagain.Five-secondintervals.Tiffythrowsherselfbacktohersideofthebedwithagrowl
Tiffy:Whothefuckisit?
Me:Weshouldanswer.
Shereachesoutandrunsafingerfrommybellybuttontomyboxers.Mindgoesentirelyblank.Wanther.Wanther.Wanther.Want—
Doorbelldoorbelldoorbelldoorbell.
Tiffy:Fuck!I’llgo.
Me:No,I’llgo.IcanwearatowelandpretendIwasintheshower.
Tiffylooksatme.
Tiffy:Howthehellcanyouthinkofsomethinglikethatrightnow?Mybrainhasstoppedfunctioning.YouareclearlymuchmoredistractingthanIam.
She’slyingthere,topless,justascrapofsilkunderwearbetweennowandnaked.It’stakingenormousinnerstrengthandaninsistent,loudbuzzingsoundtoholdmeback.
Me:Trustme.Youareverydistracting.
Tiffykissesme.Doorbellnowbuzzingnonstop—isnotevenpausing.Personhastheirfingerheldagainstbuzzer.
Whoevertheyare,Ihatethem.
PullmyselfawayfromTiffy,swearagain,andreachfortowelonradiatorasIstumblethroughfrombedroomtohall.Needtopullselftogether.Willjustanswerdoor,punchpersonwhohasinterruptedus,thenheadbacktobed.Agood,solidplan.
Ipressthebuttontoletthemup,thenthrowopenthefrontdoorandwait.Itoccurstome,belatedly,thatasmyhairisdryitwillnotactuallylooklikeI’vejustgotoutofshower.
ThemanwhoappearsinthedoorwayisnobodyI’vemetbefore.He’salsonotthesortofmanIwouldbackmyselftopunch.He’stall,builtinthewaythatsuggestshespendsalotoftimeinthegym.Brownhair,perfectlytrimmedbeard,expensiveshirt.Angryeyes.
Suddenlyhaveabadfeelingaboutthis.WishIwaswearingmorethantowel.
Me:CanIhelpyou?
Helooksconfused.
Angry-eyedman:Isn’tthisTiffy’splace?
Me:Yes.I’mherflatmate.
Angry-eyedmandoesnotlookatallhappyatthisinformation.
Angry-eyedman:Well,isshein?
Me:Sorry,Ididn’tcatchyourname?
Givesmelong,angrystare.
Angry-eyedman:I’mJustin.
Ah.
Me:No,she’snotin.
Justin:Ithoughtshehadthisplaceatweekends.
Me:Didshetellyouthat?
Justinlooksshiftyforamoment.Coverswell,though.
Justin:Yeah,shementioneditwhenIsawherlast.Yourarrangement.Thewholebed-sharingthing.
Shedefinitelywouldn’thavetoldJustinaboutthat.Prettyclearshe’dknowhewouldn’tlikeit.Extremelyhostilebodylanguagesuggeststhathedoesindeednotlikeit.
Me:Roomsharing.Butyes.Shenormallyhastheplaceonweekends,butshe’saway.
Justin:Where?
Shrug.Lookbored.Simultaneouslystandthatlittlebittaller,justsoheclockswe’rethesameheight.It’sabitcavemanishofme,butfeelsgoodallthesame.
Me:HowshouldIknow?
Justin,suddenly:CanIseetheflat?
Me:What?
Justin:CanIseetheplace.Justhavealookaround.
He’salreadymovingtowardmelikehe’scomingin.Supposethisishowhealwaysgetshisway:askingunreasonablethingsandthengoingaheadandtakingthem.
Idon’tmove.Eventuallyhehastostopwalking,becauseIamdirectlyinhisway.
Me:No.Sorry.Youcan’t.
Hesensesmyhostilitynow.He’sriled.Hewasalreadyangrywhenhegothere;he’slikedogonleash,snappingforafight.
Justin:Whynot?
Me:Becauseit’smyflat.
Justin:AndTiffy’s.She’smy…
Me:Yourwhat?
Justindoesn’tfinishthelie.Heknows,perhaps,thatIwillatleastknowwhetherTiffyissingleorinrelationship.
Justin:It’scomplicated.Butwe’reveryclose.Icanpromiseyoushewouldn’tmindmelookingaroundtheplace,checkingit’suptostandardforher.Ipresumeyouhaveasub-lettingagreement,thetwoofyou?Allsignedoffbythepropertyowner?
Donotwanttogetintothiswiththisman.Also,donothavesub-lettingagreement.Landlordhasn’tspokentomeinyears,sojusthaven’t…broughtTiffyup.
Me:Youcan’tcomein.
Justinsquaresuptome.I’mwearingnothingbutatowelaroundwaist;we’reeyetoeye.Reallydon’tthinkTiffywouldenjoyitcomingtoafight.
Me:I’vegotagirlinthere,man.
Justinjerkshisheadback.Hewasn’texpectingthat.
Justin:Youhave?
Me:Yeah.SoI’dappreciateitifyou…
Hiseyesnarrow.
Justin:Whoisit?
Oh,forfuck’ssake.
Me:Whatdoesitmattertoyou?
Justin:It’snotTiffy,then?
Me:WhywouldyouthinkitwasTiffy?Ijusttoldyou—
Justin:Yeah.She’sawaythisweekend.ExceptIknowshe’snotwithherparents,andTiffydoesn’tleaveLondononherownforanythingexceptavisithome.So—
Hetriestopushpastme,butI’mreadyforit.Iputmyweightintohim,knockinghimoffbalance.
Me:Getoutofhere.Now.Idon’tknowwhatyourproblemis,butassoonasyouenteredmyflatyoubrokethelaw,soifyoudon’twantmetocallthepolice—ifthewomaninmybedroomhasn’tdoneitalready—thengetthefuckoutofhere.
Icanseehisnostrilsflaring.Hewantstofight;it’stakingallhisenergynotto.Notapleasantsortofman.ThoughInoticethatI’mreadyforafight,too.I’malmosthopinghe’llpunchme.
Hedoesn’t,though.Hiseyesflicktobedroomdoor,andthentakeinthesightofmyjeansspreadoutonthefloor.Myshirt,hangingoffTiffy’sridiculousmonkeylamp.ThankgodTiffy’sclothesaren’tvisible—he’drecognizethem,Iimagine.Whatanunpleasantthought.
Justin:I’llbebacktoseeTiffy.
Hebacksout.
Me:Maybecallaheadnexttimetocheckshe’sin.Andwantstoseeyou.
Slamthedoorbehindhim.49TIFFY
Imean,nobodywouldsayit’snice,havingyourex-boyfriendturnupasyou’regettingwiththenewguy.Nobodywouldwishforsomethinglikethattohappen,exceptperhapsforweirdsexualreasons.
Butsurelynobodyelsewouldbequitethisupset.
Iamshaking—notjustmyhands,butmylegs,too,allthewayuppastmyknees.ItrytodressasquietlyasIcan,paralyzedwiththethoughtofJustincominginhereandseeingmeinjustmyknickers,butIonlygethalfwaybeforethefearofbeingheardoverrulesthatimpulse,andIsinkbackontothebedinjustmyunderwearandagiantjumperwithSantaonit(itwastheclosestthinginthewardrobe).
Whenthedoortotheflatslams,Ijumplikesomeone’spulledatrigger.It’sridiculous.MyfaceiswetwithtearsandIamreally,trulyscared.
Leonknocksgentlyonthebedroomdoor.
“It’sjustme,”hecalls.“CanIcomein?”
Itakeadeep,wobblybreathandwipethetearsfrommycheeks.“Yeah,comein.”
HetakesonelookatmeanddoeswhatIdid—headsforthewardrobeandpullsoutthenearestthing.Oncehe’sdressed,hecomesandsitsonthefarendofthebed.I’mgrateful.SuddenlyIdon’twanttobenearanybodynaked.
“Ishedefinitelygone?”Iaskhim.
“IwaiteduntilIheardthebuildingdoorclose,too,”Leontellsme.“He’sgone.”
“He’llbeback,though.AndIcannotfacetheideaofeverseeinghimagain.Ican’t…Ihatehim.”Itakeanotherdeep,judderingbreath,feelingtearsleakingoutagain.“Whywashesoangry?Washealwayslikethat,andI’vejustforgotten?”
IstretchoutahandtowardLeon;Iwanttobeheld.Heshiftsacrossthebedandpullsmeinagainsthim,layingmedownsohe’sbehindme,mybodytuckedintohis.
“Hecanfeelhe’slosinghisgriponyou,”Leonsaysquietly.“He’sscared.”
“Well,I’mnotgoingbackthistime.”
Leonkissesmyshoulder.“YouwantmetocallMo?OrGerty?”
“Willyoujuststaywithme?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Ijustwanttogotosleep.”
“Thensleepitis.”HereachesroundfortheBrixtonblanket,pullingitoverthetwoofus,andthenleanstoflickoffthelamp.“Wakemeifyouneedme.”
Idon’tknowhow,butIsleepallthewaythrough,onlywakingtothesoundoftheguyupstairsdoingwhateveritishealwaysdoesatsevena.m.(itsoundslikesomekindofenergeticaerobicsinvolvinglotsofhopping.I’dbeangry,butitismuchbetterthanmyalarmforwakingmeupforwork).
Leonisgone.Isitup,blearyeyedfromfallingasleepaftercrying,andtrytogetahandleonrealityagain.JustasI’mworkingmywaythroughyesterday—sadlyfinishingupwiththegood,sofabitandrememberingJustin’sarrival—Leonpokeshisheadin.
“Tea?”
“Didyoumakeit?”
“No,Igotthehouseelftodoit.”
Ismileatthat.
“Don’tworry.Itoldhimtomakeyoursespeciallystrong,”hesays.“CanIcomein?”
“Ofcourseyoucan.It’syourbedroom,too.”
“Notwhenyou’rehere.”Hehandsmeasuitablystrongcupoftea.Thisisthefirstcupofteahe’severmademe,but—justlikeIknowhowmilkyhelikeshis—hemust’vefiguredouthowIdrinkmine.It’sweirdhoweasilyyoucangettoknowsomeonefromthetracestheyleavebehindwhentheygo.
“I’msosorryaboutlastnight,”Ibegin.
Leonshakeshishead.“Pleasedon’t.It’snotyourfault,isit?”
“Well.Ididdatehim.Voluntarily.”
Mytone’slight,butLeonfrowns.“Relationshipslikethatstopbeingabout‘voluntarily’veryquickly.There’slotsofwayssomeonecanmakeyoustaywiththem,orthinkyouwantto.”
Itiltmyhead,lookingathimashesitsontheedgeofthebed,forearmsonhisknees,bothhandsaroundhismugoftea.He’stalkingtomehalfoverhisshoulder,andeverytimehemeetsmyeyesIwanttosmile.He’sredonehishair—it’stheneatestI’veeverseenit,smoothedbehindhisearsandflickingintocurlsatthebaseofhisneck.
“Youseemverywellinformed,”Isaycarefully.
He’snotlookingatmenow.“Mam,”hesaysbywayofexplanation.“Shespentalotofhertimewithmenwhoabusedher.”
Thewordmakesmeflinch.Leonclocksit.
“Sorry,”hesays.
“Justinneverhitmeoranything,”Isayquickly,mycheeksflushing.Here’sme,makingafussaboutaboyfriendwhobossesmeaboutabit,whenLeon’smumhasbeenthrough—
“That’snotthesortofabuseImeant,”Leonsays.“Imeantemotional.”
“Oh.”Wasthatwhatitwas,withJustin?
Yes,Ithinkimmediately,beforeIhavetimetosecondguessmyself.Ofcourseitbloodywas.LucieandMoandGertyhaveallbeensayingasmuchwithoutsayingitformonths,haven’tthey?Iswallowagulpoftea,hidingbehindmymug.
“Itwashardtowatch,”Leonsays,staringdownathistea.“She’sonthemendnow.Lotsofcounseling.Goodfriends.Gettingtotherootoftheproblem.”
“Mm.I’mtryingthat…counselingthing,too.”
Henods.“That’sgood.That’llhelp.”
“Itisalready,Ithink.ItwasMo’sidea,andhe’sliterallyalwaysrightaboutthings.”
IcoulddowithoneofMo’saudiohugsrightnow,actually.AsIlookaroundformyphone,Leonpointstowhereitliesonthebedsidetable.
“I’llgiveyouaminute.Anddon’tworryaboutHolly’sbirthday.Betit’sprobablythelastthingyou…”
Hetrailsoffatmyoutragedexpression
“YouthinkI’mmissingHolly’sbirthdaybecauseoflastnight?”
“Well,Ijustthoughtitmust’vetakenitoutofyou,and…”
I’mshakingmyhead.“Absolutelynot.ThelastthingIwanttodoisletthis…Justinstuffgetinthewayoftheimportantthings.”
Hesmiles,hiseyeslingeringonmyface.“Well,OK.Thanks.”
“Weneedtoleaveearlyenoughtobuyapresent!”Icallafterhimasheleaves.
“Igaveherthegiftofgoodhealth!”hecallsbackthroughthedoor.
“Thatwon’tcutit—itneedstobesomethingfromClaire’sAccessories!”50LEON
Holly’smum’shomeisapoky,crumblingtownhouseinSouthwark.Paintpeelseverywhereandpicturesleanonwalls,unhung,butitfeelsfriendly.Justalittletired.
Streamsofchildrenaredartinginandoutofthefrontdoorwhenwearrive.Feelslightlyoverwhelmed.I’mstillprocessinglastnight,stillbuzzingwithadrenalinefromthealtercationwithJustin.Wereportedtheincidenttothepolice,butIwanttodomore.Sheshouldgetarestrainingorder.Can’tsuggestit,though.Herchoice.I’mhelpless
Westepinsidethehouse.Therearemanypartyhatsandafewcryingbabies,possiblybaitedintotearsbyboisterouseight-year-olds.
Me:CanyouseeHolly?
Tiffystandsononetiptoe(hergoodfoot).
Tiffy:Isthather?IntheStarWarsoutfit?
Me:StarTrek.Andno.Maybeovertherebythekitchen?
Tiffy:Prettysurethat’saboy.Didyoutellmethiswasfancydress?
Me:Youreadtheinvite,too!
Tiffyignoresthis,picksupabandonedcowboyhat,andplantsitonmyhead.
Iturntothehallmirrortoadmiretheeffect.Thehatperchesontopofmyhairprecariously.PullitoffandputitonTiffyinstead.Muchbetter.Asortofsexycowgirlthing.Verycliché,ofcourse,butsexynonetheless.
Tiffychecksherreflectionandyanksthehatdownfarther.
Tiffy:Fine.You’reawizard,then.
Shepullsamoon-coveredcapeoffthebackofachairandreachesuptodrapeitovermyshoulders,fixingitwithabowatmythroat.Justthefeelofherfingersmakesmethinkoflastnight.It’sahighlyinappropriatelocationforthesesortsofthoughts,soItrytowardthemoff,butsheisnothelping.Shetrailsherhandsdownmychestinagesturefamiliarfromtimeonsofa.
Grabherhand.
Me:Can’tbedoingthat.
Tiffyquirksaneyebrow,mischievous.
Tiffy:Doingwhat?
Atleastifshe’splanningontorturingmeinthisfashionitmustmeanshe’sfeelingalittlebetter.
EventuallylocateHollysittingonstairsandrealizewhyshewassohardtospot.Shelookscompletelytransformed.Brighteyes.Hairthickerandhealthier,fallingforwardtobeblownbackimpatientlyasshetalks.She’sactuallylookingalittlechubby.
Holly:LEON!
Sheskidsdownstairsthenstopsshortatbottom.She’sdressedasElsafromFrozen,muchlikeeverygirlhostingabirthdaypartyintheWesternhemispheresince2013.She’salittleoldforit,butthen,shemissedoutonmostofhertimebeinglittle,so.
Holly:Where’sTiffy?
Me:She’shere,too.She’sjustgonetothebathroom.
Hollylooksplacated.Linksherarmthroughmineanddragsmeofftolivingroomtotryandfeedmesmallsausagerollsthathavebeenfingeredbymanyuncleanchildren.
Holly:AreyoudatingTiffyyet?
Istaredownather,plasticcupoftropicaljuicehalfwaytomouth.
Hollydoesherclassiceyeroll,thusconvincingmethatsheisstillthesameperson,notchubbierlookalike.
Holly:Comeon.YoutwoareMeanttoBe!
Ilookaroundnervously,hopingTiffyisnotwithinhearing.ButI’msmiling,too,itseems.ThinkfleetinglyofmyreactiontosimilarcommentsmadeaboutmeandKay—generallywasthesortofresponsethatmadeKaycallmeacommitment-phobe.Admittedlythosecommentsrarelycamefromthemouthofasmall,precociouschildwearingafakeplaitaroundherneck(guessitfelloffherheadawhileago).
Me:Asithappens…
Holly:Yes!Iknewit!Haveyoutoldheryouloveher?
Me:It’sabitsoonforthat.
Holly:Notifyou’vebeeninlovewithherforages.
Pause.
Holly:Whichyouhave.Bytheway.
Me,gently:I’mnotsureaboutthat,Holly.We’vebeenfriends.
Holly:Friendswholoveeachother.
Me:Holly—
Holly:Well,haveyoutoldheryoulikeher?
Me:Shedefinitelyknows.
Hollynarrowseyes.
Holly:Doesshe,Leon?
Ifeelslightlydiscomposed.Yes?Shedoes?Thekissingisaclearclue,no?
Holly:You’reterribleattellingpeoplehowyoureallyfeelaboutthem.Youhardlyevertoldmehowyoulikedmebetterthanalltheotherpatients.ButIknowyoudid.
Shestretchesoutherhands,like,caseinpoint.Itrynottogrin.
Me:Well,I’llmakesuresheknows.
Holly:Itdoesn’tmatter.I’lltellheranyway.
Andshe’soff,dartingthroughthecrowd.Shit.
Me:Holly!Holly!Don’tsayany—
Ieventuallyfindthemtogetherinthekitchen.BurstinattheendofwhatisclearlyaninterventiononHolly’spart.Tiffyisleaningdowntohearher,smiling,hairshiningred-goldundertheover-brightkitchenlights.
Holly:Ijustwantyoutoknowhe’snice,andyou’renice.
Shestandsontiptoe,andadds,inastagewhisper:
Holly:Sothatmeansthereisn’tadoormat.
Tiffylooksupatme,inquiring.
Presslipstogetherassomethingwarmandmeltingsettlesinmychest.IstepinandpullTiffytowardme,reachingovertoruffleHolly’shair.Weird,clairvoyantchild.51TIFFY
MoandGertycomeroundintheafternoon,onceLeon’sheadedofftohismum’splace,andIfilltheminonthenight’sdramasoveramuch-neededbottleofwine.Modoeshisbestempatheticnod;Gerty,ontheotherhand,justkeepsswearing.ShehassomereallyinventivelynastynamesforJustin.Ithinkshe’sbeensavingthemupforsometime.
“Doyouwanttostayatourstonight?”Mosays.“Youcanhavemybed.”
“Thanks,butno,I’mfine,”Isay.“Idon’twanttorunaway.Iknowhedoesn’twanttohurtmeoranything.”
Modoesn’tlooktoosureaboutthat.“Ifyou’recertain,”hesays.
“Callusanytimeandwe’llorderataxitocollectyou,”Gertytellsme,finishingoffherwine.“Andgivemearinginthemorning.YouneedtotellmeabouthavingsexwithLeon.”
Istareather.“What!”
“Iknewit!Icouldjusttell,”shesays,lookingpleasedwithherself.
“Well,actually,wehaven’t,”Itellher,stickingmytongueout.“Soyourradarisoff—again.”
Shenarrowshereyes.“Therewasnudity,though.And…touching.”
“Onthatverysofa.”
Shejumpsupasifshe’sbeenstung.MoandIsnigger.
“Well,”Gertysaystome,brushingdownherskinnyjeanswithdistaste,“we’reseeingLeononTuesday.Sowewillmakesuretogrillhimandcheckhisintentionswithyouareallastheyshouldbe.”
“Hangon,you’rewhat?”
“I’mtalkinghimthroughwherewe’reatwiththecase.”
“AndMoisgoingalongbecause…”IlookatMo.
“BecauseIwanttomeetLeon,”hesays,unabashed.“What?Everyoneelsehasmethim.”
“Yes,but…but…”Inarrowmyeyes.“He’smyflatmate.”
“Andmyclient,”Gertypointsout,grabbingherhandbagoffthecounter.“Look,meetingLeonmayhavebeenahugerigmaroleforyou,butwecanjustdrophimatextandmeetforbrunchlikenormalpeople.”
Annoyingly,there’snotmuchIcansaytothat.AndIcan’texactlyfaultthemforbeingoverprotectivefriendsinthecircumstances—withoutthat,withoutthem,I’dstillprobablybecryingmyselftosleepinJustin’sflat.Still,I’mnotsureI’mreadytobeatmeeting-the-friendsstagewithLeon,andthemeddlingisirritating.
All’sforgivenwhenIgethomefromworkonTuesday,though,andfindthisnoteonthecoffeetable.
BADTHINGSREALLYDIDHAPPEN.(Moaskedmetoremindyou.)
Butyougotthroughsaidbadthings,andnowyouarestrongerforit.(Gertytoldmetopasson…thoughherversionhadmoreswearwords.)
You’relovely,andIwillneverhurtyouhowhehurtyou.
(Thatpartwasme.)
Leonxx
“Youaregoingtoloveme,”Rachelsays,standingontiptoestotalktomeovermywallofpottedplants.
Irubmyeyes.I’vejustgotoffthephonetoMartin,whohastakentocallingmeratherthanwalkingdownthecorridor.Isuspecthethinksitmakeshimseemlikehe’sbusyandimportant—fartoobusyandimportantforgettingupoffhisbumandcomingtotalktome.Still,Inowhavethepowertoscreenhiscalls,andifIreallydohavetotalktohimthenIcanmakefacesatRachelatthesametime,sothereareupsides
“Why?Whathaveyoudone?Haveyouboughtmeacastle?”
Shestaresatme.“Itissoweirdyoujustsaidthat.”
Istarebackather.“Why?Haveyouactuallyboughtmeacastle?”
“Obviouslynot,”shesays,recovering,“becauseifIcouldaffordacastleI’dbuyoneformyselffirst,nooffense—butthisdoesinvolveacastle.”
Ireachformymugandswingmylegsoutfromunderthedesk.Thisconversationrequirestea.Wetakeourusualroutetothekitchen:doublingbackpastthecolorroomtoavoidtheheadofEditorialandthemanagingdirector’sdesks,duckingbehindthepillarbythephotocopiersoHanawon’tspotus,hittingthekitchenfromananglethatensureswecanseeifanyseniormembersofstaffarelurkinginthere.
“Go!Go!Talk!”ItellRachelaswestepintothesafetyofthekitchen.
“Well.YouknowthatillustratorIcommissionedforourbricklayer-turned-designer’ssecondbook,who’saLordSomebody?”
“Sure.LordyLordIllustrator,”Isay.ThisishowRachelandIrefertohim
“Well,LordyLordhascomeupwithliterallytheperfectsolutionforKatherin’sphotoshoot.”
MarketingnowwanttoshowcasetheproductsfromKatherin’sbook.Themainstreammediahavebeenreluctanttocomeonboard—theystilldon’tquitegethowYouTuberslikeTashaChai-Latte’swordstranslateintosales—sowe’regoingtofundtheshootand“seeditacrosssocial.”Tashahaspromisedtoshareonherblog,and,withjustoveroneweektogountilpubdate,marketingandPRarehavingperiodicmeltdownsaboutgettingtheshootorganized.
“HeownsaWelshcastle,”Rachelfinishes.“InWales.Thatwecanuse.”
“You’reserious?Forfree?”
“Absolutely.Thisweekend.And,becauseit’ssofartodrive,he’ssaidhe’llputusupforSaturdaynight!Inthecastle!Andthebestpartis,Martincan’tdropmebecauseI’mjustthedesigner…becauseLordyLordIllustratorisinsistingthatIbringKatherin!”Sheclapsherhandswithglee.“Andyou’llbecoming,obviously,becauseKatherinwon’tdoanythingunlessyou’retheretoshieldherfromthehorrorsthatareMartinandHana.Welshcastleweekend!Welshcastleweekend!”
Ishushher.Shehasstartedsingingreallyquiteloudlyanddoingsomesortofcastledance(whichisquitehip-shaky),andthoughwehaveascertainedthattherearenoseniormembersofstaffinthekitchen,youneverknowwhenthey’llshowup.It’slikethatthingpeoplesayaboutrats—there’salwaysonesixfeetawayfromyouatalltimes.
“Nowwejustneedtofindmodelswillingtoworkforfreeintwodays’time,”Rachelsays.“Ialmostdon’twanttotellMartin.Idon’twanthimtostartlikingmeorsomething.It’llthrowoffthewholebalanceoftheoffice.”
“Tellhim!”Isay.“Thisisagreatidea.”
Anditis.ButRachel’sright.Katherinwon’tgowithoutme,andthatmeansawholeweekendawayfromhome.I’dreallyhopedthatIcouldspendsomeoftheweekendwithLeon.Youknow.Naked.
Rachelquirksaneyebrow,clockingmyexpression.“Ah,”shesays.
“No,no,thisisgreat.”Itrytorally.“AweekendawaywithyouandKatherinisgoingtobehilarious.Plus—it’safreecastlevisit!I’mgoingtopretendI’mscoutingoutmyfuturehome.”
Rachelleansbackagainstthefridge,waitingforourteastobrewandwatchingmecarefully.“Youreallylikethisboy,don’tyou?”
Ibusymyselfremovingteabags.Idoreallylikehim,actually.It’skindofscary.Nice-scary,onthewhole,butalsoabitscary-scary.
“Well,bringhim,then,soyoudon’tmissoutonseeinghim.”
Ilookup.“Bringhim?HowamIswingingthatonewiththePowersThatBeinChargeofTransportCosts?”
“Remindmewhatthisstudlookslike?”Rachelsays,shiftingsoIcangetthemilkfromthefridge.“Tall,dark,handsome,withamysterioussexysmile?”
OnlyRachelcouldsay“stud”withoutirony.
“Reckonhe’dmodelforfree?”
Inearlyspitoutmyfirstmouthfuloftea.Rachelgrinsandpassesmeapapertoweltohelpwithlipstickdamage.
“Leon?Model?”
“Whynot?”
“Well…because…”He’dhateit,surely.Or…maybenot,actually—hecaressolittleaboutwhatotherpeoplethink,someonetakingphotosofhimandputtingthemontheInternetprobablywouldn’tbotherhim.
Butifhedidagreetoitthatwouldmeaninvitinghimforaproperweekendawaytogether—ifaslightlyunconventionalone.Andthatdefinitelyseems…serious.Relationship-ish.Thatthoughtmakesmythroatfeeltightandstartsalittleflutterofpanicinmystomach.Iswallowthefeelingaway,irritatedwithmyself.
“Goon.Ask,”Rachelinsists.“I’mbettinghe’llsayyesifitmeansmoretimewithyou.AndI’llsortitwithMartin.OnceIgivehimthiscastle,he’llbekissingmyarsefordays.”
