The Flatshare(17)

‘Tell me again,’ Rachel says, ‘about the look.’

‘Ughh, I can’t explain it,’ I tell her, laying my forehead down on the pages in front of me. ‘I just . . . I know that look from when we were together.’ My stomach twists. ‘It was so inappropriate. I mean – God – his girlfriend – I mean, his fiancée . . .’

‘He saw you across a crowded room, semi-unclothed, being gloriously you-like and pissing about with a middle-aged eccentric author . . . and he remembered why he used to fancy the pants off you,’ Rachel concludes. ‘That’s what happened.’

‘That’s not . . .’ But what did happen? Something, definitely. That look wasn’t nothing. I feel a little flutter of anxiety at the base of my ribs. Even after a whole night of thinking about this, I still can’t work out how I feel. One minute Justin appearing on a cruise ship and catching my eye seems like the most romantic, fateful moment, and then the next I find myself feeling a bit shivery and sick. I was all jittery on the journey home from the docks, too – it’s been a while since I’ve travelled outside London on my own to anywhere other than my parents’. Justin had a real thing about how I always ended up on the wrong train, and he was sweet about taking journeys with me just in case; as I waited alone in the darkness of Southampton station I felt categorically certain I’d end up taking a train to the Outer Hebrides or something.

I reach to check my phone – this ‘meeting’ with Rachel is only in the diary for half an hour, and then I really do need to edit Katherin’s first three chapters.

I have one new message.

So good to see you yesterday. I was there for work, and when I saw ‘Katherin Rosen and assistant’ on the programme, I thought, hey, that’s got to be Tiffy.

Only you could laugh your way through someone reading out your measurements – most girls would hate that. But I guess that’s what makes you special. J xx

Hands shaking, I stretch the phone out to show Rachel. She gasps, hands to mouth.

‘He loves you! That man is still in love with you!’

‘Calm down, Rachel,’ I tell her, though my heart is currently making an attempt at a getaway via my throat. I feel as if I’m choking and breathing too much all at the same time.

‘Can you text back and tell him that comments like that are the reason womankind cares so much about their measurements? And that by declaring that “most girls would hate that”, he is perpetuating the female body image problem, and setting women up against one another, which is one of the greatest problems feminism faces to this day?’

I narrow my eyes at her, and she flashes me a big grin. ‘Or you could just say, “Thanks, come over and show me how special I am all night long”?’

‘Ugh. I don’t know why I talk to you.’

‘It’s me or Martin,’ she points out, gathering up the layouts. ‘I’ll take in these changes. You go get your man back, all right?’

*

‘No,’ Gerty says immediately. ‘Do not text him that. He is scum of the earth who treated you like shit, tried to isolate you from your friends, and almost certainly cheated on you. He does not deserve a text of this niceness.’

There is a pause.

‘What made you want to reply with that message, Tiffy?’ Mo asks, as if he’s translating for Gerty.

‘I just . . . wanted to talk to him.’ My voice is very small. The tiredness is starting to eat away at me; I’m curled up on my beanbag with a hot chocolate, and Mo and Gerty are staring down at me from the sofa, their faces a picture of concern (actually, Gerty’s isn’t – she just looks angry).

Gerty reads my draft message out again. ‘Hi Justin. So good to hear from you. I’m just sorry we didn’t get to catch up properly, despite being on the same cruise ship! And then two kisses.’

‘He did two kisses,’ I say a little defensively.

‘The kisses are last on my list of things to change about that message,’ Gerty says.

‘Are you sure you want to start up contact with Justin again at all, Tiffy? You seem a lot better in yourself since you’ve moved out of his flat,’ Mo says. ‘I wonder if that might not be a coincidence.’ He sighs when I don’t say anything. ‘I know you find it hard to think badly of him, Tiffy, but whatever excuses you can give him for everything else, even you can’t ignore the fact that he left you for another woman.’

I flinch.

‘Sorry. But he did, and even if he’s left her, which we don’t have any evidence he has, he still went off with her. You can’t reason that away or convince yourself you’ve imagined it, because you’ve met Patricia. Look back at that Facebook message. Remember how it felt when he turned up with her at the flat.’

Ugh. Why do people keep saying things I don’t want to hear? I miss Rachel.

‘What do you think he’s doing, Tiffy?’ Mo asks. He’s pushing so hard all of a sudden – it’s making me squirm.

‘Being friendly. Trying to get in touch again.’

‘He’s not asked to meet up,’ Mo points out.

‘And the look he gave you was more than friendly, by the sounds of it,’ Gerty says.

‘I . . .’ It’s true. It wasn’t a hey, I’ve missed you so much, I wish we could talk again look. But it was . . . something. It’s true I can’t ignore the fiancée, but I can’t ignore that look either. What did it mean? If he wanted to – if he wanted to get back together . . .