It’sverytrickytoknowexactlyhowtobroachthisconversation.Iinitiallythoughtitwouldcomeupnaturallyonthecall,butoddlyenoughcastlesand/ormodelingdon’tcomeupatall,andnowit’s7:40andI’veonlygotfiveminutesbeforeIknowLeonhastoheadintowork.
I’mnotcoppingoutofasking,though.SincethenightwhenJustinturnedupthingswithLeonhaveshifted;thisismorethansexualtensionandflirtyPost-itnotesnow,andforsomereasonI’mfindingthatslightlyterrifying.WhenIthinkabouthimIgetthisrushofunstoppablesmileyjoychasedwithasortofclaustrophobicpanic.ButIsuspectthat’sprobablyaJustinhang-upandfranklyI’mdonelettingthoseholdmeback.
“So,”Ibegin,pullingmycardigancloserroundme.I’monthebalcony;it’sbecomemyfavoritespotforeveningphonecalls.“You’refreethisweekend,right?”
“Mhmm,”hesays.He’seatinghisbrinneratthehospicewhiletalkingtome,soisevenlesschattythanusual,butIfeelthatwillactuallyworktomyadvantagehere.Ithinkthisproposalneedstobeheardinfullbeforeitcanbediscussed.
“So,IhavetogotoaWelshcastlefortheweekendtotakephotosofknitwearwithKatherin,becauseIamherpersonalcareranddespitethefactthatIampaidapittanceitisassumedthatIwillworkweekendswhentoldtoandthat’sjusthowitis.”
Amoment’ssilence.“Mmkay?”Leonsays.Hedoesn’tsoundannoyed.Which,nowIthinkaboutit,hewouldn’tbe—it’snotlikeI’mblowinghimoff,Ihavetowork.Andifanyoneunderstandsthat,Leondoes.
Irelaxabit.“ButIreallywanttoseeyou,”Isay,beforeIcansecond-guessmyself.“AndRachelhascomeupwithapotentiallyterribleideawhichcouldactuallybereallyfun.”
“Mm?”Leonsays,soundingalittlenervous.He’sheardenoughaboutRacheltoknowthatherideasofteninvolvelargeamountsofalcoholandindiscretion
“HowwouldyoufeelaboutafreeweekendinaWelshcastlewithme…inexchangeformodelingsomeknitwearwhileyou’rethere,togoontheButterfingers’socialmedia?”
Thereisaloudchokingnoiseattheotherendofthephone.
“Youhatetheidea,”Isay,feelingmycheeksgopink.There’salongsilence.Ishouldneverhavesuggestedthis—Leonisallaboutquietnightsinwithwineandgoodconversation,notparadinghimselfaroundinfrontofcameras.
“Idon’thatetheidea,”Leonsays.“Just…absorbingit.”
Iwait,givinghimsometime.Thepauseisexcruciating,andthen,justwhenIthinkIknowexactlyhowthiswholeembarrassingconversationisgoingtoend:
“Allright,then,”Leonsays.
Iblink.Beneaththebalcony,FabioFoxroamsby,andthenapolicecargoesscreamingpast,sirensshrieking.
“Allright,then?”Isay,whenit’squietenoughforhimtohearme.“You’lldoit?”
“Soundslikearelativelysmallpricetopayforaweekendawaywithyou.Plus,theonlypersonwho’dlikelymockmeforitwouldbeRichie,andhedoesn’thaveInternetaccess.”
“You’reserious?”
“Areyoumodeling,too?”
“Oh,MartinprobablythinksI’mtoobig,”Isay,wavinganarm.“I’lljustbetheretoKathperone.”
“WillImeetthisMartinwelikesomuch?Andyou’llbetheretowhat?”
“Kathperone.Sorry,that’sRachel’swordforalltheKatherin-chaperoningIhavetodo.Andyeah,Martinwillbecoordinatingthewholething.He’llbeespeciallyinsufferable,becausehe’llbeincharge.”
“Excellent,”Leonsays.“Icanspendmyposingtimeplottinghisdownfall.”OCTOBER52LEON
So.I’mstandinginbetweentwosuitsofarmor,wearingawoollyjumper,staringintothemiddledistance.
MylifehasgotstrangerwithTiffyinit.Haveneverbeenafraidofastrangelife,butlatelyhavegrownrather…comfortable.Setinmyways,asKayusedtosay.
Can’tstaythatwayforlongwithTiffyaround.
She’shelpingKatherinstyleusmodels.Theothertwoarewaifliketeens;Martinisstaringatthemlikethey’reedible.They’renice,butconversationdriedupafterwecaughtuponthisyear’sBakeOff,andI’mnowjustcountingdowntheminutesuntilTiffynextgetstocomeoverandadjustmywoollyjumperinindiscerniblewaysthat(I’mprettysure)arejustexcusestotouchme.
LordyLordIllustratorflitsaroundset.Heisapleasant,poshgentleman;hiscastleisalittleramshackle,butithasroomsandsuitablyepicviews,soeveryoneseemshappy.
ExceptMartin.IjokedwithTiffyaboutplottinghisdownfall,butwhenhe’snotsalivatingovertheothermodels,helookslikehe’stryingtoworkouttheeasiestwaytopushmeoffthebattlements.Can’tfigureitout.NobodyhereknowsaboutTiffyandme—wethoughtthatwassimplest.Butamwonderingifhe’sworkeditout.Ifhedoesknow,though,whywouldhecareenoughtoglareatmesomuch?
Ah,well.IdoasI’mtoldandstareinslightlydifferentdirection.Amjustgratefultogetawayfromtheflatthisweekend;hadabadfeelingJustinwouldappear.Hewilleventually.Clearlywasn’tfinishedwhenheleftlastSaturday.Andyethe’sbeenquietsince.Noflowers,notexts,noturningupwhereverTiffyisdespitehavingnowayofknowingwhereshemighthappentobe.Suspicious.I’mworriedheisbidinghistimeforsomething.Menlikethatdon’tgoawayafteralittlescare.
Trynottoyawn(havebeenawakeformany,manyhours,withonlysmallnaps).IletmygazedriftinTiffy’sdirection.She’sinwelliesandbluetie-dyedjeans,loungingsidewaysonanenormousGameofThrones–stylechairthatstandsinthecornerofthearmoryandprobablyisn’tintendedforsittingon.Catchaglimpseofsmoothskinassheshifts,hercardiganfallingopen.Swallow.Returngazetoparticularbitofmiddledistanceinsisteduponbyphotographer.
Martin:Allright,let’stakeatwenty-minutebreak!
ImakearunforitbeforehecancommandeermeintodoingsomethingotherthantalkingtoTiffy(sofar,havehadtospendmybreaksmovingancientweaponry,hooveringuperrantstraw,andcheckingtinygrazeonfingerofoneofthewaiflikemodels).
Me,onapproachingTiffy’sthronechair:Whatisthatman’sproblemwithme?
Tiffyshakesherheadandswingsherlegsroundtogetup.
Tiffy:Really,Ihavenoidea.He’sevenmoreofadicktoyouthantherestofus,though,isn’the?
Rachel,inahiss,frombehindme:Run!Flee!Incoming!
Tiffydoesn’tneedtellingtwice.Shegrabsmyhandanddragsmeawayinthedirectionofthefronthall(giganticstonecavernwiththreestaircases).
Katherin,shoutingafterus:Areyouleavingmetodealwithhimonmyown?
Tiffy:Bloodyhell,woman!Justimaginehe’saToryMPintheseventies,allright?
Idon’tturnaroundtoseeKatherin’sreaction,butcanhearRachel’ssnortoflaughter.Tiffypullsmeintoornatenookthatlookslikeitmightoncehavehousedastatue,andkissesmehardonthemouth.
Tiffy:Allthisstaringatyouallday.It’sunbearable.AndIamviciouslyjealousofeveryoneelsegettingtodoit,too.
Feelslikesippingsomethingwarm—spreadsdownwardfrommychest,pullsmylipsintoasmile.Don’tknowquitewhattosay,sokissherinstead.Herbodypressesmineagainstthecoldstonewall,herhandstwiningroundmyneck.
Tiffy,againstmymouth:Nextweekend.
Me:Hmm?
(Ambusykissing.)
Tiffy:It’llbejustthetwoofus.Alone.Inourflat.Andifanyoneinterruptsusordragsyouofftoadministertoaneighteen-year-old’sscratchedfinger,Iwillpersonallyhavethemexecuted.
Pauses.
Tiffy:Sorry.Thiswholecastlesettingisclearlygettingintomyhead.
Pullback,searchherface.HaveInottoldher?Imusthavetoldher.
Tiffy:What?Whatisit?
Me:Richie’strialisonFriday.Sorry.I’mstayingatMam’sfortheweekendafterward—didn’tItellyou?
Feelafamiliarfear.Thiswillbethestartofanunpleasantconversation—haveforgottentotellhersomething,amchangingherplans…
Tiffy:No!Areyouserious?
Stomachwrithes.Reachtopullherinagain,butshebatsmyhandsaway,eyeswide.
Tiffy:Youdidn’ttellme!Leon—Ididn’tknow.I’msosorry,but—Katherin’sbooklaunch…
I’mconfusednow.Whyisshesorry?
Tiffy:Iwantedtobethere,butit’sKatherin’sbooklaunchontheFriday.Ican’tbelievethis.WillyoutellRichietocallwhenI’mintheflat,soIcanapologizeproperly?
Me:Forwhat?
Tiffyrollshereyesimpatiently.
Tiffy:Fornotbeingabletocometohisappeal!
Stareather.Blinkabit.RelaxasIrealizesheisinfactnotangrywithme
Me:Neverwouldexpect…
Tiffy:Areyoujoking?Youdidn’tthinkIwasgoingtobethere?It’sRichie!
Me:Youreallywantedtocome?
Tiffy:Yes,Leon.Ireally,reallywantedtocome.
Pokeherinthecheekwithonefinger.
Tiffy,alreadylaughing:Ow!Whatwasthatfor?
Me:You’rereal?Areal-lifehumanfemale?
Tiffy:Yes,I’mreal,youidiot.
Me:Implausible.Howareyousonice,andalsoverypretty?You’reamyth,no?You’llturnintoanogreatstrokeofmidnight?
Tiffy:Stopit.Bloodyhell,youhavelowstandards!Whyshouldn’tIwanttocometoyourbrother’sappeal?He’smyfriend,too.IactuallyspoketohimbeforeIspoketoyou,I’llhaveyouknow.
Me:I’mgladyoudidn’tmeethimfirst.Heismuchmoreattractivethanme.
Tiffywiggleseyebrows.
Tiffy:Isthatwhyyoudidn’tmentiontheappealdate?
Scufffeet.ThoughtI’dtoldher.Shesqueezesmyarm.
Tiffy:It’sallright,honestly,I’mjustteasing.
Thinkofthemonthsofnotesandleftoverdinners,theneverknowingher.FeelssodifferentnowI’vemether.Can’tbelieveIwastedallthattime—notjustthosemonths,butthetimebeforethat,theyearsofdawdling,settling,waiting.
Me:No,Ishould’vetoldyou.Weshouldgetbetteratthis.Wecan’tkeeprelyingonsnatchingdaystogetherasandwhen.Oroncollidingbyaccident.
Ipause,testingathought.Couldswitchtotheoccasionaldayshift?Stayintheflatonenightaweek?OpenmymouthtosuggestitbutTiffy’seyeshavegonewideandserious,almostnervous,andIfreeze,suddenlysureit’sthewrongthingtosay.Then,afteramoment:
Tiffy,brightly:Howaboutacalendaronthefridge?
Right.That’sprobablymoreappropriate—it’searlydays.Ambeingfartookeen.
GladIdidn’tsayanythingnow.53TIFFY
Istareupattheverydistant,veryspiderwebbyceiling.It’sabsolutelybloodyfreezinginhere,evenunderaduvetandthreeblankets,withRachel’sbodyheattotheleftofmelikeaperson-shapedradiator.
Todayhasbeenanextremelyfrustratingday.It’sunusualyougettospendanentireeighthoursstaringatthepersonyoufancy.Ifwe’rehonest,mostofmydayhasbeenspentfantasizingaboutalloftheotherpeopleinthiscastlebeingvaporized,leavingjustmeandLeon,naked(thevaporizeralsotookourclothes),withmanyexcitingplacestohavesexin.
I’mstillclearlyamessaboutJustin,andasthingsprogresswithLeonIcanfeelnice-scarytiltingtowardscary-scaryalittlemoreoften.WhenLeonstartedtalkingaboutmakingmoretimeforeachother,forinstance,thepanickytrappedfeelingtightenedrightinagain.Butbeneaththat,whenI’mthinkingclearly,IhavesuchagoodfeelingaboutLeon.He’swheremymindgoeswhenI’mfeelingmybest.HemakesmeevenmoredeterminedtogetoverwhathappenedwithJustinbecauseIdon’twanttobecarryingtheweightofthatwithLeon.Iwanttobelightandfootlooseandfancy-free.Andnaked.
“Stopit,”Rachelmumblesintoherpillow.
“Stopwhat?”Ihadn’trealizedshewasawake,orI’dhavehadthatwholelittlethoughtepisodeoutloud.
“Yoursexualfrustrationismakingmetense,”Rachelsays,turningoveranddraggingasmuchoftheduvetaspossiblewithher.
Iclingonandyankitbackaninchortwo.“I’mnotfrustrated.”
“Please.Ibetyou’vejustbeenwaitinguntilIgotosleepsoyoucanhumpmyleg.”
Ipokeherwithaverycoldfoot.Sheyelps.
“Mysexualfrustrationcannotbestoppingyousleeping,”Isay,concedingthepoint.“Ifthatwaspossible,nobodywouldeverhavebeenabletosleepinVictoriantimes.”
Sheturnsovertosquintatme.“You’reweird,”shesays,rollingawayagain.“Gosneakoutandfindyourboyfriend.”
“He’snotmyboyfriend,”Isayautomatically,thewayyoulearntofromtheageofeight.
“Yourspecialfriend.Yourbeau.Yoursqueeze.Your—”
“I’mgoing,”Ihissather,throwingbacktheduvet.
Hanaisgentlysnoringontheotherbed.Sheactuallylookslikequiteanicepersonwhileshe’ssleeping,butthenit’shardtolookbitchywhenyou’redroolingintoyourpillow.
LeonandIhavecomeupwithaplantoseeeachothertonight.MartinhasforsomeirritatingreasonmovedLeonintoadoubleroom,sharingwiththecameraman,whichmeanswecan’tsneakintobedtogether.But,withHanaandthecameramanfastasleep,there’snoreasonwhywecan’tslipoutandgoforacastleadventure.Theideawasthatwe’deachgogetsomerestandthenmeetatthreeinthemorning,butI’vebeentooexcitedtosleep.Still,just-woken-upisnowherenearasgoodalookasHollywoodwouldhaveyoubelieve,soit’sprobablyagoodjobI’vebeenlyinghereawakeforhoursthinkinginappropriatethoughts.
Ihadn’tcountedonitbeingthisbloodyfreezing,though.I’dimaginedI’dwearjustmyunderwearandadressinggown—Ibroughtsexynegligee-styleunderwearandeverything—butrightnowI’minfleecepajamabottoms,woollysocks,andthreejumpers,andthere’snowayI’mtakingtheseoff.SoIjustslickonsomelipgloss,givemyhairaruffle,andeasethedooropen.
Itcreakssomuchitbordersoncliché,butHanadoesn’twake.Islipoutofthedoorassoonasit’sjustaboutwideenough,andpullitclosedbehindme,wincingatallthegroaningnoises.
LeonandIaremeetinginthekitchen,becauseifanyonefindsustherewe’vegotagoodexcuse(giventhenumberofbiscuitsIconsumeatwork,nobodywillhavetroublebelievingthatIneedamidnightsnack).Ipowerwalkdownthecarpetedhall,keepingacloseeyeontheroomsthatlinethecorridorincaseanyoneelseisupandabouttospotme.
Nobody.Thepowerwalkingiswarmingmeupabit,soItakethestairsatajog,too,andbythetimeIarriveinthekitchenI’mslightlyoutofbreath.
Thekitchenistheonlybitofthecastlethatlooksloved.It’sbeenredonerecently,and,tomyabsolutedelight,thereisanenormousAgaatthefarend.Iplastermybodyagainstitlikeagirlwho’sfoundaformerOneDirectionmemberinanightclubanddoesn’tplanonleavingwithouthim.
“ShouldIbefeelingthisjealous?”Leonsaysfrombehindme.
Ilookovermyshoulder.He’sstoodinthedoorway,hishairfreshlysmoothedback,inalooseT-shirtandjoggingbottoms.
“IfyourbodyheatishigherthanthisAga’stemperature,I’myours,”Itellhim,turningtowarmmybumandthebackofmylegs,andtogetabetterlookathim.
Heclosesthespacebetweenus,casual,unhurried.There’sthisunderstatedconfidencetohimsometimes—hedoesn’tshowitmuchbutwhenhedoesit’simpossiblysexy.HekissesmeandIgetevenwarmer.
“Didyouhaveanytroublesneakingout?”Iask,breakingawaytopushmyhairbackovermyshoulders.
“Larrythecameramanisaveryheavysleeper,”Leonsays,findingmymouthagainandkissingmeslowly.
Myheartisalreadythundering.Ifeelalittledizzy,likeallthebloodthatusuallyhangsaroundinmyheadhasdecidedithasotherplacestobe.Ourlipsbarelyparting,LeonliftsmeupsoI’msittingontheAgawarmingplate,andIwrapmylegsaroundhim,linkingmyanklesbehindhisbody.Hepressesagainstme.
IbecomegraduallyawareoftheheatfromtheAgaworkingitswaythroughmyflannelpajamabottomsandbeginningtoscaldmybum.
“Ahh.Burny,”Isay,pushingforwardsoLeontakesmyweight.Heliftsmeup,koala-bearstyle,andmovesmetothesideboardinstead,hislipsslowlybeginningtotracepatternsalloverme—neckandchest,lipsagain,neck,collarbone,lips.Myheadisstartingtospin;I’mbarelythinking.Hishandsfindthenarrowopeningbetweenmyjumpersandpajamabottoms,andthenhishandsareonmyskin,andbarelythinkingbecomesnotthinkingatall.
“Isitbadtohavesexonasurfacewhereotherpeoplepreparefood?”Leonasks,pullingaway,breathless.
“No!It’sjust…clean!Hygienic,”Isay,pullinghimbacktome.
“Good,”hesays,andsuddenlyallmyjumpersareoffinonego.I’mnotcoldatallanylonger.Infact,Icoulddowithwearingfewerclothes.Whythehelldidn’tIwearthenegligee?
IyankoffLeon’sT-shirtandtugatthewaistbandofhisjoggingbottomsuntilheslipsthoseoff,too.AsIslidemybodyupagainsthishepausesforamoment.
“OK?”heaskshoarsely.Icanseethecontrolhe’stakingtoaskthequestion;Ianswerwithanotherkiss.“Yes?”hesays,mouthagainstmine.“ThismeansOK?”
“Yes.Nowstoptalking,”Itellhim,andhedoesashe’stold.
We’resoclose.I’malmostnaked,he’salmostnaked,myheadisfullofLeon.Thisisit.It’shappening.Myinner,sexuallyfrustratedVictorianalmostweepswithgratitudeasLeonpullsmetowardhimbythehipssoI’mpressedupagainsthim,hisbodybackbetweenmylegs.
Andthen,thereitis.Theremembering.
Istiffen.Hedoesn’tclockitatfirst,andforthreedeeplyhorriblesecondshishandsarestillmovingovermybody,hislipsstillpressedagainstmine.It’sveryhardtodescribethisfeeling.Panic,perhaps,butI’mcompletelyimmobileandfeelstrangelypassive.I’mfrozen,trapped,andhavetheoddsensationthatsomecrucialpartofmehasdetacheditself.
Leon’shandsslow,comingtoahaltoneithersideofmyface.Heliftsmyheadgentlytolookathim.
“Ah,”hesays.HedisentangleshimselffrommejustasIbegintoshakeallover.
Ican’tseemtogetthatpartofmeback.Idon’tknowwherethisfeelingcamefrom—onemomentIwasabouttohavethesexI’dbeenfantasizingoverallweek,andthenextIwas…rememberingsomething.Abodythatwasn’tLeon’s,handsthatweredoingthesamethingbutIdidn’twantthemthere.
“Youwantspace,orahug?”heaskssimply,standingafootawayfrommenow
“Hug,”Imanage.
Hegathersmetohim,reachingfortheheapofjumpersonthecounterashedoesso.Hedrapesoneovermyshoulderandcuddlesmeclose,myheadpressedagainsthischest.Theonlygiveawayofhowfrustratedhemustbefeelingisthethud-thudofhisheartbeatinmyear.
“I’msorry,”Imutterintohischest
“Younevershouldbethat,”hesays.“Notsorry.OK?”
Ismileshakily,pressingmylipstohisskin.“OK.”54LEON
Amnotusuallyanangryperson.Amgenerallymild-manneredandhardtorile.It’salwaysmewhostopsRichiefighting(usuallyonbehalfofawoman,whomayormaynotneedanyassistance).Butnowsomethingprimalseemstobehappening,andit’stakingenormousefforttokeepmybodyrelaxedandmovementsgentle.HostilepostureandtensenesswillnothelpTiffy.
ButIwanttohurthim.Really.Don’tknowwhathedidtoTiffy,whatinparticulartriggeredherthistime,butwhateveritwas,ithashurthersomuchshe’stremblingalloverlikeakittencomeinfromthecold.
Shesurfaces,wipingherface.
Tiffy:Sorr—Um.Imean.Hi.
Me:Hi.Youwantatea?
Shenods.Don’twanttoletgoofher,butholdingonaftershe’sexpectingmetoisprobablyabadplan.Dressagainandheadtokettle.
Tiffy:Thatwas…
Wait.Kettlebeginstoboil,justaquietrumble.
Tiffy:Thatwasreallyhorrible.Idon’tevenknowwhathappened.
Me:Wasitanewmemory?Orsomethingyou’vealreadytalkedthroughwiththecounselor?
Sheshakesherhead,frowning.
Tiffy:Itwasn’tlikeamemory,it’snotlikesomethingcameintomymind’seye…
Me:Morelikemusclememory?
Shelooksup.
Tiffy:Yeah.Exactly.
Pourtheteas.Openfridgeformilkandpause.It’sfilledwithtraysoflittlepinkcupcakesicedwithFandJ
Tiffypadsovertojoinme,slidinganarmaroundmywaist.
Tiffy:Ooh.Thesemustbefortheweddinghappeningafterweleave.
Me:Howcloselydoyouthinktheypaidattentiontothequantity?
Tiffylaughs.Notquiteafulllaugh,andalittlewetwithtears,butstillgood.
Tiffy:Probablyvery.Althoughtherearesomany.
Me:Toomany.I’destimate…threehundred.
Tiffy:Nobodyinvitesthreehundredpeopletotheirwedding.Unlessthey’rereallyfamous,orIndian.
Me:IsitafamousIndianperson’swedding?
Tiffy:LordyLordIllustratordidn’texplicitlysayso.
PinchtwocupcakesandgiveonetoTiffy.Hereyesarestillalittlepinkfromcrying,butshe’ssmilingnow,andeatsthecupcakeinalmostonebite.Suspectsheneedssugar.
Weeatinsilenceforawhile,movingtoleanagainstAgasidebyside.
Tiffy:So…inyourprofessionalopinion…
Me:Asapalliativecarenurse?
Tiffy:Asavaguelymedicalperson…
Oh,no.Theseconversationsnevergowell.Peoplealwaysassumetheyteachusallthemedicineintheworldatnursingschool,andthatwerememberitfiveyearslater.
Tiffy:AmIgoingtofreakoutlikethiseverytimewe’reabouttohavesex?Becausethatisliterallythemostdepressingthoughtever.
Me,carefully:Isuspectnot.Mayjusttakesometimetoworkouttriggersandhowtoavoidthemuntilyoufeelsafer
Shelooksatmesharply.
Tiffy:I’mnot…Idon’twantyoutothink…henever,youknow.Hurtme.
Wouldliketodisputethat.Seemshehashurtherratheralot.Butit’sdefinitelynotmyplace,soIjustgoandfetchheranothercupcakeandholditupforhertobite.
Me:I’mnotpresuminganything.Justwantyoutofeelbetter.
Tiffystaresatme,then,fromnowhere,pokesmeinthecheek.
Me,withayelp:Hey!
Cheek-pokeisalotmorestartlingthanI’drealizedwhenIdidittoherearlier.
Tiffy:You’renotreal,areyou?You’reimplausiblynice.
Me:Amnot.I’magrumpyoldmanwhodislikesmostpeople.
Tiffy:Most?
Me:Thereareasmallnumberofexceptions.
Tiffy:Howdoyouchoosethem?Theexceptions?
Shrug,uncomfortable.
Tiffy:Really.Seriously.Whyme?
Me:Um.Well.Isuppose…therearesomepeopleIjustfeelcomfortablewith.Notmany.ButyouwereonebeforeIevenmetyou.
Tiffylooksatme,headtilted,eyesholdingmygazeforsolongItwistonthespot,itchingtodropthesubject.Eventuallysheleansforwardandkissesmeslowly,tastinglikeicing.
Tiffy:I’llbeworththewait.You’llsee.
AsifI’deverdoubtedit.55TIFFY
Ileanbackinmydeskchair,takingmyeyesoffthescreen.I’vebeenstaringatitforwaytoolong—thecastleknitwearphotoshavebeenpickeduponDailyMail’s“Femail,”andit’sweird.Katherinisofficiallyacelebrity.Ican’tbelievehowquicklythishashappened,andalsocan’tstopreadingcommentsfromotherwomenabouthowhotLeonisinthosephotos.Iobviouslyalreadyknowhe’shot,butstill,it’ssimultaneouslyhorribleandkindofgoodtogetexternalvalidation.
Iwonderhowhe’sfeelingaboutit.I’mhopinghe’stootechnologicallyincapabletoscrolltothecommentssectionontheDailyMail,becausesomeofthecommentsarereallyquiteX-rated.There’sobviouslyafewracistonesinthereaswell,thisbeingacommentssectionontheInternet,andeverythingbrieflydescendsintoanargumentaboutglobalwarmingbeingaliberalistconspiracy,andbeforeIknowitIhavecircledmywayintotheplugholeoftheInternetandwastedhalfanhourfollowingpeople’soutlandishopinionsonwhetherTrumpisaneo-NaziandwhetherLeon’searsaretoobig.
Igotocounselingafterwork.AsperusualLuciesitsinborderlineuncomfortablesilenceforawhile,andthen,seeminglyspontaneously,Istarttellingherawful,painfulstuffImostlycan’tevenbeartothinkabout.HowcleverlyJustinmademebelieveIhadabadmemory,sohecouldalwayssayI’dmisrememberedthings.HowbrazenlyheconvincedmeI’dthrownabunchofclothesoutwhenreallyhe’djustbeenchuckingstuffhedidn’tlikemewearingtothebackofthewardrobe.
HowsubtlyheturnedsexintosomethingIowedhim,evenwhenhe’dmademesosadIcouldn’tthinkstraight.
It’sallbusinessasusualforLucie,though.Shejustnods.Ortiltsherhead.Orsometimes—inextremecases,whenI’vesaidsomethingoutloudthatalmostphysicallyhurtstoutter—shesaysasupportive“yes.”
ThistimesheasksmeattheendofthesessionhowIthinkI’mgettingon.Istartwiththeusualstuff—“oh,thishasbeensogreat,honestly,thankssomuch”—likewhenthehairdresserasksifyoulikethecutthey’vejustgivenyou.ButLuciejuststaresatmeforawhilesothenIthink,howactuallyamIgettingon?AcoupleofmonthsagoIcouldn’tfacesayingnotoJustintakingmeoutforadrink.Iwasexpendingmostofmymentalenergykeepingmemoriesatbay.Iwasn’tevenwillingtoacknowledgethathe’dabusedme.Andnow,hereIam,talkingtoSomeoneWhoIsn’tMoabouthowwhathappenedwithJustinwasn’tmyfault,andactuallybelievingit.
IlistentoalotofKellyClarksononmywayhomeonthetube.Facingmyreflectionintheglass,Ithrowmyshouldersbackandmeetmyowngaze,justlikethatfirsttrainjourneyfromJustin’splacetotheflat.Yes,I’malittleteary-eyedfromcounseling,butthistimeI’mnotwearingsunglasses.
Youknowwhat?Iamextremelyproudofmyself.
ThequestionofhowLeonfeelsaboutthephotosin“Femail”isansweredonmyreturntotheflat.Hehasleftthisnoteformeonthefridge:
Didn’tcookdinner.Toofamousforthatnow.
(i.e.,gotDeliverootocelebrateKatherin’s/yoursuccess.DeliciousThaifoodinfridgeforyou.)x
Well,itseemshe’snotletitgettohishead,sothat’ssomething.IsticktheThaifoodinthemicrowave,hummingStronger(WhatDoesn’tKillYou),andreachforapenwhileitwhirs.Leon’sworkinguntilWednesday,thenofftohismum’s;Iwon’tseehiminpersonbeforeRichie’strialonFriday.He’skeepingbusy—he’soffonhislastJohnnyWhitevisittomorrowmorning,planningontakingtheearliesttrainhecantoCardiffandgettingbackintimeforanapbeforehe’sbacktowork.I’dpointoutthatthat’snotenoughsleepforhimtofunctionon,butIcantellhe’snotsleepingwellevenwhenhe’shere,somaybeit’sbetterforhimtobeoutandabout.He’sfinallyfinishedTheBellJar,asuresignhe’sawakeinthedaytime,andseemstobesurvivingoncaffeinemostly—atthispointinthemonthwearenotusuallyrunningthislowoninstantcoffee.
Ikeepitbrief.
I’mgladyou’vetakenwelltoyournewlifeofcelebrity.I,ontheotherhand,amnowembarrassinglyjealousofaboutahundredwomenontheInternetwhothinkyouare“soyummylol,”andhavedecidedImuchpreferitwhenit’sjustmethatgetstostareatyou.
I’mcrossingmyfingersthatJohnnyWhitetheEighthisTheOne!xx
WhenthereplycomesthenexteveningIcantellLeon’sexhausted.It’ssomethingaboutthehandwriting—it’slooserthanusual,likehecouldn’tmustertheenergytoholdthepentight.
JohnnyWhitetheEighthisnotourguy.Isactuallyveryunpleasantandhomophobic.Alsomademeeatalotofout-of-datefigrolls.
Richiesayshi.He’sOK.Holdingup.x
Hmm.Richiemaybeholdingup,butI’mnotconvincedthatLeonis.56LEON
Lateforwork.TalkedtoRichiefortwentyminuteshecouldn’treallyaffordaboutPTSD.It’sthefirsttimeinalongtimethatI’vetalkedtoRichieaboutsomethingotherthanthecase,whichisstrangeasappealisinthreedays’time.ThinkGertyhasspokentohimsooftenheactuallywantedachangeoftopic.
Askedhimaboutrestrainingorders,too.Hewasclearonthesubject:It’sforTiffytodecide.Wouldbebadideaformetoseemtobeimposingdecisionsonher—Imustlethercometothatconclusiononherown.Stillhatethattheexknowswhereshelives,butmustrememberitisnotmyplacetosay.
Latelatenow.Buttonupshirtonwayoutofbuilding.I’manexpertatefficientflatdeparture.It’sallintheshaved-offsecondsandtheforgoingofbrinner,whichwillcometohauntmeatelevenp.m.whendaynurseshaveeatenallthebiscuits.
StrangemanfromFlat5:Leon!
Lookupasbuildingdoorslamsshutbehindme.It’sstrangemanfromFlat5,theonewho(accordingtoTiffy)doesenergeticaerobicsatsevena.m.sharp,andaccumulatesbananacratesinhisparkingspace.Surprisedtodiscoverheknowsmyname.
Me:Hi?
StrangemanfromFlat5:Ineverbelievedyouwereanurse!
Me:Right.Amrunninglateforwork,so—
StrangemanfromFlat5waveshismobilephoneatme,likeIshouldbeabletodiscernwhatisonscreen.
Strangeman,triumphantly:You’reafamousperson!
Me:Pardon?
Strangeman:You’reintheDailyMail!Wearingaponceyfamous-personjumper!
Me:Ponceyisnolongerapoliticallycorrectterm,strangemanfromFlat5.Gottogo.Enjoytherestof“Femail!”
Scarperasquicklyaspossible.Decide,onreflection,nottopursuelifeofcelebrity.
Mr.Priorisawakeforlongenoughtoseethephotos.He’lldropoffagainsoon,butIknowthiswillamusehim,somakesuretotaketheopportunityandgetpicturesuponphonescreen.
Hmm.Fourteen-thousandlikesonaphotoofmestaringintodistanceinablackT-shirtandenormouscrochetedscarf.Odd.
Mr.Prior:Verydashing,Leon!
Me:Why,thankyou.
Mr.Prior:Now,amIrightthatacertainfineyoungladypersuadedyoutohumiliateyourselfinthisfashion?
Me:Eh.Um.ItwasTiffy’sidea.
Mr.Prior:Ah,theflatmate.And…thegirlfriend?
Me:No,no,not“girlfriend.”Notyet
Mr.Prior:No?LastwespokeIgottheimpressionyouwererathersmittenwitheachother.
CheckMr.Prior’schart,keepingfacecarefullyblank.Derangedliverfunctiontests.Notgood.Tobeexpected,butstill,notgood.
Me:I’m…yes.I’mthat.Justdon’twanttorushthings.Idon’tthinkshedoes,either.
Mr.Priorfrowns.Hislittlebeadyeyesalmostdisappearunderthefoldsofhiseyebrows.
Mr.Prior:MayIofferyousomeadvice,Leon?
Inod.
Mr.Prior:Don’tletyournatural…reticenceholdyouback.Makeitclearhowyoufeelabouther.Afterall,you’resomethingofaclosedbook,Leon.
Me:Closedbook?
NoticethatMr.Prior’shandstrembleashesmoothsdownthebedspread,andtrynottothinkaboutprognostics.
Mr.Prior:Quiet.Brooding.I’msureshefindsitveryattractive,butdon’tletitbeabarrierbetweenyou.Ileftittoolongtotellmy—Ileftthingstoolate,andnowIwishI’djustsaidwhatIwantedwhenIstillcould.Thinkwhatmylifecouldhavebeen.NotthatI’mnothappywithmylot,but…youdowasteanawfullotoftimewhenyou’reyoung.
Can’tdoanythingaroundherewithoutsomeoneimpartingwisdominyourdirection.ButMr.Priorhasmademealittlenervous.FeltafterWalesIshouldn’trushthingswithTiffy.ButmaybeI’mholdingbacktoomuch.Itendto,apparently.WishI’dmentionedaboutchangingtodayshiftsnow.Still,IdidgotoaWelshcastleforher,andposeagainstwindswepttreeinlargecardigan.Surelythatmakesmyfeelingsclear?
Richie:You’renotanaturallyopenperson.
Me:Iam!Iam…I’mforthcoming.Expressive.Anopenbook.
Richie:You’renotbadattheoldtalking-about-feelingswithme,butthatdoesn’tcount,andit’susuallybecauseIdoitfirst.Youshouldtakealeaffrommybook,bro.I’veneverhadanytimeforthewholehard-to-getthing.Easy-to-getandput-it-on-the-linehasalwaysworkedforme.
Feelabitwrong-footed.WasfeelinggoodabouteverythingwithTiffy,andamanxiousnow.Shouldn’thavetoldRichiewhatMr.Priorsaid—should’veknownwhathisopinionwouldbe.Richiewaswritinglovesongstoserenadegirlsinschoolcorridorswhenhewastenyearsold.
Me:WhatamImeanttodo,then?
Richie:Fuckinghell,man,justtellheryoulikeherandyouwanttomakethingsofficial.Youclearlydo,soitcan’tbethathard.Ihavetogo.Gerty’sgotmetalkingherthroughthetenminutesafterleavingtheclubagain,seriously,I’mnotsurethatwomanishuman.
Me:Thatwomanis—
Richie:Don’tworry,don’tworry.Iwon’thearawordagainsther.Iwasgoingtosaysuperhuman.
Me:Good.
Richie:Hot,too.
Me:Don’tyoueven—
Richiebelly-laughs.Ifindmyselfgrinning;Icanneverresistsmilingwithhimwhenhelaughslikethat.
Richie:I’llbegood,I’llbegood.Butifshegetsmeoutofhere,I’mbuyingherdinner.Oraskingforherhandinmarriage,maybe.
Smilefadesalittle.Ifeelatwingeofworry.TheappealisreallyhappeningTwodaystogo.Haven’tevenletmyselfimaginescenariowhereRichieisfoundnotguilty,butmybrainkeepsgoingthereagainstmywill,playingoutthescene.BringinghimhometositonTiffy’spaisleybeanbag,drinkbeers,bemylittlebrotheragain.
Can’tfindthewordsforwhatIwanttotellhim.Don’tgetyourhopesup?Butofcoursehewill—Ihave,too.That’sthewholepoint.So…don’tletitgettoyouifitdoesn’twork?Alsoridiculous.Nogoodwordsforthemagnitudeoftheproblem.
Me:SeeyouFriday.
Richie:That’stheopenbookIknowandlove.SeeyouFriday,bro.57TIFFY
It’sfirstthingonFriday.TheDay.
Leonisathismum’splace—they’regoingtocourttogether.RachelandMoareatmine.Mo’staggingalongtothebooklaunch—giveneverythingI’vedoneforthisbook,evenMartincouldnotdenymeaplus-one.
GertypopsinwithMowhenhearrivesforaquick,cursoryhugandaveryhurriedchataboutRichie’scase.Sheisalreadydressedinherridiculouslawyerwig,likeshe’sdoinganimpressionofaneighteenth-centurypainting.
Moisinhistux,lookingadorable.IloveitwhenModressesupsmartly.It’slikewhenyouseephotosofpuppiesdressedupashumans.Heisvisiblyuncomfortable,andIcantellhe’sitchingtoatleasttakeoffhisshoes,butifhesomuchasreachesforhisshoelacesthenGertysnarlsathimandhewithdraws,whimpering.WhenGertyleaves,helooksvisiblyrelieved.
“Justsoyouknow,MoandGertyaretotallyshagging,”Racheltellsme,passingmemyhairbrush.
Istareatherinthemirror.(Therearenowherenearenoughmirrorsinthisflat.WeshouldhavegotreadyatRachel’s,whichhasanentirewallofmirroredcupboardsinthebedroomforwhatIsuspecttobesexualreasons,butsherefusestoletGertyinherflatsinceshemadeacommentabouthowmessyitwasatRachel’sbirthdayparty.)
“MoandGertyarenotshagging,”Isay,comingtomysensesandsnatchingthehairbrush.I’mattemptingtotamemymaneintoasleekupdofromoneofourDIYhairstylingbooks.Theauthorpromisedmethatitwaseasy,butI’vebeenonsteptwoforfifteenminutes.Therearetwenty-twostepsintotalandhalfanhourleftontheclock.
“Theyare,”Rachelsaysmatter-of-factly.“YouknowIcanalwaystell.”
IjustaboutrefrainfrominformingRachelthatGertyalsothinksshecan“alwaystell”whenafriendissleepingwithsomeone.Idon’twantthistobecomeacompetition,especiallyasI’vestillnothadsexwithLeon.
“Theylivetogether,”Isay,throughamouthfulofhairpins.“They’remorecomfortablewitheachotherthantheyusedtobe.”
“Youonlygetthatcomfortableifyougetnakedtogether,”Rachelinsists.
“That’sweirdandgross.Anyway,I’mprettysureMoisasexual.”
Belatedly,Icheckthatthebathroomdoorisclosed.Moisinthelivingroom.Hehasspentthelasthourlookingeitherpatientorbored,dependingonwhetherhethinkswe’relooking.
“Youwanttothinkthat,becauseofthewholehe’s-like-a-brother-to-youthing.Buthe’sdefinitelynotasexual.HecameontomyfriendKellyatapartylastsummer.”
“Icannothandlethesesortsofrevelationsrightnow!”Isay,spittingoutthehairpins.Iputthembetweenmyteethwaytooearly.They’reforstepfour,andstepthreestillhasmeflummoxed.
“Comehere,”Rachelsays,andIbreatheout.Thankgod.
“Youreallyleftmehangingthere,”Itellher,asshetakesthehairbrush,smoothsoutthedamageIhavedonesofar,andflicksthroughtheupdoinstructionswithonehand.
“Howelsewillyoueverlearn?”shesays.
It’stena.m.It’sweirdbeinginformaldressthisearlyinthemorning.ForsomereasonIamincrediblyparanoidaboutdrippingteadownthefrontofmyfancynewdress,thoughI’mprettysureifIwasdrinkingamartiniIwouldn’thavethesameanxieties.It’sjustweirddrinkingfromamugwhilewearingsilk.
Rachelhasoutdoneherself—myhairisallsmoothandshiny,knottedatthenapeofmyneckinaseriesofmysteriousswirlsjustlikeinthepicture.Theside-effect,though,isthatacopiousamountofmychestisonshow.WhenItriedthisdressonIhadmyhairdown—Ididn’treallynoticequitehowmuchskintheoff-the-shouldersleevesandstructuredsweetheartnecklineleaveexposed.Ohwell.Thisismynight,too—I’mtheacquiringeditor.I’mperfectlyentitledtodressinappropriately.
MyalarmbeepstoremindmetocheckinonKatherin.Icallher,tryingnottonoticethatshe’shigheruponmymost-calledlistthanmyownmother.
“Areyouready?”Iaskassoonasshepicksup.
“Almost!”shetrills.“Justmadeaquickadjustmenttotheoutfit,and—”
“Whatquickadjustment?”Iask,suspicious.
“Oh,wellwhenItrieditonagainIrealizedhowdourandboringthisdressthatyourPRpeoplepickedmakesmelookunderthebrightlightsoftheday,”shesays,“soI’vetweakedthehemlineandtheneckline.”
Iopenmymouthtotellheroff,andthencloseitagain.Firstly,thedamageisclearlyalreadydone—ifshe’sre-hemmed,thedressisunsavable.Andsecondly,myrisquédresschoicewilllookmuchbetternexttosomeoneelsewhohasalsodecidedtoshowanunprofessionalamountofskin
“Fine.We’llpickyouupathalfpast.”
“Toodles!”shesays,hopefullyironically,thoughI’mnotsure.
IcheckthetimeasIhangup.Tenminutestospare.(IhadtofactorintimeforRacheltogetready,whichalwaystakesatleast50percentlongerthanyouthinkitwill.She’llblameitonmeformakingherdomyhair,obviously,butit’sreallybecausesheistheself-proclaimedqueenofcontouringandspendsatleastfortyminutessubtlyalteringtheshapeofherfacebeforesheevengetsstartedonhereyesandlips.)
I’mjustabouttotextLeonandseehowheiswhentheflatphonerings.
“Whatthefuckisthat?”shoutsRachelfromthebathroom.
“It’sourlandline!”Iyell,alreadymakingadashforthesound(itseemstobecomingfromthevicinityofthefridge).Dashingisnoteasyinthisoutfit—there’salotofbillowingintheskirtregion,andatleasttworiskymomentswheremybarefootcatchesinthetulleasIgo.Iwinceasityanksatmybadankle.Icanwalkonitnow,butit’snotenjoyingthisrunningthing.Notthatmygoodanklelikesrunning,either.
“It’syourwhat?”Moasks,soundingamused.
“Ourlandline,”Irepeat,fumblingaroundwiththeunbelievablylargequantityofthingsonourkitchensurfaces.
“I’msorry,youdidn’ttellmethiswasthe1990s,”callsRachel,justasIfindthephone.
“Hello?”
“Tiffy?”
Ifrown.“Richie?Areyouallright?”
“I’llbehonestwithyou,Tiffy,”hesays,“I’mshittingmyself.Notliterally.Thoughitmightbeamatteroftime.”
“Whoeveritis,Ihopethey’reenjoyingthelatestBlurCD,”Rachelcalls.
“Hangon.”Iheadforthebedroomandclosethedoorfirmlybehindme.Withdifficulty,IrearrangemyskirtsothatIcanperchontheedgeofthebedwithoutanythingripping.“Shouldn’tyoube,Idon’tknow,inavanorsomething?Howareyoucallingme?Theyhaverememberedyourcourtdate,right?”
I’veheardenoughhorrorstoriesfromGertyandLeonnowtoknowthatprisonersdon’talwaysmakeittocourtwhentheyshould,thankstothevariousprison-relatedbureaucraciesthatarerequiredtooverlapinthissituation.TheymovedRichiedowntoa(evengrimmer)Londonprisonafewdaysagosohe’dbeintheareaforthetrial,butthere’sstillthejourneyfromtheprisontothecourthouse.Ifeelphysicallysickatthethoughtofallthispreparationgoingtowastebecausesomeoneforgottocallsomeoneelseabouttransportation.
“No,no,I’vedonethevanbit,”Richiesays.“Barreloflaughs,letmetellyou.Somehowspentfivehoursinthere,thoughIcouldhaveswornweweren’tmovingforhalfofit.No,I’matthecourthousenow,inaholdingcell.I’mnotreallyallowedaphonecall,buttheguardisanIrishlady,andshesaysIremindherofherson.AndthatIlookterrible.Shetoldmetocallmygirlfriend,butIdon’thaveone,soIthoughtI’dcallyou,sinceyou’reLeon’sgirlfriendandthat’scloseenough.ItwasthatorRitafromschool,whoIdon’tthinkIevertechnicallybrokeupwith.”
“You’rerambling,Richie,”Itellhim.“What’sthematter?Isitnerves?”
“‘Nerves’makesmesoundlikeI’manoldlady.It’sterror.”
“Thatdoessoundbetter.Morehorrormovie.Lessfaintingbecauseyourcorsetistootight.”
“Exactly.”
“IsGertythere?”
“Ican’tseeheryet.She’sbusydoingwhateverlawyersdo,anyway.I’monmyownnow.”Histoneislightandself-deprecating,asalways,butyoudon’thavetolistenhardtohearthetremorinhisvoice.
“Youarenotonyourown,”Itellhimfirmly.“Youhaveallofus.Andremember—whenwefirstspokeyoutoldmeyou’recomingtotermswithbeinginprison.Well,that’stheworst-casescenariohere.Moreofwhatyouhavealreadycopedwith.”
“WhatifIvomitinthecourtroom?”
“Thensomeonewillcleartheroomandcallacleaner,andyou’llpickupwhereyouleftoff.It’snotexactlygoingtomakethejudgesthinkyou’reanarmedrobber,isit?”
Hegivesastrangledversionofachuckle.Foramomentthereissilence.
“Idon’twanttoletLeondown,”hesays.“He’sgothishopesupsohigh.Idon’twant—Ican’tbeartolethimdownagain.Lasttimewastheworstthing.Honestly,itwastheworst.Seeinghisface.”
“Youhaveneverlethimdown,”Isay.Myheartisthumping.Thisisimportant.“Heknowsyoudidn’tdoit.The…thesystemletyoubothdown.”
“Ishouldhavejusttakenit.Servedmysentenceandgotout,andlethimgetonwithhislifeinthemeantime.Allthis—it’sonlygoingtomakeeverythingworseforhim.”
“Leonwasgoingtofightnomatterwhatyoudid,”Isay.“Hewasneverjustgoingtolethislittlebrothergetpickedon.Ifyou’dgivenup,thatwouldhavehurthim.”
Hetakesabig,judderingbreath,andletsitoutagain.
“That’sgood,”Isay.“Breathing.Ihearthat’sagoodoneforthosewithdelicatenerves.Haveyougotanysmellingsalts?”
Thatgetsanotherchuckle,alittlelessstrangledthistime.
“Areyoucallingmeapussy?”Richieasks.
“Ifullybelievethatyou’reaverybraveman,”Itellhim.“Butyes.I’mcallingyouapussy.Incasethathelpsyourememberhowbraveyouare.”
“Ah,you’reagoodgirl,Tiffy,”Richiesays.
“I’mnotadog,Richie.And—nowthatyou’rehopefullylessgreen…Canwegobacktohowyoujustsaid‘Leon’sgirlfriend’?”
There’sapause.
“NotLeon’sgirlfriend?”hesays.
“Notyet,”Itellhim.“Well,Imean,we’venotdiscussedthat.We’veonlybeenonafewdates,technically.”
“He’smadaboutyou,”Richiesays.“Hemightnotsayitoutloud,but…”
Ifeelatwingeofanxiety.I’mcrazyaboutLeon,too.Ispendmostofmywakinghoursthinkingabouthim,andafewofthesleepingones,too.But…Idon’tknow.Theideaofhimwantingtobemyboyfriendmakesmefeelsotrapped
Iadjustmydress,wonderingifI’mtheonehavingtheproblemwithcorsetsandnerves.IreallylikeLeon.Thisisridiculous.Objectively,Iwouldliketocallhimmyboyfriend,andintroducehimtopeopleassuch.That’swhatyoualwayswantwhenyou’recrazyaboutsomeone.But…
WhatwouldLuciesay?
Well,she’dprobablysaynothing,tobehonest.She’djustleavemetostewonthefactthatthisweirdfearofgettingtrappedisalmostcertainlytodowiththefactthatIwasinarelationshipwithamanwhoneverreallyletmego.
“Tiffy?”Richiesays.“Ishouldprobablygetgoing.”
“Oh,god,yes,”Isay,comingtomysenses.Idon’tknowwhatI’mdoingworryingaboutrelationshiplabelswhenRichieisabouttowalkintocourt.“Goodluck,Richie.IwishIcouldbethere.”
“Maybeseeyouontheotherside,”hesays,voicetremblingagain.“Andifnot—lookafterLeon.”
Thistime,therequestdoesn’tsoundstrange.“Iwill,”Itellhim.“Ipromise.”58LEON
Hatethissuit.Lastworeitforcourtcasenumberone,andthenshoveditinwardrobeatMam’splace,temptedtoburnitlikeitwascontaminated.GladIdidn’t.Can’taffordtokeepburningsuitseverytimethelegalsystemfailstodeliverjustice.Thismightnotbeourlastappeal.
Mamisweepyandshaking.Itrysohardtobestrongforher,butcan’tbeartobeintheroomwithit.Wouldbeeasierwithanyotherperson,butwithMam,it’sawful.Iwanthertomotherme,nottheotherwayaround,anditalmostmakesmeangryseeingherlikethis,evenwhileitmakesmesad.
Icheckmyphone.
I’vejustspokentoRichie—hecalledhereforabitofamoraleboost.He’sdoingfine.You’reallgoingtobefine,whateverhappens.Textmeifthere’sanythingIcando.Icanalwaysduckoutforaphonecall.Tiffyxx
Ifeelwarmforamoment,afteramorningofsustainedcoldfear.RemindmyselfofnewresolvetoexplicitlytellTiffyhowIfeelandmovethingsindirectionofseriousness,e.g.,meetingparentsetc.
Mam:Sweetie?
Onelastlookinmirror.Thinner,longer-haired,stretched-outRichiestaresbackatme.Ican’tgethimoutofmyhead—Ikeeprememberinghowhelookedwhentheyreadouthissentence,theendlessbarrageofnonsenseabouthiscold-blooded,calculatedcrime,howhiseyeswentwideandblankwithfear.
Mam:Leon?Sweetie?
Me:Coming.
Helloagain,courtroom.
It’ssomundane.NothinglikethewoodenseatsandvaultedceilingsofAmericanlegaldramas—justlotsoffilesondesks,carpet,andtieredbenchesfromwhichafewbored-lookinglawyersandjournalistshavecometospectate.Oneofthejournalistsistryingtofindaplugtochargehisphone.Alawstudentisinspectingthebackofhersmoothiebottle.
It’sbizarre.Earlierthisyear,Iwouldhavewantedtoscreamatbothofthem.Paysomefuckingattention.You’rewatchingsomeone’slifebeingdestroyed.Butit’sallpartofthepeculiardramaofthisritual,andnowthatweknowhowtoplaythegame—nowthatwehavealawyerwhoknowstherules—theritualdoesn’tbothermesomuch.
AwizenedmaninalongcloaklikeaHarryPottercharacterenterswithprisonguardandRichie.Richieisnotcuffed,whichissomething.ButhelooksjustasbadasIsuspected.He’sbulkedupinthelastfewmonths,exercisingagain,butwithhisshouldersslumpedthemuscleseemstoweighhimdown.Canbarelyrecognizehimasthebrotherwhofirstwalkedintocourtlastyear,theonewithtotalconfidencethatifyou’reinnocentyouwalkoutfree.Thebrotherwhogrewupatmyshoulder,matchingmestepforstep,alwayshavingmyback
Almostcan’tlookathim—it’stoopainfulseeingthefearinhiseyes.Somehow,fromsomewhere,ImanageanencouragingsmilewhenhelooksatmeandMam.Theyputhiminaglassboxandclosethedoorbehindhim.
Wewait.Journalistsucceedsatplugginginphone,andcontinuestoscrollthroughwhatlooksliketheReutershomepage,despiteenormoussignforbiddinguseofmobilephonesdirectlyabovehishead.Smoothie-bottlegirlisnowpullingloosethreadsoutoffluffyscarf.
HavetokeepsmilingatRichie.Gertyishere,dressedinthatridiculousoutfit,almostindistinguishablefromtherestofthelawyerseventhoughI’veseenhereatingChinesetakeawayinmykitchen.Ifeelmyselfbristlingjustatthesightofher.It’ssomethingguttural,instinctivenow.Havetoremindmyselfoverandoverthatshe’sonourteam.
Wizenedrobedman:Allrise!
Everyonestands.Threejudgesfileintotheroom.Isitgeneralizingtopointoutthatliterallyallofthemarewhitemiddle-agedmenwhoseshoeslookliketheyareworthmorethanmymother’scar?Itrytoquellmyrisinghatredastheysettleintotheirseats.Flickthroughthepaperworkinfrontofthem.Lookup,finally,atGertyandtheprosecutionbarrister.Notoneofthemlooksatmybrother.
Judge1:Shallwebegin?59TIFFY
Katherinisatiny,black-cladstickfigureonthestage.Behindher,blownuptoterrifyingproportions,she’srepeatedinclose-up—onescreenisjustherhands,soviewerscanwatchhowsheusesthecrochethook,andtheothertwofocusonherface.
It’samazing.Thewholecrowdisrapt.We’resooverdressedforadaytimeeventaboutcrochet,butKatherininsistedonthedresscode—despiteallheranti-bourgeoisvalues,shebloodylovesanexcusetowearsomethingfancy.WomenincocktaildressesgazeupatKatherin’senormousface,immortalizedonthebigscreensbeneaththevaultedceiling.MenintuxedoschucklewarmlyatKatherin’switticisms.IevencatchoneyoungwomaninasatingowncopyingthemovementsofKatherin’shands,thoughallshe’sholdingisaminiaturegoat-cheesecanapé,nocrochethookinsight
Despiteallofthis,allitsdistractingabsurdity,Ican’tstopthinkingaboutRichieandthewayhisvoicetrembledonthephone.
NobodywouldnoticeifIjustsnuckout.Imightlookalittleincongruousforthecourtroom,butmaybeIcouldheadformyflat,andpickupachangeofclothesforthetaxiride…
God,Ican’tbelieveI’mconsideringpayingforataxi.
“Look!”Rachelhissessuddenly,pokingmeintheribs.
“Ow!What?”
“Look!It’sTashaChai-Latte!”
Ifollowherpointingfinger.Ayoungwomandressedinasubtlelilaccocktaildresshasjustenteredthecrowd,astaggeringlyattractiveboyfriendintow.Anintimidatingmaninatuxfollowsthetwoofthem—theirbodyguard,presumably.
Rachel’sright,it’sdefinitelyher.IrecognizethechiseledcheekbonesfromYouTube.Despitemyself,Ifeelmystomachflutteralittle—I’msuchasuckerforafamousperson.
“Ican’tbelieveshecame!”
“Martinwillbeecstatic.Doyouthinkshe’llletmetakeapicturewithher?”Rachelasks.Aboveus,thegiganticKatherinsontheirscreenssmileoutatthecrowd,andherhandsholdupafinishedsquare.
“It’sthebigmaninthetuxI’dworryabout,ifIwereyou.”
“She’sfilming!Look!”
TashaChai-Latte’simpossiblyhandsomeboyfriendhaspulledacompact,expensive-lookingvideocameraoutofhissatchel,andisfiddlingwiththebuttons.Tashachecksherhairandmakeup,dabbingafingeralongherlips.
“Ohmygod.She’sgoingtoputtheeventonherYouTubechannel.DoyouthinkKatherinwillmentionyouinherthank-youspeech?We’llbefamous!”
“Calmdown,”Itellher,exchangingalookwithMo,whoiscurrentlyworkinghiswaythroughthelargepileofcanapéshehasbeenhoardingwhileeveryoneelseistoodistractedbycrochettocapitalizeonthefood.
Tasha’sboyfriendliftsthecamera,trainingitonTasha’sface.Immediatelysheiswreathedinsmiles,allthoughtofhairandmakeupforgotten.
“Getcloser,getcloser,”Rachelmutters,shooingMointhedirectionofTasha.Weshufflealong,tryingtolooknonchalant,untilwe’rejustaboutcloseenoughtohearthem.
“…Amazinglady!”Tashaissaying.“Andisn’tthisplacebeautiful?Ohmygod,youguys,Ifeelsoluckytobehere,andtobeabletoshareitwithallofyou—live!YouknowhowIfeelaboutsupportingrealartists,andthat’sexactlywhatKatherinis.”
Thecrowdburstsintoapplause—Katherinhasfinishedherdemonstration.Tashagivesanimpatientgesture,tellingherboyfriendtodoanothertake.Iguessthey’rewarmingupforthelivestream.
“Andnowafewthank-yous!”Katherinsaysfromthestage.
“Thisisit,”Rachelwhispersexcitedly.“She’lldefinitelymentionyou.”
Mystomachtwists.I’mnotsureIwanthertomentionme—therearealotofpeopleinthisroom,andanextrafewmillionwhowillsoonbewatchingviaTashaChai-Latte’sYouTubechannel.Iadjustmydress,tryingtoinchitalittlehigher.
Ineedn’thaveworried,though.Katherinstartsbythankingherentirenetworkoffriendsandfamily,whichturnsouttobeextensivetothepointofabsurdity(Ican’thelpwonderingifshe’stakingthepissabit—itwouldbejustlikeher).Thecrowd’sattentionshifts;peoplebegintomovearoundinsearchofproseccoandtinyfood.
“Andfinally,”Katherinsaysgrandly,“therearetwopeoplewhoIjusthadtosaveuntillast.”
Well,thatcan’tbeme.It’llbehermumanddadorsomething.Rachelshootsmeadisappointedlook,andthenreturnsherattentiontoTashaandherboyfriend,whoarefilmingeverythingwithquietconcentrationontheirfaces.
“Twopeoplewithoutwhomthisbookwouldneverhavehappened,”Katheringoeson.“ThesetwohaveworkedsohardtomakeCrochetYourWaypossible.And,evenbetterthanthat,theybelievedinmefromtheverystart—longbeforeIwasluckyenoughtogathercrowdsthislargeformyevents.”
RachelandIturntostareatoneanother.
“Itwon’tbeme,”Rachelwhispers,suddenlylookingverynervous.“Shedoesn’tevenremembermynamemostofthetime.”
“TiffyandRachelhavebeeneditoranddesigneronmybooksforthelastthreeyears,andtheyarethereasonformysuccess,”Katherinsaysgrandly.Thecrowdapplauds.“Icannotthankthemenoughformakingmybookthebestitcanpossiblybe—andthemostbeautifulitcanpossiblybe.Rachel!Tiffy!Willyougetuphere,please?Ihavesomethingforyouboth.”
Wegawpatoneanother.IthinkRachelmightbehyperventilating.IhaveneverregrettedanoutfitchoicemorethanIdonow.Ihavetogetuponstageinfrontofonethousandpeoplewearingsomethingthatonlyjustcoversmynipples
Butaswestumbleourwaytothestage—whichreallydoestakequitesometime,weweren’tverynearthefront—Ican’thelpnoticingKatherinsmilingdownfromhergiantscreens.Infact,shealmostlooksalittleteary.God.Ifeellikeabitofafraud.Imean,IhaveworkedprettymuchfulltimeonKatherin’sbookforthelastfewmonths,butIalsocomplainedaboutitalot,anddidn’tactuallypayherverymuchtobeginwith.
I’monstagebeforeI’vereallyregisteredwhat’shappening.Katherinkissesmeonthecheekandhandsmeanenormousbouquetoflilies.
“ThoughtI’dforgottenyoutwo,didn’tyou?”shewhispersinmyear,withacheekysmile.“Thefame’snotgonequitethatfartomyheadyet.”
Thecrowdisclapping,andthesoundechoesdownfromtheroofuntilIcan’ttellwhereit’scomingfrom.Ismile,hopingthatsheerwillpowerwillbesufficientadhesiveforthetopofmydress.Thelightsaresobrightwhenyou’reuphere—they’relikestarburstsontheinsidesofmyeyeseverytimeIblink,andeverythingiseitherverywhiteandshinyorblackandshadowy,likesomeone’smessedwiththecontrast.
Ithinkthat’swhyIdon’treallynoticethecommotionuntilitreachesthefrontofthecrowd,tremblingitswaythroughthethrong,sendingheadsturningandpeoplecryingoutastheystumbleasthoughthey’vebeenpushed.Eventuallyafigureshovesitswaythroughandvaultsontothestage.
Ican’treallyseeproperly,eyesburnedwithallthelights,lilyheadsbobbinginfrontofmeasItrytogetagoodhand-holdonthebouquetofflowersandwonderhowI’mgoingtogetdownoffthestageintheseshoeswithoutbeingabletousethehandrail.
Irecognizethevoice,though.AndonceI’veregisteredthat,everythingelsedropsaway.
“CanIhavethemic?”saysJustin,becauseofcourse,implausibly,impossibly,thefigurepushinghiswaythroughthecrowdwashis.“IhavesomethingIwanttosay.”
Katherin’spassedhimthemicbeforeshe’seventhoughtaboutit.Sheglancesatmeatthelastmoment,frowning,butit’salreadyinJustin’shand.That’sJustin:Heasks,hegets.
Heturnstofaceme.
“TiffyMoore,”hesays.“Lookatme.”
He’sright—I’mnotlookingathim.Asthoughheisholdingmeonstrings,myheadsnapsroundandmyeyesmeethis.Thereheis.Squarejaw,perfectlytrimmedbeard,strongshouldersbeneathatuxedojacket.EyessoftandtrainedonmyfacelikeI’mtheonlygirlintheroom.Youcan’tseeatraceofthemanIhavebeentalkingaboutincounseling,theonewhohurtme.Thismanisadreamcometrue.
“TiffyMoore,”hebeginsagain.Everythingfeelswrong,likeI’vesteppedintomySlidingDoorsalternativeworld,andsuddenlyalltraceofmyotherlife,theonewhereIdidn’tneedorwantJustin,isthreateningtodesertme.“Ihavebeenlostwithoutyou.”
There’sapause.Alurching,sickening,echoingsilence,likethelongrawnoteinyourearswhenthemusicstops.
ThenJustindropsdownononeknee.
AllatonceIamawareofthecrowd’sreaction—theycooandahh—andIcanseethefacesonstagearoundme,Rachel’stwistedinshock,Katherin’smouthopen.Idesperatelywanttorunaway,thoughIsuspectthatevenifIcouldmusterthestrength,mylegswouldbetoofrozentodoeverythingrequiredofthem.It’slikethewholelotofusonstageareperformingsomesortoftableau.
“Please,”Ibegin.WhyhaveIstartedbypleading?Itrythesentenceagain,buthedoesn’tletme.
“You’rethewomanIammeanttobewith,”hesays.Hisvoiceisgentlebutcarrieswellwiththemicrophone.“Iknowthatnow.Ican’tbelieveIeverlostfaithinus.You’reeverythingIcouldpossiblywantandmore.”Hetiltshishead,agestureIusedtofindirresistible.“IknowIdon’tdeserveyou,Iknowyou’refartoogoodforme,but…”
Somethingtwangsinsidemelikeit’spulledclosetosnapping.IrememberhowGertysaidJustinknowsexactlyhowtoplayme,andthereitis:theJustinwhogotmeinthefirstplace.
“TiffanyMoore,”hesays.“Willyoumarryme?”
There’ssomethingabouthiseyes—itwasalwayshiseyesthatgotme.Asthesilencestretchestautitseemstotightenaroundmythroat.ThefeelingthatIamintwoplacesatonce,thatI’mtwopeopleatonce,issoacuteit’salmostlikebeinghalfasleepandtuggedbetweenwakinganddreaming.HereisJustin,beggingforme.TheJustinIalwayswanted.TheJustinIhadrightatthestart,whoIwentthroughcountlessrowsandbreakupsfor,theonewhoIalwaysbelievedwasworthfightingtogetback.
Iopenmymouthandspeak,butwithoutthemicrophonemyvoiceislostbehindthelilies.EvenIcan’thearmyanswer.
“Shesaidyes!”Justinyells,standingup,stretchinghisarmsoutwide.“Shesaidyes!”
Thecrowderupts.Thenoiseistoomuch.Thelightsearsstripesundermyeyelids,andJustinisbundlingmein,huggingmeclose,hismouthonmyhair,anditdoesn’tevenfeelstrange,itfeelslikeitalwaysusedto—hisfirmbodyagainstmine,thewarmthofhim,allhorribly,perfectlyfamiliar.60LEON
Ms.Constantine:Mrs.Wilson,asourfirstexpertwitness,pleasecouldyoubeginbytellingthejudgeswhatyourexpertiseentails?
Mrs.Wilson:I’maCCTVanalystandenhancer.Havebeenforfifteenyears.IworkfortheUK’sleadingCCTVForensicsbusiness—itwasmyteamthatpulledthatenhancedfootagetogether[gesturestoscreen].
Ms.Constantine:Thankyouverymuch,Mrs.Wilson.AndinyourexperienceofexaminingCCTVfootage,whatcanyoutellusaboutthesetwoshortclipsthatwehaveseentoday?
Mrs.Wilson:Plenty.They’renotthesamebloke,tostartwith.
Ms.Constantine:Really?Yousoundabsolutelysureofthat.
Mrs.Wilson:Oh,sureasanything.Forstarters,lookatthecolorofthehoodieintheenhancedfootage.Onlyonehoodieisblack.Youcantellbytheshadethatitcomesoutas,see?Theblackisadensercolor.
Ms.Constantine:Canwehaveimagesfrombothuponscreen,please?Thankyou.
Mrs.Wilson:Andthenlookathowtheywalk!It’safairimitation,allright,butthefirstblokeisclearlyfu—isclearlydrunk,mylords.Lookathowhe’szigzagging.Almostwalksintothedisplay.Thenthenextguywalksmuchstraighteranddoesn’tfumbleoranythingwhenhereachesfortheknife.Ourfirstblokenearlydroppedthebeers!
Ms.Constantine:AndwiththenewCCTVfootagefromoutsideAldi,wecanseethedistinctively…zigzaggedwalkmoreclearly.
Mrs.Wilson:Oh,yeah.
Ms.Constantine:Andofthegroupthatweseewalkingbyafewmomentsafterthefirstfigure,whowehaveidentifiedasMr.Twomey…wouldyoubeabletoidentifyanyofthosefiguresasthemanwiththeknifeintheoff-license?
Mr.Turner,tothejudges:Mylords,thisisnothingbutspeculation.
JudgeWhaite:No,we’llallowit.Ms.Constantineiscallingonherwitness’sexpertiseinthisarea.
Ms.Constantine:Mrs.Wilson,couldanyofthosemenhavebeenthemanintheoff-license,lookingatthisfootage?
Mrs.Wilson:Oh,yeah.Blokeonthefarright.Hishoodisdown,andhe’snotputtingonthewalkthere,butlookathowhisshoulderdropswitheachstepofhisleftfoot.Lookhowherubshisshoulder—thesamegestureastheblokeintheoff-licensemakesbeforehepullsouttheknife.
Mr.Turner:WeareheretoexamineanappealagainstMr.Twomey’sconviction.Whatistherelevanceofimplicatinganunidentifiablebystander?
JudgeWhaite:Iseeyourpoint,Mr.Turner.Allright,Ms.Constantine—doyouhaveanyfurtherquestionswhicharepertinenttothecaseathand?
Ms.Constantine:None,mylord.Ihopeperhapswecanreturntothisdiscussionatalaterdate,shouldthiscasebereopened.
Prosecutionlawyer,Mr.Turner,scoffsintohishand.Gertyturnsafreezingcoldglareonhim.IrememberhowMr.TurnerintimidatedRichieatthelasttrial.Calledhimathug,aviolent-mindedcriminal,achildwhotookwhateverhewanted.IwatchMr.TurnerpaleunderGerty’sgaze.Tomydelight,evenrobedandwigged,Mr.TurnerisnotimmunetothepowerofGerty’sdirtylooks.
ImeetRichie’seye,and,forthefirsttimeallday,crackagenuinesmile.
Stepoutsideinthebreakandswitchonmyphone.Myheart’snotexactlybeatingfasterthanusual,justbeating…louder.Bigger.Everythingfeelsexaggerated:WhenIbuyacoffee,ittastesstronger;whentheskyclearsthesunisstarkandbright.Can’tbelievehowwellit’sgoinginthere.Gertyjustdoesn’tstop—everysinglethingshesaysisso…conclusive.Thejudgeskeepnodding.Thejudgenevernoddedfirst-timeround.
I’veimaginedthistoomanytimes,andnowI’mlivingit.FeelslikeI’minsideadaydream.
AfewmessagesfromTiffy.Igototapoutabriefreply,palmssweaty,almostafraidwritingitdownandsendingwilljinxit.WishIcouldcallher.InsteadIcheckTashaChai-Latte’sFacebookpage—Tiffysaysshe’sfilmingthebooklaunch.There’salreadyavideoonherpagewiththousandsofviews;lookslikeit’sfromthelaunch,judgingbythevaultedceilingintheholdingimage.
Iwatch,settlingdownonbenchoutsidethecourtbuilding,ignoringthegaggleofpaparazziwaitingthereforthechanceofshootingsomeonetheymightgetpaidfor.
It’sKatherin’sthank-youspeech.IsmileasshetalksaboutTiffy.FromwhatTiffysays,editorsnevergetmuchcredit,anddesignersevenless—IcanseeRachelbeamingasshetakesthestagewithTiffy.
Camerajolts.Someonepushingthroughtothefront.AshejumpsupontothestageIrealizewhoitis.
Suddenawful,guilt-inducingurgetoleavecourtroomandgotoIslington.Sitforward,staringatthetinyvideoplayingoutonmyscreen.
Videocutsaftershe’ssaidyes.
Surprisinghowtrulyterribleitfeels.Perhapsyouneverknowhowyoufeelaboutsomeoneuntiltheyagreetomarrysomeoneelse.61TIFFY
Justinpullsmeoffthestagetothewings.Igowithhim,becausemorethananythingelseIwantthenoiseandthelightsandthecrowdtogoaway,butassoonaswe’rethroughthecurtainIyankmyhandfromhisgrasp.Mywristsingsoutinpain;hewasholdingontight.We’reinanarrow,black-walledspacetothesideofthestage,whichisemptyasidefromablack-cladmanwithawalkie-talkieandlotsofcablesaroundhisfeet.
“Tiffy?”Justinsays.Thevulnerabilityinhisvoiceiscompletelycontrived,Icantell.
“Whatthefuckdoyou…”Ibegin.I’mshakingallover;it’shardtostand,especiallyinthesehighheels.“Whatwasthat?”
“Whatwaswhat?”Hereachesformeagain.
Rachelburststhroughthecurtainbehindus,kickingoffhershoes.“Tiff—Tiffy!”
Itwisttowardherassherunsintome,lettingherholdmetight.Justinlooksdownatusboth,eyesnarrowedalittle—Icanseehe’scalculatingsomethingbehindthoseeyes,soIturnmyheadintothethickmassofRachel’sbraidsandtryvery,veryhardnottocry.
“Tiffy?”callssomeoneelse.It’sMo.Ican’tworkoutwhereheis.
“Yourfriendsareheretocongratulateyou,”Justinsaysbenevolently,buthisshouldersarestiffandtensed.
“Mo?”Icall.HeappearsfrombehindJustin,throughthecurtainsthatseparateusfromthemainbackstagearea;hisjacketisgoneandhishairismussedlikehe’sbeenrunning.
Inamoment,he’satmyside.BehindmeIcanhearKatherinvaliantlytryingtobringthesubjectbacktoCrochetYourWayonstage.
Justinwatchesthethreeofus.Rachelstillhasholdofme,andIleanintoherasIlookupatJustin.
“YouknowIdidn’tsayyes,”Isayflatly.
Hiseyeswiden.“Whatdoyoumean?”hesays.
Ishakemyhead.Iknowwhatthisis—Irememberthisfeeling,thenaggingsenseofwrongness.“Youcan’tmakemebelievesomethingthatIknowisn’ttrue.”
There’saflickerbehindhiseyes—maybehe’sthinking,Ialreadyhave,plentyoftimes
“Notanymore,”Isay.“Anddoyouknowwhatit’scalled,whenyoudothat?It’scalledgaslighting.It’saformofabuse.Tellingmethingsaren’tthewayIcanseethem.”
Thisknockshim.I’mnotsureRachelorMowillnoticeit,butIwatchhimtakethehit.TheTiffyheisfamiliarwithwouldneverhaveusedwordslike“gaslighting”and“abuse.”Seeinghimwaversendsarushoffearfulexcitementthroughme,likethefeelingwhenyoustandclosetotheedgeasthetrainrushesby.
“Youdidsayyes,”hesays.Thelightfromthestagecreepsbetweenthecurtainbehindus,leavingalongstripeofyellowacrosstheshadowylinesofJustin’sface.“Iheardyou!And…youdowanttomarryme,don’tyou,Tiffy?Webelongtogether.”
Hetriestoreachformyhand.Thewholethingissoobviouslyaperformance.Ipullbackand,quickasaflash,Rachelreachesoutandslapshisoutstretchedhandawayfromme.
Hedoesn’tphysicallyreact.Whenhespeaks,hisvoiceislightandwounded.“Whatwasthatfor?”
“Youdon’ttouchher,”Rachelspitsathim.
“Ithinkyoushouldleave,Justin,”Mosays.
“Whatisthisallabout,Tiffy?”Justinasksme,voicestillgentle.“Areyourfriendsupsetwithmebecausewewerebrokenup?”Hekeepstryingtomovecloser,justininches,butRachelhasholdofmetight,andwithMoatmyothershoulder,we’reaunit.
“CanIaskyousomething?”Isaysuddenly.
“Ofcourse,”Justinsays.
Thesoundguyinblackglancesatusinirritation.“You’renotmeanttostaybackhere,”hetellsus,asthecrowdoutsideburstsintonoisyapplause.
Iignorehim,myeyesonJustin.“HowdidyouknowI’dbeheretoday?”
“Whatdoyoumean?Thiseventwasadvertisedallovertheplace,Tiffy.IcouldhardlyusetheInternetandmissit.”
“ButhowdidyouknowIwouldbehere?HowdidyouevenknowIwasworkingonthisbook?”
IknowI’mright.Icanseeitintheshiftinessinhiseyes.Heeasesafingerunderhiscollar.
“AndhowdidyouknowIwouldbeatthatbooklaunchinShoreditch?AndhowdidyouknowI’dbeonthatcruiseship?”
He’sunsettled;hescoffs,givingmethefirstunpleasant,disparaginglookoftheevening.That’smorelikeit—that’stheJustinI’vebeguntoremember.
Foramomenthe’scaughtinindecision,andthenheoptsforaneasysmile.“YourmateMartinhasbeengivingmetip-offs,”hesayssheepishly,likeanaughtyboycaughtpinchingthings.Sweet,mischievous,harmless.“HeknewhowmuchIcareaboutyou,sohe’sbeenhelpingtogetusbacktogether.”
“You’rejoking,”Rachelblurts.Iglanceather;hereyesareflashingandshelooksmoreterrifyingthanIhaveeverseenherlookingbefore,whichisreallysayingsomething.
“HowdoyouevenknowMartin?”Iaskindisbelief.
“Quiet!”thesoundguyhisses.Weallignorehim.
“Wemetatyourworknightout,remember?”Justinsays.“Isthisimportant?Can’twegosomewherequieter,justthetwoofus,Tiffy?”
Idon’tremembertheworknightout.ImissedmostofthembecauseJustinneverlikedgoing,anddidn’tlikemegoingtothemwithouthim.
“Idon’twanttogoanywherewithyou,Justin,”Isay,takingadeep,shakybreath.“AndIdon’twanttomarryyou.Iwantyoutoleavemealone.”
Ihaveimaginedsayingthislotsandlotsoftimes.Ialwaysthoughthe’dlookwounded,perhapsstepbackinshockorraiseahandtohismouth.Iimaginedhimcryingandtryingtopullmecloser;I’devenbeenafraidhemighttrytogetholdofmephysically,andnotletgo.
Buthejustlooksperplexed.Irritated.Maybealittlepissedoff,likehe’sbeenterriblymisledsomehow,andit’sallbeenratherunfair.
“Youdon’tmeanthat,”hebegins.
“Oh,shedoes,”saysMo.Hisvoiceispleasant,butveryfirm.
“Shereally,reallydoes,”Racheladds.
“No,”Justinsays,shakinghishead.“You’renotgivingusachance.”
“Achance?”Ialmostlaugh.“Iwentbacktoyouoverandover.You’vehadmorechancesthanIcancount.Idon’twanttoseeyou.Everagain.”
Hefrowns.“YousaidinthatbarinShoreditchthatwecouldtalkinacoupleofmonths.Istucktoyourrules,”hesays,stretchinghisarmsout.“It’sOctober,isn’tit?”
“Alotcanchangeinacoupleofmonths.I’vebeendoingalotofthinking.Alotof…remembering.”
Thereitisagain—aflickerofalmostfearbehindhiseyes.Hereachesformeonelasttime,andthistimeRachelslapshimacrosstheface.
“Couldn’thaveputitbettermyself,”Momutters,andhepullsthetwoofusfartherbackintothemessofcablesanddarknessasJustinstumblesbackward,eyeswidewithshock.
“You.Out,”theiratesoundguysaysfirmlytoJustin,clearlyidentifyinghimastherootcauseofallthenoise.Hestepsforward,forcingJustinfartherback.
Steadyinghimself,Justinholdsoutawarninghandtothesoundguy.Heglancesoverhisshouldertofindtheexitandthenturnsbacktofindmygaze.
ForamomentIlosethesenseofMoandRachelbesidemeandthesoundguyinherewithus.It’sjustmeandJustin’sbroad,tuxedoedbodyinthiscramped,darkspace,andIfeeldesperate,likeI’mrunningoutofair.It’sonlyasecondortwobutit’ssomehowworsethaneverythingthat’sjusthappenedputtogether.
ThenJustinbacksoutbetweenthecurtainsintothebackstagearea,witharushofnoise,andImeltshakilyintoRachelandMo.He’sgone.It’sover.Buthe’sleftthatdesperatebreathlessnessbehindhim,andasIgraspatRachelandMo’sarmswithclammyfingersIfeelasudden,sickeningfearthatIwon’teverbeabletoshakehim,nomatterhowmanytimesIseehimwalkaway.62LEON
Can’tthink.Can’tanything.Somehowfindmyfeetandgetbacktothecourtroom,butthedaydreamfeelinghasmorphedintoanauraofunrealityaroundeverything.Mechanically,IsmileatRichie.Noticehowbrighthiseyesare,howhopefulhelooks.Failtofeelanything
It’sprobablytheshock.I’llrecovershortlyandgetmyheadbackintothehearing.Ican’tbelieveanythinghasmanagedtodistractmefromthis.FeelsuddenlyfuriouswithTiffy,choosingtodayofalldaystodumpmeandgobacktoJustin,andcan’thelpbutthinkofMam,howshe’dalwaysgobacktothosemennomatterwhatRichieandIsaid
SomepartofmybrainremindsmeMamdidn’twanttobewiththosemen.Shejustdidn’tthinkshewasallowedtobeanywhereelse.Shedidn’tthinkshemeantanythingifshewasonherown.
ButTiffywasn’tonherown.ShehadMo,Gerty,Rachel.Me.
Richie.ThinkofRichie.Richieneedsmehere,andthere’snofuckingwayI’mlosinghimagain.Too.
Gertyissummingup.Justaboutmanagetolisten—she’ssogoodyoucan’thelpbutfollowherargument.Then,withpeculiarlackoffanfare,it’sover.Weallstand.Judgesleave.Richieistakenbacktowhereveritwashewasbroughtfrom,withawistfulbackwardglance.Wewalkthroughthecourtbuildinginsilence,Gertytappingawayatherphone,Mamcrackingherknucklesincessantly.
Mamlookssidewaysatmeaswereachtheentranceway.
Mam:Lee?What’swrong?
ThenGertygivesalittlegasp.Handtomouth.Glanceover,dull-eyed,andnoticethatsheiswatchingthevideoplayoutonFacebook.
Gerty:Ohmygod.
Mam,onalert:What’shappened?
Me:Tiffy.
Mam:Yourgirlfriend?What’sshedone?
Gerty:Shewouldn’t
Me:Shewould.Youknowpeopledo.Goback.It’shardtoleavewhatyou’veknown.Notherfault.Butyouknowpeopledo.
Gerty’ssilencesaysenough.SuddenlymorethananythingIneedtogetawayfromhere.
Me:Wewon’tgetaverdictovertheweekend,willwe?
Gerty:No,it’llbenextweek.I’llcallwhen—
Me:Thanks.
AndI’mgone.
Walkandwalk.Can’tcry,amjustdry-throatedandaching-eyed.I’msurethatsomeofthisisfearaboutRichie,butallIcanthinkaboutisJustin,armsout,yelling“shesaidyes”tothewhoopingcrowd.
Playouteveryscene.Theendlessnotes,Brighton,thenighteatingrockyroadtogetheronthesofa,thetriptoHolly’sparty,kissingagainsttheAga.Myguttwistsatthememoryofhowherbodywouldgocoldwhenshethoughtofhim,butthenIhardenmyself.Don’twanttofeelsorryforher.Fornow,justwanttofeelbetrayed.
Can’thelpit,though.Can’tstopthinkingofthewayherkneeswouldshake.
Ah,therewego.There’sthetears.Knewthey’dturnupeventually.63TIFFY
Thesmellofliliesissuffocating.Mo’sholdingthebouquetbesidemeaswehuddlethereinthedarkness,thebloomspressingclosetomydress,stainingthefabricwithpollen.AsIlookdownatthemarksonthesilk,InoticeI’mshakingsomuchthefullskirtofmydressisquivering.
Idon’trememberexactlywhatJustinsaidasheleft.Infact,IalreadyfeellikeIdon’trememberalotoftheconversationthatjusthappened.Perhapsitwasallasurrealdaydream,andI’mactuallystillstandingoutthereinthecrowd,wonderingifKatherinwillmentionmeinherthank-youspeech,andwhetherthoselittlerollthingsonthatcanapétrayareduckorchicken.
“What…whatifhe’sstillrightthere?”IwhispertoRachel,pointingtowardtheblackcurtainsJustinleftthrough.
“Mo,holdthis,”Rachelsays.Ithink“this”isreferringtome.ShedisappearsthroughtothebackstageareawhileonstageKatherinsaysgoodbyetotheaudiencetoresoundingapplause.
Modutifullyholdsmyelbow.“You’reOK,”hewhispers.Hedoesn’tsayanythingelse,hejustdoesoneofthosehug-likesortofsilencesthatIlovesomuch.Intheworldontheothersideofthesedarkcurtainsthecrowdisstillclapping;muffled,here,thesoundislikeheavyrainontarmac.
“Youreallycan’tbebackhere,”thesoundguyinsistsinexasperationasRachelre-enters.Hetakesastepbackwardwhensheturnstolookathim.Idon’tblamehim.Rachelhasherbattlefaceon,andshelooksbloodyterrifying.
Rachelsweepspasthimwithoutanswering,liftingherskirtstostepoverthecables.“Nocrazyexinsight,”shetellsme,returningtomyside.
Katherinbundlesinsuddenlyfromthestage;shealmostwalksintoMo.
“Gosh,”shesays,“thatwasallratherdramatic,wasn’tit?”Shepatsmeinamotherlysortofway.“Areyouallright?I’massumingthatfellowwas…”
“Tiffy’sstalkerex-boyfriend,”Rachelsupplies.“Andspeakingofstalking—IthinkweneedtohaveafewwordswithMartin…”
“Notnow,”Ibeg,grabbingholdofRachel’sarm.“Juststaywithmeforaminute,allright?”
Herfacesoftens.“Fine.Permissiontohanghimbythetesticlesatsomelatertime?”
“Granted.Also,ew.”
“Ican’tbelievehe’sbeentellingthat…thatscumbagwhereyouareallthetime.Youshouldpresscharges,Tiffy.”
“Youshouldcertainlyfileforarestrainingorder,”Mosaysquietly.
“AgainstMartin?Mightmakeworkawkward,”Isayweakly.
Mojustlooksatme.“YouknowwhoImeant.”
“Canweleavethis…dark…curtain-roomnow?”Iask.
“Goodidea,”saysKatherin.Discreetly,outofRachel’ssight,thesoundguynodsandrollshiseyes.“I’dbettergoandmingle,butwhydon’tyoulottakemylimo?”
“Ibegyourpardon?”Rachelsays,staringather.
Katherinlookssheepish.“Itwasn’tmyidea.TheButterfingersPRteamgotitforme.It’sjustsatoutside.Youcantakeit,Ican’tbeseendeadgettingdrivenaroundinoneofthose,they’dneverletmebackintotheOldSocialists’Club.”
“Thanks,”Mosays,andIbrieflysurfacefromthefogofpanictomarvelatthethoughtthattheheadofPRvoluntarilyshelledoutforalimousine.Sheisinfamouslytightonbudget.
“Sonowwejustneedtogetout.Throughthecrowd,”Rachelsays,hermouthsetinagrimline.
“First,though,youneedtocallthepoliceandreportJustinforharassment,”Motellsme.“Andyouneedtotellthemeverything.Alltheothertimes,theflowers,Martin…”
Iletoutahalfgroan,halfwhimper.Morubsmyback.
“Tiffy,doit,”Rachelsays,handingmeherphone.
ImovethroughthethronglikeI’msomebodyelse.Peoplekeeppattingmeonthebackandsmilingandcallingtome.AtfirstItrytotelleveryoneinturn—“Ididn’tsayyes,I’mnotgettingmarried,he’snotmyboyfriend”—buteithertheycan’tortheydon’twanttohearme,soaswegetclosertothedoorIstoptrying.
Katherin’slimoisparkedaroundthecorner.It’snotjustalimo—it’sastretchlimo.Thisisridiculous.TheheadofPRmustbeabouttoaskKatherintodosomethingveryimportantforverylittlemoney.
“Hi,excuseme?”Rachelsaystothelimodriverthroughthewindow,inherbestsweet-talking-the-barmanvoice.“Katherinsaidwecanhavethislimo.”
Alengthyconversationensues.Asprobablyshouldbethecase,thelimodriverisnotabouttojusttakeourwordforitthatKatherinhasletustakethecar.AfterabriefphonecalltoKatherinherself,andthereturnofRachel’sbattleface,we’rein—thankgod.I’mshiveringlikecrazy,evenwithMo’sjacketovermyshoulders.
Insideisevenmoreridiculousthanoutside.Therearelongsofas,asmallbar,twotelevisionscreens,andasoundsystem.
“Fuckinghell,”Rachelsays.“Thisisabsurd.You’dthinktheycouldpaymemorethanminimumwage,wouldn’tyou?”
Wesitinsilenceforawhileasthedriverpullsaway.
“Well,”Rachelgoeson,“Ithinkwecanallagreetodayhastakenanunexpectedturn.”
Forsomereasonthattipsmeovertheedge.Icryintomyhands,leaningmyheadbackontotheplushgrayupholsteryandlettingthesobsrackmybodylikeI’malittlekid.Mogivesmyarmacompassionatesqueeze.
There’sabuzzingnoise.
“Everyoneallrightbackthere?”callsthedriver.“Soundslikesomeone’shavinganasthmaattack!”
“Everything’sfine!”Rachelcalls,asIwailandwheeze,strugglingtobreathethroughthetears.“Myfriendhasjustbeencorneredbyhercrazyex-boyfriendinfrontofacrowdofathousandpeopleandmanipulatedintolookinglikeshewouldmarryhim,andnowsheishavingaperfectlynaturalreaction.”
There’sapause.“Crikey,”saysthedriver.“Tissuesareunderthebar.”
WhenIgethomeIcallLeon,buthedoesn’tpickup.Beneathalltheroaring,blindingcrazinessoftheday,I’mdesperatetoknowmorethanhegavemeinthelasttext:Thingsgoingwellatcourt.Howwell?Isitover?WhenwillRichiegetaverdict?
Isobadlywanttospeaktohim.Specifically,IwanttocuddleupagainsthisshoulderandbreatheinhisgorgeousLeonsmellandlethimstrokethesmallofmybackthewayhedoesandthenspeaktohim.
Ican’tbelievethis.Ican’tbelieveJustin.Thefactthatheputmeinthatposition,infrontofallthosepeople…Whatdidhethink,thatI’djustgoalongwithitbecauseitwaswhathewantedmetodo?
MaybeIwouldhaveonce,actually.God,that’ssickening.
ThefactthathereachedouttoMartintokeeptrackofmetakesthewholethingtoanewlevelofdisturbing—allthosestrangemeetingsthathemademefeelcrazyforthinkingwereanythingotherthancoincidental.Allcarefullyplannedandcalculated.Butwhatwasthepoint?Ifhewantedme,hehadme.Iwashis—Iwouldhavedoneanythingforhim.Whydidhepushmesofar,thenkeeptryingtogetmetocomeback?It’sjust…sobizarre.Sounnecessarilypainful.
Rachelcouldn’tcomebacktomyflatwithus—she’sbabysittingherniecetonight,goingfromlookingafteronecryingsnottymesstoanother—butMohaspromisedmehe’llstaywithme,whichissolovelyofhim.Ifeelabitguilty,becausethetruthis,rightnowit’sLeonIwant.
Italmostsurprisesmehowclearthatthoughtis.IwantLeon.Ineedhimherewithme,nervouslyfidgetingandlopsidedlysmilingandeffortlesslymakingeverythingfeelbrighter.Afterthemadnessoftoday,itstrikesmewithnewforcethatifnice-scaryissometimesscary-scaryasIlearntodothiswholerelationshipthingagain,sobloodywhat?IfIgiveintothatfear,ifIletitholdmebackwithLeon,thenJustinreallydoeswin.
AndLeonissoworthabitoffear.He’ssoworthit.Ireachformyphoneandcallhimagain.64LEON
ThreemissedcallsfromTiffy.
Can’ttalktoher.Don’twanttohearherexplainherself.I’mstillwalking,godknowswhere—mayberoundincircles.IdoseemtobeseeingalotofverysimilarStarbucks.It’sallpokyandDickensian,thispartofLondon.Cobblesandpollution-stainedbrick,tinynarrowstripsofskyoverheadbetweengrimywindows.Youdon’thavetowalkfartoendupintheshiny,paleblueworldoftheCity,though.TurnacornerandfindI’mfacetofacewithmyself,mirroredintheglassheadquartersofsomeaccountancyfirm.
Ilookterrible.Exhaustedandcrumpledinthissuit—suitshaveneverlookedgoodonme.Ishouldhavetriedhardertosmartenup;mighthavereflectedbadlyonRichie.AlreadygotMamtocontendwith,whoseideaofsmartisslightlyhigherheeledknee-highboots.
Ipause,surprisedbytheviciousnessofthatthought.Cruelandjudgmental.Idon’tlikethatmyheadcouldcomeupwithit.I’vecomealongwaytoforgivingMam—orIthoughtIhad.Butrightnowtheverythoughtofhermakesmeangry.
I’mjustanangrymantoday.AngrythatIwouldsettleforbeinghappyjusttohavejudgeslisteningtomybrother’scase,whenheshouldneverhavebeenledintherebyaprisonofficerinthefirstplace.AngrythatIwascaughtupworryingaboutshowingTiffyhowIfeel,anddidn’tdoitintime,andgotoutdonebyamanwhogiveshernightmares,butcertainlyknowshiswayroundabigromanticgesture.NobodydoubtshowJustinfeelsnow.Nodangerofthat.
I’dreallythoughtshewouldn’tgobacktohim.Butthen,youalwaysthinkthat,andtheyalwaysdo.
Lookdownatmyphone:Tiffy’snameonmyscreen.She’stextedme.Ican’tbeartoopenit,butcan’thandlethetemptation,soIturnmyphoneoff.
Ithinkaboutgoinghome,buthomeisfullofTiffy’sbelongings.Thesmellofher,theclothesI’veseenherin,thenegativespacearoundher.Andeventuallyshe’llcomebackfromthelaunch—theflat’shersfortonightandtheweekend.Sothat’sout.CansleepatMam’s,obviously,butoddlyseemtobejustasfuriouswithheraswithTiffy.Besides,can’tstandthethoughtofsleepinginmineandRichie’soldroomtonight.Can’tbewhereTiffyis,can’tbewhereRichieisn’t.
Ihavenowheretogo.Nowhere’shome.Justkeepwalking.
Thisflatshare.IwishI’dneverdoneit.WishI’dneveropenedmylifeuplikethatandletsomeoneelsewalkinandfillitup.Iwasdoingfine—safe,managing.Nowmyflat’snotmine,it’sours,andwhenshe’sgoneallIwillseeistheabsenceofrockyroadandbooksaboutbricklayersandthatbloodystupidpaisleybeanbag.It’llbeanotherroomfullofwhat’smissing.JustwhatIdidn’twant.
MaybeIcanstillsaveherfromalifewithhim.Yestoaproposaldoesn’tmeanthey’lldefinitelygetmarried,andshecouldhardlysayno,couldshe,withallthosepeoplestaring.Ifeeladangeroussurgeofhope,anddomybesttoquashit.Remindmyselfthatthereisnosavingofpeople—peoplecanonlysavethemselves.Thebestyoucandoishelpwhenthey’reready.
Shouldeat.Can’trememberwhenIlastdid.Thenightbefore?Alreadyseemslikeforeverago.NowthatI’verealizedI’mhungry,mystomachgrowls.
SwingintoStarbucks.WalkpasttwogirlswatchingTashaChai-LattevideoofJustinproposingtoTiffy.Drinkteawithlotsofmilkinit,eatsomesortofoverpricedtoastiewithlotsofbutterinit,andstareatthewall.
Irealize,whenbaristaclearingthetablegivesmecurious,pityinglook,thatIamcryingagain.Can’tseemtostop,soIdon’tmakemyself.Eventually,though,peoplearenoticing,andIwanttobemovingagain,alone.
Morewalking.Thesesmartshoesarerubbingrawattheskinofmyheel.Thinklonginglyoftheworn-inshoesIwearatwork,theeasywaytheyfit,andwithinfifteenminutesorsoit’sclearI’mnotjustwalkingnow,I’mwalkingsomewhere.There’salwaysroomforanothernurseinthehospice.65TIFFY
Gerty’scalling.Ipickup,hardlythinkingaboutit—it’sreflex.
“Hello?”Myvoicesoundsstrangelyflat,eventome.
“Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou,Tiffany?Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou?”
Theshockmakesmecryagain.
“Givemethat,”Mosays.Ilookupathimashetakesthephoneoffme,andbreatheinsharplywhenIseehisexpression.Helooksreallyangry.Moneverlooksangry.“Whatthehelldoyouthinkyou’redoing?”hesaysintothephone.“Oh,yeah?Youwatchedavideo,didyou?Anditdidn’toccurtoyoutoaskTiffywhathappened?Togiveyourbestfriendthebenefitofthedoubtbeforeyouscreamdownthephoneather?”
Myeyeswiden.Avideo?Shit.Whatvideo?
Andthenitdawnsonme.TashaChai-Latte,filmingthewholething.Martinorganizedthat,presumably,whichmeansJustinwouldhaveknownaboutit.Nowonderhewassokeentomakesureeveryonecaughtmy“reply”tohisbigquestion—heneededitforthecamera.
MartinalsosawmeandLeontogetherinthecastleinWales,rightafterJustinhadhadhissuspicionsraisedwhenhe’ddroppedroundtomyflatandfoundLeoninhistowel.
“Mo,”Isayurgently.“AskGertywhereLeonis.”
“Callhimagain.”
“Tiff,hisphoneisstilloff,”Mosaysgently.
“Again!”Isay,pacingbackandforthfromthesofatothekitchen.Myheartisbeatingsoharditfeelslikethere’ssomethingtryingtoworkitswayoutbetweenmyribs.Ican’tbearthethoughtofhimseeingthatvideoandthinkingthatI’mengagedtoJustin.Ican’tbearit.
“Hisphoneisstilloff,”Mosays,mymobiletohisear.
“Trycallingfromyours.Maybehe’sscreeningmycalls.Heprobablyhatesme.”
“Hewon’thateyou,”Mosays.
“Gertydid.”
Monarrowshiseyes.“Gertyhasatendencytobejudgmental.She’sworkingonit.”
“Well,Leondoesn’tknowmewellenoughtoknowI’dneverdothistohim,”Isay,twistingmyhandstogether.“HeknowsIwasreallyhunguponJustin,heprobablyjustthinks—oh,god.”I’mchokingup.
“Whateverhethinks,it’sfixable,”Moassuresme.“Wejustneedtowaituntilhe’sreadytotalk.He’shadatoughday,too,goingtocourtwithRichie.”
“Iknow!”IsnapatMo.“Iknow!YouthinkIdon’tknowhowimportanttodaywasforhim?”
Modoesn’tsayanything.Iwipemyface.
“I’msorry.Ishouldn’tsnapatyou.You’vebeensogreat.I’mjustangrywithmyself.”
“Why?”Moasks.
“Because…Ibloodywelldatedhim,didn’tI?”
“Justin?”
“I’mnotsayingwhathappenedtodaywasmyfault,Iknowitdoesn’tworkthatway,butIcan’thelpbutthink—ifhe’dnotgottome,ifI’dbeenstronger…we’dneverhaveendeduphere.Imean,bloodyhell.Noneofyourex-girlfriendstrytomakeyoumarrythemandthenusethattobreakupyourcurrentrelationship,dothey?Notthatyouhaveacurrentrelationship,butyouknowwhatImean.”
“Um,”Mosays.
Ilookupathim,wipingmyeyesagain.I’mdoingthekindofcryingthatmeansyoureyesneverreallygetdry,they’rejustleakingnonstop.
“Don’ttellme.YouandGerty.”
“Youguessed?”Mosays,lookinguncomfortable.
“Racheldid.HerradarismuchbetterthanGerty’s,thoughdon’ttell—actually,dotellher,whocaresabouthurtingGerty’sfeelings?”Isaysavagely
“She’scallingnow,”Mosays,holdingoutmyphonetome.
“Idon’twanttospeaktoher.”
“ShallIanswer?”
“Dowhatyoulike.She’syourgirlfriend.”
MogivesmealonglookasIsitdownonthesofaagainwithshakinglegs.I’mbeingchildish,obviously,butMogettingtogetherwithGertyatthisparticularmomentfeelslikehe’ssidingwithher.IwantMoonmyside.IwanttoscreamatGerty.ShehadthechancetotellLeonIwouldneverdosomethinglikethattohim,thatheshouldcheckin
“Shecan’tfindLeon,”Motellsmeafteramoment.“Shereallywantstospeaktoyou,Tiffy.Shewantstoapologize.”
Ishakemyhead.I’mnotreadytobedonefeelingangryjustbecauseshewantstoapologize.
“She’sarguedforalegalcallwithRichiewhenhegetstotheprison,”Mosays,afterapausetolisten.IcanhearGerty’svoiceontheotherendofthephone,tinnyandpanicked.“Shesaysshe’lltellhimwhatreallyhappened,sohecanusehisphonecalltotryLeononhismobile—youcancallanynumberonyourfirst-nightcall.Heprobablywon’tbeinandprocesseduntillate,maybeeventomorrowmorning,butit’sstillourbesthopeofgettingthemessageouttoLeonifhedoesn’tcomehome.”
“Tomorrowmorning?”It’sonlylateafternoon.
Molookspained.“Ithinkit’sourbestoptionfornow.”
It’sridiculous,really,thatamaninprisonwithonlyonephonecallisabestoptionforgettingholdofsomeone.
“Leon’sphoneisoff,”Isaydully.“Hewon’tanswer.”
“He’llseesenseandturnitbackon,Tiffy,”Mosays,phonestillathisear.“Hewon’twanttomissacallfromRichie.”
Isitoutonthebalcony,curledundertwoblankets.OneofthemistheBrixtonthrowthatusuallylivesacrossourbed—theoneLeontuckedmeupunderthatnightJustincameroundtotheflatandthreatenedhim.
IknowLeonthinksI’vegonebacktoJustin.I’vegonethroughdesperatepanicandnowI’mthinkingthatheshouldhavemorefuckingfaithinme.
NotthatI’veearnedit,Isuppose.IdidgobacktoJustin,lotsoftimes—I’vetoldLeonthat.But…IwouldneverhavestartedseeingLeonifIdidn’tfeelthistimewasdifferent—ifIwasn’treallyreadytoleavethatpartofmylifebehindme.Iwastryingsohard.Allthattimedredginguptheworstmemories,theendlessconversationswithMo,thecounseling.Iwastrying.ButIguessLeonthoughtIwasjusttoobrokentofixmyself.
Gertyringsmeeverytenminutesorso;Istillhaven’tpickedup.Gertyhasknownmeforeightyears.IfI’mangrywithLeonfornothavingfaithinme,andhe’sknownmeforlessthanayear,IamatleasteighttimesangrierwithGerty.
Ipickatthesad,yellowingleavesonouronebalconypottedplantandverypointedlydonotthinkaboutthefactthatJustinknowswhereIlive.Somehow.ProbablyMartin—myaddressisprettyeasytogetifyouhaveaccesstomydeskandthepayslipsthatHRdropround.
Fuckinghell.IknewIdidn’tlikethatmanforareason.
Ilookdownatmyphoneasitvibratesroundandroundonourlittle,ricketyoutdoortable.Thetable’ssurfaceiscoveredinbirdpooandthatthick,stickydust-grimethatcoverseverythingleftoutdoorsforanylengthoftimeinLondon.Gerty’snamelightsupmyphonescreen,andwithaflashofangerIpickupthistime.
“What?”Isay.
“Iamawful,”Gertysays,talkingveryfast.“Ican’tbelievemyself.IshouldneverhaveassumedthatyouwouldgobacktoJustin.Iamso,sosorry.”
Ipause,takenaback.GertyandIhavefoughtplentyoftimes,butshe’sneversaidsorryrightawaylikethat,unprompted.
“Ishouldhavebelievedyoucoulddoit.Idobelieveyoucan.”
“Dowhat?”Iask,beforeIcanthinkofabetter,angrierresponse.
“GetawayfromJustin.”
“Oh.That.”
“Tiffy,areyouallright?”Gertysays.
“Well.Notreally,”Isay,feelingmybottomlipquivering.Ibitedownonithard.“Idon’tsuppose…”
“Richie’snotcalledyet.Youknowwhatthesethingsarelike,Tiffy,itcouldbemidnightbeforetheyevenmovehimfromtheholdingcelltoWandsworth.Andtheprison’sprettyshambolicsoIdon’twanttogetyourhopesupthatthey’llevengivehimhisphonecall,letalonethelegalcallImadethempromiseme.ButifIspeaktohimI’lltellhimeverything.I’llaskhimtospeaktoLeon.”
Icheckthetimeonthescreen:It’seightp.m.now,andIcannotbelievehownightmarishlyslowlytimeispassing.
“Iamreally,reallyangrywithyou,”ItellGerty,becauseIknowIdon’tsoundit.Ijustsoundsad,andtired,andlikeIwantmybestfriend.
“Absolutely.Metoo.Furious.I’mtheworst.AndMoisn’ttalkingtomeeither,ifthathelps.”
“Thatdoesn’thelp,”Isayreluctantly.“Idon’twantyoutobeapariah.”
“Awhat?Isthatsomekindofdessert?”
“Pariah.Personanon-grata.Outcast.”
“Oh,don’tworry,I’mresignedtoalifeofdisgrace.It’sallIdeserve.”
Wesitincompanionablesilenceforawhile.IreacharoundinsidetofindthatenormouspoolofGerty-fueledrageagain,butitseemstohaveevaporated.
“IreallyhateJustin,”Isaymiserably.“YouknowIthinkhedidthismostlytobreakupmeandLeon?Idon’tthinkhewouldhaveevenmarriedme.Hewouldhavejustleftmeagain,oncehewassurehe’dgotmeback.”
“Themanneedscastrating,”Gertysaysfirmly.“He’sdoneyounothingbutharm.Ihaveactivelywishedhimdeadonseveraloccasions.”
“Gerty!”
“Youdidn’thavetositbackandwatchithappening,”shesays.“WatchhimcleaningalltheTiffany-nessoutofyou.Itwassick.”
IfiddlewiththeBrixtonblanket.
“Allthismesshasmademerealize…IreallylikeLeon,Gerty.Reallylikehim.”Isniff,wipingmyeyes.“IwishhehadatleastaskedmewhetherIactuallysaidyes.And…and…evenifIhad…Iwishthathehadn’tjustgivenup.”
“It’sbeenhalfaday.He’sinshock,anddrainedafterthesessionincourt.He’sbuiltthisdayupinhisheadformonths.Justin,asever,hasimpeccablydreadfultiming.GiveitalittletimeandIhopeyou’llfindLeonun-givesupagain.”
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkso.”
“Havefaith,Tiffy.Afterall,isn’tthatwhatyou’reaskingfromhim?”66LEON
MovebetweenwardslikeI’mhauntingtheplace.ShouldIbeabletofocusenoughtotakebloodfromaveinwhenevenbreathingfeelslikeaneffort?It’seasy,though—blissfullyroutine.Here’ssomethingIcando.Leon,chargenurse,quietbutreliable.
NoticeafterafewhoursthatI’mcirclingCoralWard.Dodgingit.
Mr.Prior’sthere,dying.
EventuallythejuniordoctoronshiftsaysamorphinedoseonCoralWardneedscountersigning.So.Nomorehiding.OffIgo.White-graycorridors,bareandscratched,andIknoweveryinchofthem,maybebetterthanthewallsofmyownflat.
Pause.There’samaninabrownsuitoutsidetheward,forearmsonknees,staringatthefloor.Oddtoseesomeonehereatthistimeofthemorning—novisitorsonthenightshift.He’sveryold,white-haired.Familiar.
Iknowthatposture:That’sthepostureofamanMusteringCourage.I’vestruckthatposeenoughtimesoutsideprisonvisitinghallstoknowhowitlooks.
Takesalittlewhileforittoclick—I’mbarelythinking,justmovingonautopilot.Butthatwhite-hairedmanstaringatthefloorisJohnnyWhitetheSixth,fromBrighton.Thethoughtseemsridiculous.JWtheSixthisamanfrommyotherlife.TheonefullofTiffy.Buthereheis,so.LookslikeIfoundMr.Prior’sJohnnyafterall,evenifittookhimalittlewhiletoadmitit.
Shouldfeelpleased,butcan’t.
Lookathim.Agedninety-two,he’strackedMr.Priordown,puthisbestsuiton,traveledallthewayupfromthecoast.Allforamanhelovedalifetimeago.Hesitsthere,headbowedlikeamaninprayer,waitingforthestrengthtofacewhatheleftbehind.
Mr.Priorhasdaystolive.Hours,possibly.IlookatJohnnyWhiteandfeelitlikeapunchinthegut.Heleftitso.Fucking.Late.
JohnnyWhitelooksup,seesme.Wedon’tspeak.Thesilencestretchesdownthecorridorbetweenus.
JohnnyWhite:Ishedead?
Hisvoicecomesouthusky,breakinghalfway.
Me:No.You’renottoolate.
Exceptheis,really.Howmuchdidithurttocomeallthiswayknowingitwasjusttosaygoodbye?
JohnnyWhite:Ittookmeawhiletofindhim.Afteryouvisited.
Me:Youshouldhavesaidsomething.
JohnnyWhite:Yes.
Helooksbackatthefloor.Istepforward,bridgethesilence,taketheseatbesidehim.Weexaminethescratchedlinosidebyside.Thisisn’taboutme.Thisisn’tmystory.But…JohnnyWhiteonthatplasticseat,headbowed,that’swhattheothersideofnot-tryinglookslike.
JohnnyWhite:Idon’twanttogointhere.Iwasthinkingaboutleaving,whenIsawyou.
Me:You’vemadeittohere.There’sjustthedoors,now.
Heliftshisheadlikeit’ssomethingheavy.
JohnnyWhite:Areyousurehe’llwanttoseeme?
Me:Hemaynotbeconscious,Mr.White.Butevenso,Ihavenodoubthe’llbehappierwithyouthere.
JohnnyWhitestands,brushesdownhissuittrousers,squareshisHollywoodchiseledjaw.
JohnnyWhite:Well.Betterlatethannever.
Hedoesn’tlookatme,hejustpusheshiswaythroughthedoubledoors.Iwatchthemswingbehindhim.
Lefttomyowndevices,I’mthesortofmanwho’dneverwalkthroughthosedoors.Andwhere’sthatevergotanybody?
Igetup.Timetomove.
Me,tojuniordoctor:On-callnursewillcountersignonthemorphine.I’mnotonshift.
Juniordoctor:Ididwonderwhyyouweren’tinscrubs.Whatthehellareyoudoingherewhenyou’renotontherota?Gohome!
Me:Yes.Goodidea.
It’stwointhemorning;Londonisstillandmuffledindarkness.TurnonmyphoneasIjogforthebus,heartbeatthumpinghighinmythroat.
Endlessmissedcallsandmessages.Istareatthem,startled.Don’tknowwheretostart.Don’thaveto,though,becausethephonebuzzesintolifewithanunknownLondonnumberalmostassoonasI’veturnediton.
Me:Hello?
Myvoiceiswobbly.
Richie:Oh,thankfuckforthat.Theguardisgettingreallytetchy.I’vebeenringingyouforthepasttenminutes.Ihadtogivealongexplanationofhowthiswasstillmyonephonecall,becauseyouweren’tpickingup.We’vegotaboutfiveminutes’credit,bytheway.
Me:Areyouallright?
Richie:AmIallright?I’mfine,youdickhead,otherthanbeingmightilypissedoffwithyou—andGerty.
Me:What?
Richie:Tiffy.Shedidn’tsayyes.ThatmadJustinblokejustansweredforher,didn’tyounotice?
Stopstockstilltenyardsfrombusstop.I…can’tabsorbit.Blink.Swallow.Feelabitsick.
Richie:Yeah.GertyrangherandstartedlayingintoherforgoingbacktoJustin,thenMowentmentalather.ToldhershewasaterriblefriendfornothavingenoughfaithinTiffytoatleastaskthequestionbeforeassumingshe’dgonebacktohim.
Ifindmyvoice.
Me:IsTiffyallright?
Richie:She’dbealotbetterifshecouldspeaktoyou,man.
Me:Iwasalreadyonmyway,but—
Richie:Youwere?
Me:Yes.HadavisitfromtheGhostofChristmasFuture.
Richie,confused:Bitearlyintheyearforthatsortofthing,isn’tit?
Me:Well.Youknowwhattheysay.Getsearliereveryyear.
Leanagainstthebusshelter.Giddyandsickallatonce.WhatwasIdoing?Cominghere,wastingallthattime?
Me,belatedly,andwitharushoffear:IsTiffysafe?
Richie:Justin’sstillontheloose,ifthat’swhatyoumean.ButhermateMoiswithher,andaccordingtoGertyhereckonsJustinwon’tcomebackforawhile—he’llgonursehiswoundsandcomeupwithanotherplan.Hetendstohaveaplanforeverything—that’spartofhiswholedeal,Mosays.YouknowtheprickwasusingMarvinfromTiffy’sworktofindoutinformationaboutwhereTiffywouldbethewholetime?
Me:Martin.And…oh.Fuck.
Richie:Thiswasallaboutbreakingthetwoofyouup,man.GettingthatYouTubertofilmitallsoyou’dseeitforsure.
Me:Ican’t…can’tbelieveIjustassumed.
Richie:Hey,bro,justgofixit,OK?AndtellheraboutMam.
Me:TellherwhataboutMam?
Richie:Idon’tneedtobeatherapisttofigureoutthatyouleavingMamatcourtwithGertyandnotgoingbacktoherplacehadsomethingtodowithallthis.Look,Igetit,man—webothhavemummyissues.
Busapproaching.
Me:Not…entirelysurehowthisisrelevant?
Richie:JustbecauseMamalwayswentbacktothemenwhotreatedherlikeshit,orfoundanotherversionofthesameguy,thatdoesn’tmeanTiffy’sthesame.
Me,automatically:Itwasn’tMam’sfault.Shewasabused.Manipulated.
Richie:Yeah,yeah,Iknow,you’realwayssayingthat.Butitdoesn’tmakeitanyeasierwhenyou’retwelve,doesit?
Me:Youthink…
Richie:Look,Ihavetogo.ButjustgotellTiffyyou’resorry,andyoufuckedup,andyouwereraisedbyanabusedsinglemotherandbasicallyhadtolookafteryouryoungerbrothersingle-handed.Thatoughttodoit.
Me:That’sabit…emotionalblackmail-y,no?Also,willsheenjoythecomparisonwithmymother?
Richie:Pointtaken.Fine.Youdoyou.Justsortit,andgetherback,becausethatwomanisthebestthingthat’severhappenedtoyou.Allright?67TIFFY
Wecompletelyforgotabouteating,andnowit’s2:30a.m.andI’vejustrememberedtobehungry.Mohasgoneouttogettakeaway.He’sleftmeonthebalconywithalargeglassofredwineandanevenlargerbowlofMunchiesfromthecupboard,whichI’mprettysurewereLeon’s,butwhocares—ifhethinksI’dgooffandmarrysomeoneelse,hemightaswellthinkI’masnackthief,too.
I’mnotsurewhoI’mangrywithanymore.I’vesathereforsolongmylegshavecrampedup,andI’vebeenthroughprettymuchalltheavailableemotionsinthattime,andnowthey’reallmuddledtogetherinabiguglysoupofmisery.TheonlythingIcanthinkofwithanycertaintyisthatIwishIhadnevermetJustin.
Myphonebuzzes.
Leoncalling.
I’vewaitedallnighttoseethosewords.Mystomachdrops.HashespokentoRichie?
“Hello?”
“Hey.”Hisvoicesoundsraggedandstrangelyunfamiliar.It’sliketheenergyhasgoneoutofhim.
Iwaitforhimtosaysomethingelse,staringoutatthetrafficslidingbybelow,lettingtheheadlightsdrawyellow-whitestreaksontheinsidesofmyeyes.
“Iamholdinganenormousbunchofflowers,”hesays.
Idon’tsayanything.
“IfeltlikeIneededaphysicalsymboloftheenormityofmyapology,”Leongoeson.“ButI’verealizedJustinalsoleftyouanenormousbunchofflowers—actually,muchnicer,moreexpensiveflowers—sonowI’mthinking,flowers,notsogood.ThenIthought,I’djustcomehomeandtellyouinperson.ButthenIrealizedonceIgotherethatIleftmykeytotheflatatMam’splacebecauseI’msupposedtobestayingtheretonight.SoI’dhavetoknockonthedoor,whichIthoughtwouldprobablyscareyou,sinceyouhaveanunhingedex-boyfriendtocontendwith.”
Iwatchcaraftercardriveby.ThatmightbethelongestI’veeverheardLeonspeakinonego.
“Sowhereareyounow?”Iaskeventually.
“Lookup.Oppositepavement,bythebakery.”
Iseehimnow.He’ssilhouettedagainstthebrightyellowlightofthebakery’ssign,thephonetohisear,hisotherarmcradlingabouquetofflowers.He’swearingasuit—ofcourse,hewon’thavechangedsincecourt.
“I’mguessingyou’refeelingveryhurt,”hesays.Hisvoiceisgentle,anditmakesmemelt.
I’mcryingagain.
“Iamsosorry,Tiffy.Ishouldneverhaveassumed.Youneededmetoday,andIwasn’tthereforyou.”
“Ididneedyou,”Isob.“MoandGertyandRachelareallgreatandIlovethemandtheyhavehelpedsomuchbutIwantedyou.Youmademefeellikeitdidn’tmatterthatJustinhappened.Thatyoucaredaboutmeanyway.”
“Ido.Anditdoesn’t.”He’scrossingtheroadnow,comingovertothissideofthepavement.Icanmakeouthisface,thesmooth,sharplinesofhischeekbones,thesoftcurveofhislips.He’slookingupatme.“EveryonekepttellingmeIwasgoingtoloseyouifIdidn’ttellyouhowIfeel,andthenincomesJustin,kingoftheromanticgesture…”
“Romantic?”Isplutter.“Romantic?AndIdon’tbloodywantromanticgestures,anyway!WhywouldIwantthat?I’vehadthat,anditwasshit!”
“Iknow,”Leonsays.“You’reright.Ishouldhaveknown.”
“AndIlikedthatyouweren’tpushingthings—theideaofcommittingtoaseriousrelationshipscaresthehelloutofme!Imean,lookathowharditwastogetoutofthelastone!”
“Oh,”saysLeon.“Yes.That’s…yes,Isee.”HemutterssomethingthatsoundslikeitmightbebloodyRichie
“Icanhearyouwithoutthephonenow,youknow,”Isay,raisingmyvoiceenoughforittocarryoverthetrafficnoise.“PlusI’mquiteenjoyingtheexcusetoshout.”
Hehangsupandbacksawayalittle.“Let’sshout,then!”hecalls.
Inarrowmyeyes,andthenIpulloffallmyblankets,putdownmywineandmunchies,andmovetotherailings.
“Whoa,”Leonsays,voicedroppingsoIcanonlyjustcatchthewords.“Youlookincredible.”
Ilookdownatmyself,alittlesurprisedtofindI’mstillwearingtheoff-the-shoulderdressfromtheparty.Godknowswhatmyhairlookslike,andmymakeupisdefinitelyatleasttwoinchesfartherdownmyfacethanitwasthismorning,butthedressisprettyspectacular.
“Don’tbenice!”Ishout.“Iwanttobeangrywithyou!”
“Yes!Right!Shouting,”Leoncalls,tighteninghistieandre-buttoninghiscollarasthoughhe’spreparinghimself.
“IamnevergoingbacktoJustin!”Ishout,andthen,becauseofhowgooditfeels,Itryitagain.“IamneverfuckinggoingbacktoJustin!”
Acaralarmgoesoffsomewherenearby,whichIknowiscoincidental,butstillfeelsprettygood—nowallIneedisacattoyowlandabunchofdustbinstofallover.Itakeadeepbreathandopenmymouthtokeepyelling,thenpause.Leonhasahandup.
“CanIsaysomething?”hecalls.“Imean,shoutsomething?”
Adriverslowsdownashepasses,staringwithinterestatthepairofusbellowingatoneanother,twostoreysapart.ItoccurstomenowthatLeonhasprobablynevershoutedinthestreetbefore.Iclosemymouth,alittletakenaback,thennod.
“Ifuckedup!”Leonyells.Heclearshisthroatandtriesalittlelouder.“Igotscared.Iknowit’snoexcuse,butallthisisscaryforme.Thetrial.You,us.I’mnotgoodwhenthingsarechanging.Iget…”
Heflounders,likehe’srunoutofwords,andsomethingwarmgiveswayinmychest.
“Squirrelly?”Ioffer.
InthelightfromthestreetlampIwatchhislipsmoveintoalopsidedsmile.
“Yeah.Goodword.”Heclearshisthroatagain,movingclosertothebalcony.“SometimesitfeelseasiertojustbethewayIwasbeforeyou.Safer.But…lookwhatyou’vebeenabletodo.Howbraveyou’vebeen.Andthat’showIwanttobe.OK?”
Irestmyhandsontherailingandlookdownathim.“You’redoingalotoftalkingdownthere,LeonTwomey,”Icall.
“ItseemsintimesofemergencyIcanbequiteverbose!”heyells.
Ilaugh.“Don’tbedoingtoomuchchanging,now.Ilikeyouasyouare.”
Hegrins.He’sdisheveledandshabbilyhandsomeinhissuit,andsuddenlyallIwanttodoiskisshim.
“Well,TiffyMoore,Ilikeyou,too.”
“Sayagain?”Icall,cuppingahandaroundmyear.
“Ireally,reallylikeyou!”hebellows.
Awindowabovemefliesopenwithaclatter.“Doyoumind?”shoutsthestrangemanfromFlat5.“I’mtryingtosleepuphere!HowamIsupposedtogetupintimetodomyantigravityyogaifI’mkeptupallnight?”
“Antigravityyoga!”ImouthdownatLeon,delighted.I’vebeenwonderingwhathedideverymorningsincethefirstdayImovedinhere!
“Don’tletthefamegotoyourhead,Leon,”warnsthestrangemanfromFlat5,thenhereachestoclosethewindowagain.
“Wait!”Icall.
Helooksdownatme.“Whoareyou?”
“I’myourotherneighbor.Hello!”
“Oh,you’reLeon’sgirlfriend?”
Ihesitate,thengrin.“Yes,”Isayfirmly,andhearalittlewhoopfromstreetlevel.“AndIhaveaquestion.”
Hejuststaresatmewiththeairofamanwaitingtoseewhatasmallchildwilldonext.
“Whatdoyoudowithallthebananas?Youknow—thebananasfromtheemptycratesthatliveinyourparkingspace?”
Tomysurprise,hebreaksintoabig,half-toothlesssmile.Helooksquitefriendlywhenhe’ssmiling.“Idistillthem!Lovelycider!”
Andwiththat,heslamsthewindow.
LeonandIlookateachotherandsimultaneouslyburstoutintogiggles.BeforelongIamlaughingsohardI’vestartedtocry;I’mholdingmystomach,ugly-laughing,gaspingforbreath,andscrewingmyfaceuphard.
“Antigravityyoga!”IhearLeonwhisper,hisvoicejustcarryingonagapinthetrafficnoise.“Bananacider!”
“Ican’thearyou,”Isay,butIdon’tshoutforfearofwakingtheireofthestrangemanfromFlat5again.“Comecloser.”
Leonlooksaround,andthenbacksupafewsteps.
“Catch!”hecallsinastagewhisper,andthenhechucksthebouquetuptome.Itsoarslopsidedlythroughtheair,sheddingleavesandtheoddchrysanthemumasitgoes,but,withadangerouslungetowardtherailingsandasqueakysortofshriek,Imanagetocatchit.
BythetimeI’vegotagoodholdontheflowersandlaidthemonthetable,Leonhasdisappeared.Ileanovertheedgeofthebalconyinconfusion.
“Wherehaveyougone?”Icall.
“Marco!”comesavoicefromsomewherenearby.
“Polo?”
“Marco.”
“Polo!Thisisnothelping!”
He’sscalingthedrainpipe.Iburstoutlaughingagain.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Gettingcloser!”
“Ididnothaveyoudownasadrainpipe-climbingman,”Isay,wincingashereachesforanotherhandholdandhaulshimselfupalittlehigher.
“Meneither,”hesays,turningtolookatmeashescrabblesaboutforaspotforhisleftfoot.“Youclearlybringoutthebestinme.”
He’sonlyafewyardsawayfrommenow;thedrainpipepassesrightupbyourbalcony,andhecanalmostreachourrailings.
“Hey!ArethosemyMunchies?”hesaysashereachesanexperimentalhandup.
Ijustgivehimalook.
“…Yeah,fairenough,”hesays.“Giveafellaahand?”
“Thisisinsane,”Itellhim,butImovetohelpanyway.
Carefully,heletsonefootdangle,andthentheother,untilhe’shangingbyhishandsfromourbalconyrailings.
“Ohmygod,”Isay.It’salmosttooterrifyingtolookat,butIcan’tlookaway,specificallybecausethenIwon’tbepayingattentionifheletsgoandthatideaismuchworsethanwatchinghimhangingthere,scrabblingtofindafootholdonthebottomedgeoftherailings.
Hepullshimselfup;Igivehimahandwiththelastyank,myhandgraspinghisasheswingshimselfover.
“There!”hesays,brushinghimselfdown.Hepauses,breathless,andlooksatme.
“Hi,”Isay,suddenlyfeelingalittleshyinmyover-the-topdress.
“I’msosorry,”Leonsays,openinghisarmsforahug.
Ileanintohim.Hissuitsmellsofautumn,thatoutdoor-airsmellthatclingstoyourhairatthistimeofyear.TherestofhimsmellsofLeon,justthewayIwantitto,andashepullsmecloseIshutmyeyesandbreathehimin,feelingthesolidstrengthofhisbodyagainstmine.
Moappearsinthedoorway,fishandchipsinaplasticSomethingFishybaginhishands.Ididn’tevenhearhimcomein,andIjumpalittle,butwithLeon’sarmsaroundmetheideaofJustinturningupintheflatdoesn’tfeelnearlysoterrifying.
“Ah,”Mosays,seeingthepairofus.“I’lltakemyfishandchipselsewhere,shallI?”68LEON
Me:It’sprobablynottherighttime.
Tiffy:Isincerelyhopeyou’rejoking.
Me:Notjoking,butdefinitelyhopingyou’lltellmeI’mwrong.
Tiffy:Youarewrong.Nowistheperfecttime.Wearealone,inourflat,together.Itliterallydoesnotgetbetterthanthis.
Westareateachother.She’sstillwearingthatincredibledress.Lookslikeitwouldtipoffhershoulderstothefloorwithonetug.I’mdesperatetotryit.Iresist,though—shesaysshe’sready,butit’snotbeenthesortofdayfortear-my-clothes-offsex.Slow,lovely,clothes-staying-on-for-tantalizingly-long-timesex,maybe.
Tiffy:Bed?
Thatvoice—exactlylikeRichiedescribedit.Deepandsexy.Muchsexierwhenitsaysthingslike“bed,”too.
Westandatthefootofthebedandturntofaceoneanotheragain.Ileantotakeherfacebetweenmyhandsandkissher.Feelherbodymeltagainstmineaswekiss,feelthetensionleaveher,andpullbacktoseehereyeshavegonefierybehindtheblue.Thedesireisinstant,onthemomentourlipstouch,andittakesenormousefforttojustrestmyhandsonherbareshoulders.
Shereachestoloosenmytieandshrugoffmyjacket.Unbuttonsmyshirtslowly,kissingmeasherfingersmove.There’sstillairbetweenusnow,likewe’rekeepingarespectfuldistance,despitethekissing.
Tiffyturns,holdingherhairoutofthewaysoIcanunzipherdress.Itakeherhairintomyhandsinstead,pullingalittleasItwistthebuncharoundmywrist,andshemoans.Can’thandlethatsound.Closethatspacebetweenus,kissingalonghershoulders,uphernecktowhereherhairmeetsherskin,pressingascloseasIcanuntilsheshiftstoloosenherownzip.
Tiffy:Leon.Focus.Dress.
Itakethezipfrombetweenherfingersandpullitdownslowly,slowerthanshewants.Shewriggles,impatient.Backsupintomeuntilmylegshitthebedandwe’repressedcloseagain,bareskinandsilk.
Eventuallythedressfallstothefloor.It’salmostcinematic—ashimmerofsilk,thenshe’sthere,blackunderwearandnothingelse.Sheturnsinmyarms,hereyesstillfiery,andIholdherawaytolookather.
Tiffy,smiling:Youalwaysdothat.
Me:Dowhat?
Tiffy:Lookatmelikethat.WhenI…takesomethingoff.
Me:Wanttoseeeverything.It’stooimportantforrushing.
Tiffyquirksaneyebrow,unbearablysexy.
Tiffy:Norushing?
Shetracesherfingersalongthetopofmyboxers.Dipsherhandbelowit,onlymillimetersfromwhereIwanther.
Tiffy:You’regoingtoregretsayingthat,Leon.
I’malreadyregretting,assoonasshesaysmyname.Herfingerstraceacrossmylowerbelly,andthen,painfullyslowly,reachforthebuckleofmybelt.Aftershe’seasedthezipdownIstepoutofmysuittrousersandkickoffmysocks,consciousofhowhereyesfollowmelikeacat’s.WhenImovetopullherclosetomeagainsheputsafirmhandonmychest.
Tiffy,throatily:Bed.
Thatairbetweenusisbackforaninstant;wemoveautomaticallytoouroldsidesofthebed.She’sleft,I’mright.Wewatcheachotherasweslideunderthecovers.
Iliesideways,lookingather.Herhairspreadsacrossthepillow,andthoughshe’sundertheduvetIcansensehowbaresheis,howmuchofherthereistotouch.Iplacemyhandinthespacebetweenus.Shetakesit,bridgingthelinewe’ddrawnbackinFebruary,andkissesmyfingers,thenslidesthembetweenherlips,andsuddenlythatspaceisgoneandshe’spressedupagainstmewheresheshouldbe,skinonskin,notafractionofaninchbetweenus.69TIFFY
“You’veseenmenakednow.You’vehadyourwickedwaywithme.Andyou’restilllookingatmelikethat.”
Hissmiledropsintothatgorgeouslopsidedthing,thesmilethatgotmeallthoseweeksagoinBrighton.
“TiffanyMoore,”hesays,“Ihaveeveryintentionofcontinuingtolookatyouinthisfashionformanymoonstocome.”
“Manymoons!”
Henodssolemnly.
“Howverycharmingandingeniouslynon-specificofyou.”
“Well,somethingtoldmeasuggestionoflong-termcommitmentmighthaveyourunningforthehills.”
Ithinkaboutit,resettlingmyheadagainsthischest.“Iseeyourpoint,butactually,itseemstohavejustmademefeelcuriouslywarmandfuzzy.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything,hejustkissesthetopofmyhead.
“AlsoIwouldnotbecapableofrunningnonstoptothenearesthill.”
“HerneHill,maybe?YoucouldtakeHerneHill.”
“Well,”Isay,turningontomyfrontandproppingmyselfuponmyelbows,“IhavenointerestinrunningtoHerneHill.Ilikethemany-moonsplan.Ithinkit’s…hey,areyouevenlisteningtome?”
“Yes?”Leontries,liftinghisgaze.Hesmiles.“Sorry.Youhavemanagedtodistractmeevenfromyourself.”
“Andtherewasmethinkingyouwereun-distractible.”
Hekissesme,hishandmovingtostrokeroughcirclesonmybreast.“Sure.Un-distractible,”hesays.“Andyouare…”
Ialreadycan’tthinkstraight.“Puttyinyourhands?”
“Iwasgoingtosay,‘excellentlyeasytodistract.’”
“I’mplayinghardtogetthistime.”
Hedoessomethingwithhishandthatnobodyhaseverdonebefore.Ihavenoideawhat’shappeningbutitseemstoinvolvehisthumb,mynipple,andaboutfivethousandpricklyhotlicksofsensation.
“I’mremindingyouofthatintenminutes’time,”Leonsays,kissinghiswaydownmyneck.
“You’resmug.”
“I’mhappy.”
Ipullawaytolookathim.Irealizethatmycheeksarestartingtohurt,andIthinkit’sgenuinelyfromallthesmiling.WhenItellRachelthatIknowexactlywhatshe’lldo:stickherfingerinhermouthandgag.Butit’strue—despiteeverythingthat’shappenedtoday,Iamsickeningly,dizzyinglyhappy.
Heraiseshiseyebrowsatme.“Nowittycomeback?”
Igaspashisfingersshiftacrossmyskin,tracingpatternsIcan’tfollow.
“I’mjustworkingonone…justgiveme…aminute…”
WhilstLeonisintheshower,Iwriteourto-dolistforthenextdayandstickittothefridge.Itreadsasfollows
1.Tryveryhardnottothinkaboutthejudges’verdict.
2.Getrestrainingorder.
3.TalktoMoandGertyabout,well,MoandGerty.
4.Buymilk.
Ifidget,waitingforhimtoappear,andthengiveupandreachformyphone.I’lljusthavetolistenoutfortheshower.
“Hello?”comesGerty’smuffledvoicedowntheline.
“Hi!”
“Oh,thankgod,”Gertysays,andIcanalmosthearherslumpingbackagainstthepillowsagain.“YouandLeonworkedthingsout?”
“Yeah,weworkedthingsout,”Itellher.
“Oh,andyousleptwithhim?”
Igrin.“Yourradar’sbackon.”
“SoIhaven’truinedeverything?”
“Youhaven’truinedeverything.Although,tobeclear,itwouldhavebeenJustinwhoruinedeverything,notyou.”
“God,youarefeelingbenevolent.Wereyousafe?”
“Yes,Mother,weweresafe.WereyouandMosafewhenyoumadeupthismorning?”Iasksweetly.
“Don’t,”Gertysays.“It’sbadenoughmethinkingaboutMo’spenis,youshouldn’thavetodoit,too.”
Ilaugh.“Canwehavecoffeetomorrow,justthethreeofus?Iwanttohearabouthowyougottogether.Vaguely,andwithnopenis-relateddetails.”
“Andtalkabouthowtogetarestrainingorder?”Gertysuggests.
“IsthatTiffy?”IhearMosayinthebackground.
“Sosweetthathehears‘restrainingorder’andthinksofme,”Isay,heartsinkingalittleatthechangeofsubject.“Butyeah.Weshouldtalkaboutthat.”
“Doyoufeelsafe?”
“Arewebackonthecontraceptionsubjectagain?”
“Tiffy.”Gertyhasneverstoodformyartsofdeflection.“Doyoufeelsafeintheflat?”
“WithLeonhere,yeah.”
“OK.Good.Butevenso,weneedtotalkaboutgettinganemergencyinjunctiontocoveryoubeforethehearing.”
“An…wait,there’sahearing?”
“Letthepoorwomanthink,”Mosaysinthebackground.“I’mgladyouandLeonaregoodagain,Tiffy!”hecalls.
“Thanks,Mo.”
“HaveIkilledyourbuzz?”Gertyasks
“Alittle.Butit’sallright.I’vestillgotRacheltocall.”
“Yes,godiscussallthesordiddetailswithRachel,”Gertysays.“Coffeetomorrow,textuswhereandwhen.”
“Seeyou,”Isay,hangingupandpausingtolisten.
Theshowerisstillon.IcallRachel.
“Sex?”shesayswhensheanswersthephone.
Ilaugh.“Nothanks,I’mtaken.”
“Iknewit!Youguysmadeup?”
“Andthensome,”Isay,inanexaggeratedlysexysortofway.
“Details!Details!”
“I’llfillyouinproperlyonMonday.But…Ihavediscoveredthatmyboobshavebeenunderperformingformyentireadultlife.”
“Ah,yes,”Rachelsaysknowledgeably.“Acommonproblem.Youknowthereare…”
“Shh!”Ihiss.Theshower’sstopped.“Gottogo!”
“Don’tleavemehanginglikethis!Iwasgoingtotellyouallaboutnipples!”
“LeonisgoingtofinditveryweirdthatIhaverungroundmybestfriendsaftersex,”Iwhisper.“It’searlydays.Istillhavetopretendtobenormal.”
“Fine,butI’mschedulinginatwo-hourmeetingonMondaymorning.Subject:Boobs101.”
IhangupandamomentlaterLeonwandersininhistowel,hairsmoothedback,shouldersgleamingwithdroplets,andpausestoexaminemyto-dolist.
“Seemsmanageable,”hesays,openingthedoorandreachinginfortheorangejuice.“How’reGertyandRachel?”
“What?”
Hesmilesatmeoverhisshoulder.“Doyouwantmetogetbackin?IfiguredIonlyneededtoallowfortwophonecallssinceGertywouldbewithMo.”
Ifeelmycheeksflushing.“Oh,I,uh…”
Heleansover,orangejuiceinhand,andkissesmeonthelips.“Don’tworry,”hesays.“IplanonremainingblissfullyunawareofhowmuchyouoversharewithRachel.”
“WhenI’mfinishedfillingherinshe’llthinkyou’reagodamongstmen,”Isay,relaxingandreachingfortheorangejuice.
Leonwinces.“Willshebeabletolookmeinthefaceagain?”
“Sure.She’llprobablyoptforlookingsomewhereelseinstead,though.”70LEON
Theweekendcomesandgoesinablurofguiltypleasure.Tiffybarelyleavesmyarms,excepttogoforcoffeewithGertyandMo.Wasrightthatwe’dhaveafewtriggerstoworkaround;brieflylosthertoabadmemoryonSaturdaymorning,butamalreadylearninghowtohelpbringherbackagain.Israthersatisfying.
She’sdefinitelymorenervousaboutJustinthanshe’slettingon—cameupwithelaborateheavy-milk-buyingrusetogetmetocomeandmeetheratthecoffeeplaceandwalkherbackhere.Thesoonerwecangetthatrestrainingordersortedthebetter.Ifixedachainonthedoorwhileshewasout,andmendedthebalconydoor,justtobedoingsomething.
GotMondayoff,sowalkTiffytothetubeandthencookmyselfanelaboratefry-upinvolvingblackpuddingandspinach.
Sittingstillaloneisnotgood.Odd—normallyI’mallforlonesomesitting.ButwhenTiffyisout,Ifeelherabsencelikeamissingtooth.
Eventually,aftermuchpacingandnotlookinginthedirectionofmyphone,Icallmymother.
Mam:Leon?Sweetie?AreyouOK?
Me:Hi,Mam.I’mfine.SorryforwalkingoutlikethatonFriday.
Mam:It’sOK.Wewereallupset,andwhatwithyournewgirlfriendmarryingthatotherguy…oh,Lee,youmustbeheartbroken!
Ah,ofcourse—whowouldhavefilledMamin?
Me:Itwasamisunderstanding.Tiffyhasa,uh,bad-newssortofex-boyfriend.Thatwashim.Shedidn’tactuallysayyestomarryinghim,hejusttriedtoforceherintoit.
Dramatic,soap-operastylegaspdownthephone.Itryveryhardnottofinditannoying.
Mam:Poorlittlething!
Me:Yes,well,she’sdoingfine.
Mam:Haveyougoneafterhim?
Me:Afterhim?
Mam:Theex!Afterwhathe’sdonetoyourTiffy!
Me:…Whatareyousuggesting,Mam?
Idecidenottogivehertimetoanswer
Me:We’relookingintogettingarestrainingorder.
Mam:Oh,sure,thosearegreat.
Awkwardpause.WhydoIfindtheseconversationssodifficult?
Mam:Leon.
Wait.Fidget.Lookatthefloor.
Mam:Leon,I’msureyourTiffy’snothinglikeme.
Me:What?
Mam:Youwerealwaysasweetheartaboutit,notlikeRichiewithallhisscreamingandrunningoffandall,butIknowyouhatedthemenIdated.Imean,Ihatedthem,too,butyouhatedthemrightfromthestart.IknowIseta…IknowIsetaterribleexample.
Ifeeldeeply,profoundlyuncomfortable
Me:Mam,it’sfine.
Mam:Ireallyamgettingsortednow,Lee.
Me:Iknow.Anditwasn’tyourfault.
Mam:Youknow,IthinkInearlybelievethat?
Pause.Think.
Inearlybelievethat,too.Who’dhavethought—yousaysomethingtrueenoughtimes,youtryhardenough,andmaybeitsinksin.
Me:Loveyou,Mam.
Mam:Oh,sweetheart.Iloveyou,too.Andwe’llgetourRichieback,andwe’lllookafterhim,won’twe,likewealwayshave.
Me:Exactly.Likealways.
It’sstillMonday.Mondayisinterminable.Ihatedaysoff—whatdopeopledoondaysoff?Ijustkeepthinkingtrial,hospice,Justin,trial,hospice,Justin.Evenwarm,fuzzyTiffythoughtsarestrugglingtokeepmeafloatnow.
Me:Hi,Gerty,it’sLeon.
Gerty:Leon,thereisnonews.Thejudgeshavenotcalledusbackforaverdict.Ifthejudgescallusbackforaverdict,Iwillcallyou,andthenyouwillknowaboutit.Youdonotneedtocallmetocheckin.
Me:Right.Sure.Sorry.
Gerty,relenting:Isuspectitwillbetomorrow.
Me:Tomorrow.
Gerty:It’sliketoday,butplusone.
Me:Todayplusone.Yes.
Gerty:Don’tyouhaveahobbyorsomething?
Me:Notreally.Sortofjustworkallthetime,generally.
Gerty:Well,youlivewithTiffy.Therewillbenoshortageofhobby-relatedreadingmaterial.Goreadabookaboutcrochetorbuildingthingsoutofcardboardorwhatever.
Me:Thanks,Gerty.
Gerty:You’rewelcome.Andstopcallingme,Iamverybusy.
Shehangsup.It’sstillalittleunnervingwhenshedoesthat,nomatterhowmanytimesyou’veenduredit.71TIFFY
Ican’tbelieveMartinhadthegutstocomeintowork.Ialwayshadhimdownasacoward,butactually,ofthetwoofus,Iseemthemostnervousaboutfacinghim.It’slike…talkingtoJustinbyproxy.Whichisfranklyterrifying,nomatterhowmuchItellLeonI’mfeelingfine.Martin,ontheotherhand,isswanningaboutasusual,gloatingaboutthesuccessstoryoftheparty.Iguessheprobablydoesn’tknowIknowyet.
He’syettomentiontheproposal,Inotice.Nobodyintheofficehas.RachelputoutthememothatIwasn’tactuallyengaged,whichhasatleastsavedmeamorningofwardingoffcongratulations.
Rachel[10:06a.m.]:Icouldjustwalkover,kickhimintheballs,andwe’dbedonewithit.
Tiffany[10:07a.m.]:Tempting.
Tiffany[10:10a.m.]:Idon’tknowwhyI’mbeingsuchawuss.Ihadthisconversationtotallyplannedoutinmyheadyesterday.Seriously,Ihadsomegreatone-lineputdownscuedup.Andnowthey’vejustgone,andIfeelabitfreakedout.
Rachel[10:11a.m.]:WhatwouldSomeoneWhoIsn’tMosay,doyoureckon?
Tiffany[10:14a.m.]:Lucie?She’dtellmeit’snaturaltobefreakedoutafterwhathappenedonFriday,Iguess.AndthattalkingtoMartinfeelsabitlikeconfrontingJustin.
Rachel[10:15a.m.]:Right,Icanseethat,except…MartinisMartin.Weedy,petty,maliciousMartin.WhokicksmychairandunderminesyouinmeetingsandkissestheheadofPR’sarselikeit’sMeganFox’sface.
Tiffany[10:16a.m.]:You’reright.HowcanIpossiblybeafraidofMartin?
Rachel[10:17a.m.]:Wantmetocomewithyou?
Tiffany[10:19a.m.]:IsitpatheticifIsayyes?
Rachel[10:20a.m.]Itwouldmakemyday.
Tiffany[10:21a.m.]:Thenyes.Please.
Wewaituntilthemorningteammeetingisover.IgritmyteeththroughallthecongratulationsMartingetsfortheparty.Afewcuriousglancesareshotinmydirection,butit’sglossedover.Iflushwithshameanyway.IhatethateveryoneinthisroomknowsthatIhaveex-boyfrienddrama.Ibetthey’reallconcoctingtheirownoutlandishreasonswhyIamnolongerengaged,andnotoneofthemhascomeupwiththetruth.
Rachelgrabsmyhandandsqueezesittight,thengivesmealittleshoveinMartin’sdirectionashegathersuphisnotebookandpapers.
“Martin,canwehaveaword?”Isay.
“Notagreattime,Tiffy,”hesays,withtheairofaveryimportantpersonwhorarelyhastimeforspontaneousmeetings.
“Martin,mate,eitheryoustepintothismeetingroomwithusorweadoptmyplan,whichwaskickingyouintheballsrightnowinfrontofeveryone,”Rachelsays.
Aflashoffearcrosseshisface,andmyanxietyevaporates.Lookathim.Hesuspectsweknownow,sohe’sbackpedaling.SuddenlyIcan’twaittohearwhatcraphecomesupwith.
Rachelherdshimintotheonlyfreemeetingroomwithadoorandclicksitshutbehindus.Sheleansbackagainstit,armsfolded.
“What’sthisabout?”Martinasks.
“Whydon’tyouhazardaguess,Martin?”Isay.Myvoicecomesoutsurprisinglylightandpleasant.
“Ireallyhavenoidea,”heblusters.“Isthereaproblem?”
“Ifthereis,howlongwillitbebeforeJustinisinformedofit?”Iask.
Martinmeetsmygaze.Helookslikeacorneredcat.
“Idon’tknowwhatyou…”hetries.
“Justintoldme.He’sficklelikethat.”
Martinsags.“Look,Iwastryingtohelpyouout,”hesays.“HegotintouchaboutourflatbackinFebruary,sayinghewashelpingyoulookforaplace,andmadeadealwithussowecouldofferyouourspareroomforfivehundredamonth.”
BackinFebruary?Bloodyhell.
“Howdidheevenknowwhoyouwere?”
“We’vebeenfriendsonFacebookforages.Ithinkheaddedmewhenyouguysfirstgotserious—atthetimeIfiguredhewascheckingouttheguysyouworkwith,youknow,theprotectivetype.ButIpostedtheadabouttheflatonthereandthat’showhegotintouch.”
“Howmuchdidheofferyou?”
“Hesaidhe’dpaythedifference,”Martinsays.“HanaandIthoughtitwassweetofhim.”
“Oh,that’sJustin,”Isaythroughgrittedteeth.
“Andthenwhenyoudidn’ttaketheroom,heseemedsodown.We’dgotchattingwhenhepoppedroundtodiscussthearrangement,andthenheaskedifIcoulddrophimalineeverynowandagain,justlettinghimknowhowyouareandwhatyou’reuptosohedoesn’tworry.”
“Andthatdidn’tstrikeyouas,Idon’tknow,creepy?”Rachelasks.
“No!”Martinshakeshishead.“Itdidn’tseemcreepy.Andhewasn’tpayingmeoranything—theonlytimeItookmoneyfromhimwastogetTashaChai-Lattetocomeandfilm,OK?”
“YoutookmoneyfromhimforstalkingTiffy?”Rachelsays,visiblyswellingwithrage.
Martincringes.
“Hangon.”Iholdmyhandsup.“Gobacktothestart.HeaskedyoutolethimknowwhereIwaseverynowandthen.Sothat’showheknewI’dbeatthatbooklaunchinShoreditch,andhowheknewI’dbeonthecruiseship.”
“Isupposeso,”Martinsays.Heshiftsbackandforthonhisfeetlikeachildwhoneedsthetoilet,andIfindmyselfstartingtofeelalittlesorryforhim,whichIimmediatelyquashbecausetheonlythinggettingmethroughthisconversationisrage.
“AndthetriptoWalesfortheshoot?”Isay.
Martinstartstovisiblysweat.“I,ah,herangmeaboutthatoneafterItextedhimtosaywhereyou’dbe…”
Itwitch.It’ssocreepyIwanttoimmediatelygoandshower.
“…Andheaskedabouttheguyyou’dbebringingtohelpoutwiththemodeling.Igavehimthephysicaldescriptionyou’dgivenme.Hewentallquiet,andsoundedreallyupset.Hetoldmehowmuchhestilllovesyou,andhowheknowsthisguyandhewasgoingtoruineverything…”
“Soyouspentthewholeweekendrunninginterference.”
“IthoughtIwashelping!”
“Well,yousuckedatitanywaybecausewesnuckoffandmadeoutinthekitchenatthreeinthemorningso,HA!”Isay.
“Indangeroflosingthehigherground,there,Tiffy,”Rachelsays.
“Right,right.So,youdebriefedJustinwhenwegotback?”
“Yeah.Hewasn’tthathappywithhowI’dhandledthings.SuddenlyIfeltreallybad,youknow?Ihadn’tdoneenough.”
“Oh,thismanisgood,”Rachelsaysunderherbreath.
“Anyway,thenhewantedtoplanthisbigproposal.Itwasallveryromantic.”
“EspeciallythepartwherehepaidyoutogetTashaChai-Lattetofilmit,”Isay.
“Hesaidhewantedthewholeworldtoseeit!”Martinprotests.
“HewantedLeontoseeit.Howmuchdidthatevencost?Ishouldhaveknownitcouldn’thavecomeoutofthebook’sbudget.”
“Fifteenthousand,”Martinsayssheepishly.“Andtwoformefororganizing.”
“Seventeenthousandpounds?!”Rachelshrieks.“Mygod!”
“Andabitleftover,soIgotKatherinthatlimo,incaseitwouldpersuadehertodothatinterviewwithPiersMorgan.Ijust…figuredJustinmustreallyloveyou,”Martinsays.
“No,youdidn’t,”Itellhimflatly.“Youdidn’treallycare.YoujustwantedJustintolikeyou.Hehasthateffectonalotofpeople.Hashecontactedyousinceheproposedtome?”
Martinshakeshishead,lookingnervous.“Ifiguredfromthewayyouleftthepartythatithadn’texactlygoneashe’dhoped.Doyouthinkhe’llbemadatme?”
“DoIthink…”Itakeadeepbreath.“Martin.IdonotcareifJustinismadatyou.Soon,IwillbetakingJustintocourtforharassmentorstalking,oncemylawyerhasgotroundtofiguringoutwhichofthoseshelikesbetter.”
Martingoesevenpalerthanheusuallyis,whichissayingsomething.I’msurprisedIcan’tseethewhiteboardthroughhim.
“Soyou’dbepreparedtotestify?”Isaybriskly.
“What?No!”
“Whynot?”
“Well,it’s…thiswouldbeveryembarrassingforme,andthisisareallyimportanttimeatwork—”
“Youareaveryweakman,Martin,”Itellhim.
Heblinks.Hislipshakesalittle.“I’llthinkaboutit,”hesayseventually.
“Good.Seeyouincourt,Martin.”
IsweepoutoftheroomwithRachelintow,andasIheadtomydeskIfeelexhilarated.ParticularlyasRachelisquietlybutunmistakablyhumming“EyeoftheTiger”aswewalkthroughtheoffice.
TheworldseemslikeaslightlybrighterplaceaftertheMartinshowdown.IsituptalleranddecideI’mnotashamedaboutwhathappenedattheparty.Somyex-boyfriendproposedtomeandIsaidno—sowhat?Nothingwrongwiththat.Infact,Rubygivesmeasilenthigh-fiveonmywaytothebathroommid-afternoon,andwithRachelsendingmegirl-powersongseveryfifteenminutesIstarttofeelquite…empoweredaboutitall.
Ittakesenormousefforttoconcentrateonwork,butintheendImanageit:IamresearchinganewtrendincupcakeicingwhenIgetthecall.Almostinstantly,IrealizethatIwillalwaysrememberthiswebsiteabouticing-bagnozzles.It’sthatkindofcall.
“Tiffy?”saysLeon.
“Yeah?”
“Tiffy…”
“Leon,areyouOK?”Myheartispounding.
“He’sout.”
“He’s…”
“Richie.”
“Ohmygod.Sayitagain.”
“Richieisout.Notguilty.”
Iletoutashriekthatsendseverysinglepersonintheofficestaringmyway.Imakeafaceandcoverthephoneforamoment.
“Friendwonthelottery!”ImouthtoFrancine,thenearestnosyperson,andlethertrundleofftospreadthatparticularpieceofnews.IfIdon’tnipthisinthebudthey’llallthinkI’mengagedagain.
“Leon,Idon’teven…Ireallythoughtitwouldbetomorrow!”
“SodidI.SodidGerty.”
“So…ishejust…out?Intheworld?God,Ican’timagineRichieoutintheworld!Whatdoesheevenlooklike,bytheway?”
Leonlaughs,andthesoundmakesmystomachflip.“He’llbeatourplacetonight.Youcanfinallymeethim.”
“Thisisunbelievable.”
“Iknow.Ican’tactually…Ikeepthinkingit’sadream.”
“Idon’tevenknowwhattosay.Whereareyounow?”Iask,bouncinginmychair.
“I’matwork.”
“Didn’tyouhavethedayoff?”
“Didn’tknowwhattodowithmyself.Youwanttocomedownhereafteryoufinish?Noworriesifit’stoooutofyourway,I’llbehomebyseven,Ijustthought—”
“I’llbethereathalffive.”
“Actually,Ishouldcomemeetyou…”
“Icandoitonmyown.Really—I’vehadagoodday,Icandoit.Seeyouathalffive!”72LEON
Driftaroundwards,checkingcharts,givingfluids.Speaktopatientsandamazemyselfbymanagingtosoundnormalandtotalkaboutsomethingotherthanthefactthatmybrotherisfinallycominghome.
Home.
Richieiscominghome.
Keeprearingawayfromthethought,thewayIalwayshadto—mymindpastesRichiebackintomylife,andthenitjumpsawaylikeit’stouchedsomethinghot,becauseI’dneverletmyselffinishthatthought.Itwastoopainful.Toohopeful.
Exceptnowit’sreal.Willbereal,injustafewhours’time.
He’llmeetTiffy.They’lltalkjustliketheydoonthephone,onlyfacetoface,onmysofa.It’sliterallytoogoodtobetrue.Untilyourememberthatheshouldneverhavebeeninjailinthefirstplace,ofcourse,buteventhatthoughtcan’tkilltheeuphoria.
I’minthehospicekitchenmakingteawhenIhearmyname,onrepeat,veryloudlyandgettinglouderallthetime.
Tiffy:Leon!Leon!Leon!
Iturnaroundjustintime.Shepilesintome,rain-wethair,pinkcheeks,bigsmile.
Me:Whoa!
Tiffy,veryclosetomyear:LeonLeonLeon!
Me:Ouch?
Tiffy:Sorry.Sorry.Ijust…
Me:Areyoucrying?
Tiffy:What?No.
Me:Youare.Youareincredible.
Sheblinksatme,surprised,eyesbrightwithhappytears.
Me:You’veneverevenmetRichie.
Shelinksarmswithme,andspinsmebacktothekettlejustasitboils.
Tiffy:Well,I’vemetyou,andRichie’syourlittlebrother.
Me:Justtowarnyou,he’snotthatlittle.
Tiffyreachesforthemugcupboardandpullsouttwo,thenriflesthroughtheteabagsandpoursthekettlelikeshe’sbeeninandoutofthiskitchenforyears.
Tiffy:Andanyway,IfeellikeIknowRichie.We’vetalkedtonsoftimes.Youdon’thavetomeetfacetofacetoknowsomeone.
Me:Speakingof…
Tiffy:Wherearewegoing?
Me:Justcomeon.Iwanttoshowyousomething.
Tiffy:Teas!Teas!
Ipauseandwaitassheaddsmilkpainstakinglyslowly.Sheshootsacheekylittleglanceoverhershoulder;Iimmediatelywanttoundressher.
Me:Areweready?
Tiffy:OK.We’reready.
ShehandsmeamugandItakeit,andthehandthatofferedit,too.Almosteveryonewepassalongthecorridorsays,“Oh,hi,Tiffy!”or“YoumustbeTiffy!”or“Ohmygod,Leonreallydoeshaveagirlfriend!”butIamintoogoodamoodtofinditannoying.
TugTiffybackasshegoestoopenthedoortoCoralWard.
Me:Wait,justlookthroughthewindow.
Webothleanin.
JohnnyWhitehasn’tlefthissidesincetheweekend.Mr.Priorisasleep,butstillhispapery,sun-blotchedhandrestsinJohnnyWhite’spalm.They’vehadthreewholedaystogether—morethanJWcouldhavehopedfor.
Alwaysworthwalkingthroughthosedoors.
Tiffy:JohnnyWhitetheSixthwastherealJohnnyWhite?Isthisliterallythebestdayever?Hastherebeensomesortofannouncementissued?Anelixirineveryone’sbreakfast?Agoldenticketinthecerealbox?
Ikissherfirmlyonthemouth.Behindus,oneofthejuniordoctorssaystoanotherjuniordoctor,“Amazing—IalwaysassumedLeondidn’tlikeanyonewhodidn’thaveaterminalillness!”
Me:Ithinkit’sjustagoodday,Tiffy.
Tiffy:Well,Iguesswearealloverdueone.73TIFFY
“OK,howdoIlook?”
“Relax,”Leonsays,lyingbackonthebed,onearmbehindhishead.“Richiealreadylovesyou.”
“I’mmeetingamemberofyourfamily!”Iprotest.“Iwanttolookgood.Iwanttolook…smartandbeautifulandwitty,andmaybetochannelabitofSookieintheearlierseriesofGilmoreGirls?”
“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”
Ihuff.“Fine.Mo!”
“Yeah?”Mocallsfromthelivingroom
“Canyoutellmeifthisoutfitmakesmelookcoolandsophisticatedortiredandmumsy,please?”
“Ifyou’reaskingthequestion,losetheoutfit,”Gertycalls.
Irollmyeyes.“Ididn’taskyou!Youdon’tlikeanyofmyclothes,anyway!”
“That’snottrue,Ilikesomeofthem.Justnotinthecombinationsyouchoosetoadopt.”
“Youlookperfect,”Leonsays,smilingupatme.Hiswholefacelooksdifferenttoday,likesomeoneflickedaswitchbacktherethatIdidn’tevenknowabout,andnoweverythingisbrighter.
“No,Gerty’sright,”Isay,shruggingoutofthewrapdressandreachingformyfavoritegreenskinnyjeansandaloose-knitjumper.“I’mtryingtoohard.”
“You’retryingjusttherightamount,”LeontellsmeasIhopononeleg,pullingupthejeans.
“IsthereanystatementIcouldsaythiseveningthatyouwouldn’tautomaticallyagreewith?”
Henarrowshiseyes.“Aconundrum,”hesays.“Theanswerisno,butsayingthatwouldmeanI’dcontradictmyself.”
“HeagreeswitheverythingIsay,andhe’ssoclever,too!”Icrawlacrossthebedtostraddlehimandkisshim,lettingmybodymeltagainsthis.WhenIpullbacktoputmytopon,heprotests,holdingmeclose,andIsmile,swattinghishands.“Thisoutfitevenyoumustadmitisnotappropriate,”Ipointout.
ThebuzzerforthebuildingdoorgoesoffthreetimesandLeonjumpsupsoquicklythatI’malmostthrownoffthebed.
“Sorry!”hecallsoverhisshoulderasheheadstothedoor.IhearMoorGertyliftthereceivertoletRichieupintothebuilding.
MystomachflipsasIyankontheknittedjumperandrunmyfingersthroughmyhair.IwaittohearRichie’svoiceatourfrontdoor,hangingbacktogivehimandLeonthemomentthey’vebeenwaitingfor.
Instead,IhearJustin.
“Iwanttotalktoyou,”hesays.
“Oh.Hello,Justin,”Leonsays.
Atthispoint,InoticethatI’malreadyhuggingmyarmsclosetomyselfandtuckingmybodyinagainstthewardrobesonobodywholeansintochecktheflatwillseemeinthebedroomdoorway,andIsuddenlyfeellikescreaming.Hedoesnotgettocomehereanddothistome.Iwanthimgone,reallygone,notjustoutofmylifebutoutofmyheadaswell.Iamdonewithcoweringbehinddoorsandfeelingfrightened.
Well,I’mnot,obviously,becauseyoudon’tgetovershitlikethisthatquickly,buttemporarilyIamdonewithitandI’mgoingtomakethemostofthiscurrentwaveofcrazyangryconfidence.Iroundthecorner.
Justinissquaredupinthedoorway,broad,muscled,andvisiblyangry.
“Justin,”Isay,movingtostandbesideLeonuntilI’monlyafewfeetfromJustin.Irestahandonthedoor,readytoslamitclosed.
“I’mheretotalktoLeon,”Justinsaysshortly.Hedoesn’tevenlookatme.
Irecoildespitemyself,myconfidenceinstantlydrained.
“Ifyou’rethinkingofproposingtome,too,theanswer’sno,”Leonsayspleasantly.Justin’shandsbunchintofistsatthejoke;hestartsforward,bodycoiled,eyesflashing.Iflinch.
“Watchthatfoot,Justin,”saysGertysharplyfrombehindme.“Ifitgetsanyclosertobeinginsidethisflat,yourlawyerwillhavealotmoretotalktomeabout.”
IwatchthethoughthitJustin,seehimre-evaluate.“Idon’trememberyourfriendsbeingthisinterferingwhenweweretogether,Tiffy.”Hesnarlsthewords,andmyheartthundersinmychest.Ithinkhe’sdrunk.Thatisnotgood
“Oh,wewantedtobe,”Mosays.
Itakeadeep,shakybreath.“Leavingmewasthebestthingyoueverdidforme,Justin,”Isay,doingmybesttostandassquarelyasheisontheothersideofthethreshold.“We’redone.That’sit.Leavemealone.”
“We’renotdone,”hesaysimpatiently.
“I’mgettingarestrainingorder,”Ichokeoutbeforehecansayanythingelse.
“No,you’renot,”Justinscoffs.“Comeon,Tiffy.Stopbeingsuchachild.”
Islamthedoorinhisfacesohardeveryonejumps,includingme.
“Fuck!”Justinyellsfromtheothersideofthedoor,andthenthere’sthesoundofafistbeingrammedintothedoorandthehandlerattleshard.
Iletoutalittlewhimperdespitemyself,backingaway.Ican’tbelieveIjustslammedthedoorinJustin’sface.
“Police,”Leonmouthsatus.
Gertyflicksonherphoneanddialsthenumber,reachingwithherotherhandtoclaspmyfingerstightly.Moisatmysideinmoments,standingatmyshoulderasIwatchLeonslipthenewchainacrossandleanhisweightagainstthedoor.
“Thisissofuckingcrazy,”Isayweakly.“Ican’tbelievethisishappening.”
“Letmein!”Justinroarsfromtheothersideofthedoor.
“Police,”Gertysaysintothephone.
Justinhammerswithbothfistsonthedoor,andIthinkofhowhepressedhisfingeragainstthebuzzerallthoseweeksago,howhewouldn’tletupuntilLeonopenedthedoor.Iswallow.Eachbangseemslouderthanthelast,untilIfeellikethey’rerightinmyears.Myeyesarewetwithtears;GertyandMoareallbutholdingmeup.Somuchforbeingdonewithfeelingfrightened.AsJustinroarsandragesontheothersideofthedoor,IwatchLeon,facedrawnandserious,ashelooksaroundforotherwaystobarricadeusin.Tomyleft,Gertyanswersquestionsonthephone.
Andthen,suddenly,allthemadnessandnoisestops.Leongivesusaquestioninglook,thenchecksthehandle—thedoorisstilllocked.
“Why’shestopped?”Iask,grippingGerty’shandsotightIcanseemyfingersgoingwhite.
“He’sstoppedbangingonthedoor,”Gertysaysintothephone.Ihearatinnyvoicerespond.“Shesayshemaybetryingtofindawaytobreakdownthedoor.Weshouldmoveintoanotherroom.Stepawayfromthedoor,Leon.”
“Wait,”Leonwhispers,leaningtolistentowhat’sgoingonoutsideinthecorridor.
Hisfacebreaksintoagrimsmile.Hegesturesforallofustocomecloser;tentative,withshakingknees,IletMoleadmetothedoor.Gertystaysback,speakingquietlyintoherphone.
“You’dloveprison,Justin,”saysawarmvoiceontheothersideofthedoor,withanunmistakableaccent.“Really.Loadsofguyslikeyouthere.”
“Richie!”Iwhisper.“But—hemustn’t…”We’vejustgotRichieoutofprison.AfightwithJustinwillnotendwellforRichie,evenifintheshorttermitmeansgettinghimoutofthebuilding.
“Goodpoint,”Leonsays,eyeswidening.Hereachestounlockthedoor,andInoticehishandsareshakingslightly,too.FromthesoundsoftheirvoicesRichieseemsclosetothedoor,andJustinfartheraway,towardthestairs,butstill.Iscrubmyeyesfiercely.Idon’twantJustintoknowwhathedoestome.Idon’twanttogivehimthatpower.
JustinmakesarushforusasLeonswingsthedooropen,butRichiepusheshimnonchalantly,andJustinstumblesintothewall,swearing,asRichiestepsinsideandLeonpullsthedoorclosedquicklybehindhim.It’soverinacoupleofseconds;IbarelyhavetimetoprocessthelookonJustin’sfaceashelungedtowardme,desperatetoforcehiswayinthroughthedoor.What’shappenedtohim?Hewasneverlikethis.Neverviolent.Hisangerwasalwaystightlycontrolled;hispunishmentswerecleverandcruel.Thisismessyanddesperate.
“Nicebloke,yourex,”Richiesaystomewithawink.“Seriouscaseoftheredmistgoingonoutthere.He’sgoingtoregretpunchingthedoorsomuchinthemorning,Icantellyouthat.”Hechucksasparesetofkeysdownonthesideboard—thatmust’vebeenhowhegotinthebuildingwithoutbuzzing.
Iblinkafewtimesandtakeaproperlookathim.NowonderJustinwentquietwhenRichieturnedupinthecorridor.Heisenormous.Sixfootfouratleast,andthekindofmuscularthatonlyhappenswhenyou’vegotnothingtodowithyourtimeexceptexercise.Hisblackhairisbuzzedshort,andtherearestringsoftattoosdownhisforearmsandonecurlinguphisneck,peekingupunderthecollarofhiscourtshirt—alongwithacordnecklace,whichI’dbetmatchesLeon’s.Hehasthesamethoughtful,deep-browneyesasLeon,too,thoughthey’realittlemoremischievous-looking.
“Thepolicewillbehereintenminutes,”Gertysayscalmly.“Hello,Richie.Howareyou?”
“Devastatedtodiscoveryouhaveaboyfriend,”Richiesays,clappingMoontheshoulderwithagrin.IcouldswearMosinksaninchorsodeeperintothecarpet.“Ioweyouadinnerout!”
“Oh,don’tletmestopyou,”Mosayshastily.
RichiehugsLeonsohardIcanheartheirbodiescolliding.“Don’tworryaboutthatprickoutside,”hesaystobothofusashepullsback.Throughthedoor,Justinthrowssomething;whateveritissmashesagainstthewallandIwincebodily.I’mshakingallover—IhavebeensinceIfirstheardhisvoice—butRichiejustgivesmeafriendly,unquestioningsmile,andit’slikeanechoofLeon’slopsidedgrin—awarmsmile,thesortthatmakesyouinstantlyfeelmorecomfortable.“Pleasuretomeetyouintheflesh,Tiffy,”hesays.“Andthankyouforlookingaftermybrother.”
“I’mnotsurethiscounts,”Imanage,pointingtothedoorasitshakesintheframe.
Richiewavesahand.“Honestly.Ifhegetsinhere,he’llhavetodealwithmeandLeon—and…sorry,man,we’venotbeenintroduced.”
“Mo,”Mosays,lookingverymuchlikethesortofmanwhositsinachairandtalksforaliving,andhassuddenlystumbleduponascenariowherethismightputhimatadisadvantage.
“AndmeandTiffy,”Gertysayssharply.“Whatisthis,medievaltimes?IbetI’mbetteratpunchingpeoplethanLeon.”
“Letmethefuckin!”Justinroarsthroughthedoor.
“He’sdrunk,too,”Richiesayscheerfully,andthenheliftsourarmchairandshufflesusoutthewaysohecandumpitinfrontofthedoor.“There.Nouseushangingaboutinherenow,isthere?Lee,balconystillwhereitusedtobe?”
“Um,yeah,”Leonbegins,lookingslightlyshell-shocked.He’smovedroundtotakeMo’splacebesideme,andIleanintohishandashestrokesmyback,lettingthatsensationpullmebacktogetheragain.EverytimeJustinyellsorthumpsthedoorIflinch,butnowthatRichieishereweightliftingfurniture,andLeonhashisarmaroundme,theflinchingisnolongeraccompaniedbytotallyblindingfearandpanic.Whichisnice.
Richieushersusalloutontothebalconyandshutstheglassdoorbehindus.Webarelyfit;GertycurlsintoMoinonecornerandIfitmyselfinfrontofLeonintheother,leavingRichiemostofthespace,whichisexactlywhatheneeds.Hebreathesinandoutdeeply,beamingattheviewfromthebalcony.
“London!”hesays,spreadinghisarmsoutwide.“I’vemissedthis.Lookatit!”
Behind,backintheflat,thedoorthudsoverandoveragain.Leonpullsmetightagainsthim,buryinghisfaceinmyhairandbreathingwarm,calmingbreathsagainstmyneck.
“Andweevengetagreatvantagepointforwhenthepoliceturnup,”Richietellsus,turningtowinkatme.“Didn’tthinkI’dbeseeingthemagainsosoon,Ihavetosay.”
“Sorry,”Isay,miserable.
“Don’tbe,”Richiesaysfirmly,inthesamemomentthatLeonshakeshisheadintomyhair,andMosays,“Don’tapologize,Tiffy.”EvenGertyrollshereyesinanaffectionatesortofway.
Ilookaroundatthemall,huddledoutonthebalconywithme.Ithelps—onlyalittle,butIdon’tthinkanythingcouldhelpmorethanalittlerightnow.IclosemyeyesandleanintoLeon,concentratingonmybreathingthewayLucietoldmeto,andtrytoimaginethatthebangingnoiseisjustthat—anoiseandnothingmore.It’llstopeventually.Breathingdeep,Leon’sarmsaroundme,Ifeelanewsortofcertaintysettle.EvenJustincannotlastforever.74LEON
ThepolicetakeJustinaway.He’sbasicallyfoamingatthemouth.Onelookathimandyoucanseewhat’shappened:amanwhohasalwayshadcontrolhaslostit.But,asGertypointsout,thiswillatleastmaketherestrainingordermorestraightforward.
Weinspectthedoor.He’sdentedthewoodwithkickingandchippedoffchunksofpaintwithhisfists.There’sblood,too.Tiffyturnsherheadasideassheseesit.Iwonderwhatitcanpossiblyfeellike,seeingthataftereverythingshe’sbeenthrough.Knowingthatshelovedthisman,andthathelovedher,inhisway.
ThankgodforRichie.Themanradiatesjoytonight.AsRichielaunchesintoyetanotherstoryaboutthelengths“Bozo”wouldgotoforfirstdibsontheweightsmachine,IwatchthecolorcomebackintoTiffy’scheeks,hershoulderslift,herlipsslideintoasmile.Better.I’mrelaxing,too,witheachsignofimprovement.Icouldn’tbeartoseeherthatway,jumping,crying,afraid.EvenwatchingJustincartedawaybyapoliceofficerwasn’tenoughtoeasetherage.
Butnow,threehourspostpolicedrama,we’rescatteredaroundthelivingroomjustlikeIimaginedit.Ifyousquinted,you’dhardlyevennoticethattheeveningI’vebeenlookingforwardtoforthelastyearwasbrieflyinterruptedbyaniratemanattemptingtobreakandenter.TiffyandIhavetakenthebeanbag.Gertyhasprideofplaceonthesofa,leaningupagainstMo.Richieisrulingtheroomfromthearmchair,whichhasn’tquitereturnedtoitsusualplacesinceitwasusedtoblockadethedoor,sonowjustsitssomewherebetweenthehallandlivingroom.
Richie:Icalledit.Justsaying.
Gerty:When,though?BecauseIcalledit,too,butIdon’tbelieveyoucouldhavecalleditrightfromthe—
Richie:FromthemomentLeontoldmehewasgettingsomewomanintosleepinhisbedwhenhewasn’tthere.
Gerty:Notpossible.
Richie,expansively:Comeon!Youcan’tshareabedandnotshareanythingelse,ifyouknowwhatI’msaying.
Gerty:WhataboutKay?
Richiewavesahanddismissively.
Richie:Eh.Kay.
Tiffy:Comeon,now—
Richie:Oh,shewassweetenough,butshewasneverrightforLeon.
Me,toGertyandMo:Whatdidyouthinkatthestart?
Tiffy:Oh,god,don’taskthemthat.
Gerty,promptly:Wethoughtitwasadreadfulidea.
Mo:Bearinmindyoucouldhavebeenanyone.
Gerty:Youcouldhavebeenadisgustingpervert,forinstance.
Richieroarswithlaughterandreachesforanotherbeer.Hehasnothadadrinkinelevenmonths.Iconsidertellinghimthathistolerancewillnotbewhatitoncewas,andthencontemplatehowRichiewillreacttothissuggestion(almostcertainlydrinkingmoretoprovemewrong)anddecidenottobother.
Mo:WeeventriedtogiveTiffymoneysoshewouldn’tdoit—
Gerty:Whichshesaidnoto,obviously—
Mo:AndthenitbecameclearthatthiswaspartofgettingawayfromJustin,andwejusthadtoletherdoitherownway.
Richie:Andyoudidn’tseeitcoming?TiffyandLeon?
Mo:No.Tobehonest,Ididn’tthinkTiffywouldhavebeenreadyforaguylikeLeonyet.
Me:Whatsortofguyisthat?
Richie:Fiendishlyhandsome?
Me:Gangly?Big-eared?
Tiffy,wryly:Hemeansanon-psychoticguy.
Mo:Well,yes.Ittakesalongtimetoescapefromrelationshipslikethat—
Gerty,briskly:NoJustintalk.
Mo:Sorry.IwasjusttryingtosayhowwellTiffydid.Howharditmusthavebeenforhertobreakoutofthatbeforeitbecameapattern.
RichieandIexchangeglances.IthinkofMam.
Gertyrollshereyes.
Gerty:Honestly.Datingacounselorisdreadful,bytheway.Thismanhasnoconceptoflightheartedness.
Tiffy:Andyoudo?
GertypokesTiffywithonefootinresponse.
Tiffy,grabbingthefootandpulling:Anyway,thisisreallywhatwewanttohearabout.YouneverdidfillmeinproperlyaboutyouandMo!How?When?Excludingpenis-relateddetails,asdiscussed.
Richie:Eh?
Me:Justgowithit.It’sbesttoletthein-jokeswashoveryou.Eventuallytheystarttomakesomesortofsense.
Tiffy:JustwaituntilyoumeetRachel.Queenoftheinappropriatein-joke.
Richie:Soundslikemykindofgirl.
Tiffylooksthoughtfulatthis,andIraisemyeyebrowswarninglyather.Badideatomatch-makeRichie.AsmuchasIlovemybrother,hedoestendtobreakhearts.
Me:Goon,Mo,Gerty?
Mo,toGerty:Youtellit.
Tiffy:No,no,Gerty’sversionwillsoundlikesomethingshe’dreadoutincourt—Mo,giveustheromanticversionofevents,please.
MogivesasidelonglookatGertytoseehowcrossthat’smadeher;thankfullyshe’sthreeglassesofwinein,andhasjustsettledforglaringatTiffy.
Mo:Well,itstartedwhenwemovedintogether.
Gerty:AlthoughMowasinlovewithmeforagesbeforethat,apparently.
Moshootsheramildlyirritatedlook.
Mo:AndGertyhaslikedmeforoverayear,shesaid.
Gerty:Inconfidence!
Tiffymakesanimpatientnoiseinthebackofherthroat.
Tiffy:Andyou’realllovedup?Sleepinginthesamebedandallthat?
Thereisashiftysortofsilence;Molooksathisfeet,uncomfortable.TiffysmilesupatGerty,reachingtosqueezeherhand.
Richie:Well.LookslikeIneedtofindmyselfaflatmate,don’tI?SEPTEMBER,TWOYEARSLATEREpilogueTIFFY
There’sanoteonthedooroftheflatwhenIgethomefromwork.Thisisn’tunusualperse,butasaruleLeonandItrytoconfineournotestotheinsideofourhome.Youknow,soasnottoadvertiseourpeculiaritiestotheneighbors.
Warning:imminentromanticgesture.
(Beassured,itisverylow-budget.)
Isnortwithlaughterandturnthekeyinthedoor.Theflatlooksthesameasever:cluttered,multicolored,andjustlikehome.It’sonlywhenIgotochuckmybagdowninthespotbythedoorthatIseethenextnoteonthewallthere.
Stepone:dressforadventure.Pleaseassembleoutfitfromwardrobe.
Istareatthenote,bemused.ThisiseccentricevenbyLeon’sstandards.Ishrugoffmycoatandscarfandleavethemonthebackofthesofa.(It’sasofa-bedthesedays,whichonlyjustfitsinourlivingroomevenoncewesacrificedthetelly,butnoplacewillbehomeunlessthere’sabedforRichietostayin.)
Ontheinsideofthewardrobedoor,thenoteisfoldedoverandstuckwithsellotape.Ontheoutside,itreads:
AreyouwearingsomethingTiffy-ishyet?
Imean,Iam,butit’saworkoutfitsothere’smoreofanodtonormalitythanusual(i.e.,I’vetriedtomakesureatleasttwoitemsarenotdirectoppositesonacolorwheel).Irifflethroughthewardrobelookingforsomethingsuitably“adventurous,”whateverthatmeans.
IpauseontheblueandwhitedressIboughtacoupleofyearsback.TheoneLeoncallsmyFamousFivedress.It’salittleimpracticalforacoldday,butwithmythickgraytightsandtheyellowmacfromHelptheAged…
Oncedressed,Iunstickthenotefromthewardrobedoorandreadthemessageinside.
Helloagain.Betyoulookbeautiful.
Youneedtocollectafewmorethingsbeforeyousetoffadventuring,ifyoudon’tmind.Thefirstisinthespotwherewefirstmet.(Don’tworry.It’swaterproof.)
Igrinandheadofftothebathroom,movingmorequicklynow.WhatexactlyisLeonuptohere?WhereamIsupposedtobegoing?NowI’vegotmyadventuringdresson,theend-of-dayworkslumphaslifted—probablyLeonknewI’dfeelbetterwithsomethingcolorfulon—andafizzinggiddyfeelingisgrowinginmystomach.
There’sanenvelopehangingfromtheshowerhead,carefullyandverythoroughlywrappedinclingfilm.OntheoutsideofitisaPost-itnote.
Don’treadmeyet,please.
Thenextthingyouneedisinthespotwherewefirstkissed.(Well,notexactspotassofahaschanged.Butpleaseoverlookthisforthesakeoftheromanticgesture.)
It’sanotherenvelope,tuckedbetweenthesofacushions.Thisonereadsopenme,soIdoasI’mtold.InsidethereisatrainticketfromLondontoBrighton.Ifrown,completelyflummoxed.WhyBrighton?We’venotbeensincebeforeweweretogether,backwhenwewerelookingforJohnnyWhite.
Thenotebehindtheticketreads:
ThelastthingyouneediswithBobbyforsafekeeping.He’sexpectingyou.
BobbyisthemanweonceknewasStrangeManinFlat5.He’safirmfriendnow,andhasthankfullyrealizedyoucannotmakeciderfromabananaandmovedontomoreconventionalapplecider.Itisverytastyandinvariablygivesmeanextremelybadhangover.
Itakethestairstwoatatimeandknockonhisdoor,shiftingimpatientlyfromonefoottotheother.
Heanswersinhisfavoritetracksuitbottoms(Isewedtheholeupforhimlastyear.Itwasgettingindecent.IpatcheditupwithafewinchesofpinkginghamIhadlyingabout,though,sohedefinitelydoesn’tlooklessstrange).
“Tiffany!”hesays,thenshufflesoffimmediately,leavingmeinthedoorway.Icranemyneck.Eventuallyhere-emergesholdingasmallcardboardboxwithaPost-itnotestucktoit.“Thereyouare!”hesays,andbeams.“Offyougo!”
“Thanks?”Isay,examiningthebox.
OnceyougettoBrighton,headtothebeachbythepier.You’llknowthespotwhenyouseeit.
It’sthemostexcruciatingtrainjourneyI’veevertaken.I’mitchingwithcuriosity.Icanhardlysitstill.BythetimeIgettoBrightonit’sdark,butit’seasytofindmywaytotheseafront;IwalksofasttowardthepierthatI’malmostjogging,whichissomethingIonlydoinextremecircumstances,soIreallymustbeexcited.
IseewhatLeonmeansassoonasIgetthere.Icouldn’tmissthespot.
There’sanarmchaironthepebbles,thirtyyardsorsofromthesea.It’scoveredinmulticoloredblanketsandstrewnarounditamongsttherockstherearedozensoftea-lights.
Icovermymouth.Myheart’sthumpingtriple-speed.AsImakemywayover,stumblingonthepebbles,IlookaroundforLeon,butthere’snosightofhim—thewholebeachisdeserted.
Thenoteonthechairisweigheddownwithalargeshell.
Sit,wrapupwarm,andopentheenvelopewhenyou’reready.Thenthebox.
IripofftheclingfilmandteartheenvelopeopenassoonasI’msatdown.Tomysurpriseit’sinGerty’shandwriting.
DearTiffy,
LeonhasenlistedmeandMotohelpwiththismadcapschemebecausehesaysyouvalueouropinions.Isuspectitisactuallybecauseheisalittleafraidanddoesn’twanttodothisonhisown.Iwon’tholdthatagainsthim,though.Abitofhumilityisgoodinaman.
Tiffany,wehaveneverseenyouashappyasyouarenow.Thatcamefromyou—youbuiltthathappinessforyourself.ButthereisnoshameinsayingthatLeonhelped.
Welovehim,Tiffy.Heisgoodforyouinthewaythatonlyaverygoodmancouldbe.
It’syourdecision,ofcourse,buthewantedyoutoknow:Hehasourblessing
MoandGertyx
P.S.Heaskedmetosaythathedidn’taskyourfather’spermission,onaccountofthatbeing“abitarchaicandpatriarchal,”buthefeels“fairlyconfidentBrianisonboard.”
Ilaughshakily,wipingthetearsfrommycheeks.MydadadoresLeon.He’sbeencallinghim“son”inembarrassingsocialsituationsforatleastayear.
MyhandstrembleasIreachforthecardboardbox.Thesellotapetakesanagonizinglylongtimetoworkloose,butwhenImanagetogetthelidoffIstartcryinginearnest.
There’saringinside,nestledinabundleofrainbow-coloredtissuepaper.It’sbeautiful:vintage,alittlewonky,withanovalamberstoneinitscenter.
Andthere’sonelastnote.
TiffanyRoseMooreofFlat3,MadeiraHouse,Stockwell,
Wouldyouliketobemywife?
Takesometimetothinkaboutit.Ifyouwanttoseeme,I’mattheBunnyHopInn,room6.
Iloveyoux
WhenIcan,whenmyshouldershavestoppedshakingfromhappy-cryingandI’vewipedmyeyesandblownmynose,IheadbackupthebeachtothewarmlightoftheBunnyHopInn.
He’swaitingformeonthebedinroom6,satcross-legged,fidgeting.He’snervous.
Itakehimataflyingleap.HeletsoutahappysortofoofasIrollhimbackontothebed.
“Yes?”heasksafteramoment,pushingbackmyhairsohecanlookatmyface.
“LeonTwomey,”Isay,“onlyyoucouldfindamethodofproposingthatmeansyoudon’tactuallyhavetobethere.”Ikisshimhard.“Yes.Absolutely,definitely,yes.”
“Sure?”heasks,pullingbacktolookatmeproperly.
“I’msure.”
“Really?”
“Reallyreally.”
“It’snottoomuch?”
“Bloodyhell,Leon!”Isay,exasperated.Ilookroundandreachforthehotelstationeryonthebedsidetable.
YES.Iwouldlovetomarryyou.
Nowit’swrittendownitisunequivocalandprobablybindinginacourtoflawalthoughcheckwithGertybecauseIliterallyjustmadethatuprightnow.xx
Iwavethenoteunderhisnosesohegetsthegist,thentuckitinthepocketofhisshirt.Hepullsmeinandpresseshislipstothecrownofmyhead.Icanfeelthathe’sdoingoneofthoselopsidedsmiles,anditallseemstoogood,likewecan’tpossiblydeserveit,likewe’retakingtoomuchhappinessandnotleavingenoughforeveryoneelse
“Thisisthebitwhereweturnonthetellyandanuclearwarhasstarted,”Isay,twistingtoliedownnexttohim
Hesmiles.“Idon’tthinkso.Doesn’tworkthatway.Sometimesthehappythingjusthappens.”
“Lookatyou,withallthesunnyoptimism!That’susuallymyjam,notyours.”
“Notsurewhat’sbroughtiton.Recentbetrothal?Brightfuture?Love-of-lifeinarms?Hardtosay.”
Ichuckle,nuzzlingintohischest,breathinghimin.“Yousmelllikehome,”Itellhimafteramoment.
“Youarehome,”hesayssimply.“Thebed,theflat…”
Hepauses,thewayhealwaysdoeswhenhe’slookingforenoughwordsforsomethingbig.
“Itwasneverhomeuntilyouwerethere,Tiffy.”ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Myfirstthank-yougoestotheincredibleTaneraSimons,whogaveTiffyandLeonashotbeforeanybodyelse,andthenkickstartedthecraziest,mostwonderfultimeinmylife.ThenextthanksgoestoMaryDarby,EmmaWinter,KristinaEgan,andSheilaDavidforeverythingthey’vedonetotakeTheFlatshareoutintotheworld.IamsoluckytohavefoundahomeatDarleyAndersonAgency.
YoumightnotbelieveitafterreadingaboutMartinandHana,butinrealitythepublishingindustryisfulloftrulywonderfulpeople—andthebunchwho’vebroughtTheFlatshareintotheworldareparticularlyincredible.ToEmilyYauandChristineKopprasch,myamazingeditorsatQuercusandFlatiron:Thankyouformakingthisaninfinitelybetterbookwithyouredits,andforthecountlessotherthingsyou’vedonetomakeTheFlatsharethebestitcanbe.ThankstoMarlenaBittner,NancyTrypuc,KeithHayes,BrynClark,StevenSeighman,VincentStanley,DavidLott,SaraThwaite,andallthepeopleIwon’thaveeverspokento,butwhoIknowhavedonesomuchtomakethisbookareality.AndthankyoutomywonderfulinternationalpublishersforbelievinginTiffyandLeonsoearlyandmakingthisexperienceevenmoreofadream.
Mynextthank-you’sgoto:Libby,forbeingmymuse;Nups,forbeingmyrock,battlingtoiletmushroomswithme,andtellingme(veryemphatically)thatthisbookwasTheOne;andPooja,forbeingawonderful,generousfriendandgivingsomuchtimeandexpertise.ThankyoutoGabby,Helen,Gary,Holly,andRhys,fortheearlyreads,thebrightideas,andthemessynightsatAdventureBar,andtoRebeccaLewis-Oakes,forgivingmeagoodtalking-towhenIwastooscaredtosendoutqueries.SorryforkeepingthenameJustin,Rebecca!
Tomywonderfulfamily,andthefabulousHodgsonfamily,too:Thankyouforalwaysbeingthereforme,andforgettingsoexcitedaboutallthings“Flatshare.”MumandDad,thankyouforyourendlesssupportandforfillingmylifewithloveandbooks.AndTom,thankyouforyourhelpwiththedetails.Iloveyouandthinkofyoueveryday.
ToSam.Thisisthehardestpart,becauseIfeeljustlikeLeon—Ican’tfindthewordsforsomethingthisbig.Thankyouforyourpatience,yourkindness,yourpuppylikeenthusiasmforeverythinglifebrings,andthankyouforreadingandlaughingwhenitmatteredmost.Thisbookisdedicatedtoyou,butreallyit’snotjustforyou,it’sbecauseofyou,too.
Finally,ahugethank-youtoeveryreaderwhopickedupthisbook,andtoeverybooksellerwhohelpedmakethatmomenthappen.I’msogratefulandhonoredyoudid.ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
BethO’Learyworkedinchildren’spublishingbeforebecomingafull-timeauthor.TheFlatshareisherdebutnovel.TheideaforTheFlatsharecametoBethwhenherdoctorboyfriendwasworkinglongnightshiftsaspartofhistrainingandtheycouldgoweekswithoutseeingeachother—butshecouldtrackhislifebyhowmanycupsofcoffeewereleftonthecounter,byhowmuchhe’deaten,andwhetherthebookmarkinhisnovelhadchangedlocations.Itmadeherwonder:Whatcouldyoulearnaboutsomeoneifyoulivedtogetherbutyourlivesneveroverlapped?
Visitheronlineatbetholearyauthor.com,orsignupforemailupdateshere
Thankyouforbuyingthis
FlatironBooksebook.
Toreceivespecialoffers,bonuscontent,
andinfoonnewreleasesandothergreatreads,
signupforournewsletters.
Orvisitusonlineat
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
Foremailupdatesontheauthor,clickhereCONTENTS
TitlePage
CopyrightNotice
Dedication
February
1.Tiffy
2.Leon
3.Tiffy
4.Leon
5.Tiffy
6.Leon
7.Tiffy
8.Leon
9.Tiffy
10.Leon
11.Tiffy
12.Leon
April
13.Tiffy
14.Leon
May
15.Tiffy
16.Leon
July
17.Tiffy
18.Leon
19.Tiffy
20.Leon
21.Tiffy
22.Leon
23.Tiffy
August
24.Leon
25.Tiffy
26.Leon
27.Tiffy
28.Leon
29.Tiffy
30.Leon
31.Tiffy
32.Leon
September
33.Tiffy
34.Leon
35.Tiffy
36.Leon
37.Tiffy
38.Leon
39.Tiffy
40.Leon
41.Tiffy
42.Leon
43.Tiffy
44.Leon
45.Tiffy
46.Leon
47.Tiffy
48.Leon
49.Tiffy
50.Leon
51.Tiffy
October
52.Leon
53.Tiffy
54.Leon
55.Tiffy
56.Leon
57.Tiffy
58.Leon
59.Tiffy
60.Leon
61.Tiffy
62.Leon
63.Tiffy
64.Leon
65.Tiffy
66.Leon
67.Tiffy
68.Leon
69.Tiffy