The Flatshare(20)

So if he didn’t come on purpose, then doesn’t it feel a bit like fate?

I grab my tea and wander into the bedroom, at a loose end. I don’t even want to get back together with Justin, do I? This is the longest we’ve ever been broken up, and it does feel different from the other times. Maybe because he left me for a woman he then promptly proposed to. It’s probably that.

In fact, I shouldn’t even care whether he’s going to get in touch with me. What does that say about me, that I’m waiting for a man who most likely cheated on me to give me a call?

‘It says that you’re loyal and trusting,’ Mo says, when I ring him and ask this very question. ‘The exact qualities that mean Justin is likely to try and get in touch again.’

‘You think he will too?’ I realise I’m twitchy, jumpy, hungry for reassurance, which annoys me even more. I start tidying my Gilmore Girls DVDs into the correct order, too jittery to stand still. There’s another note jammed between series one and two; I yank it loose and skim over it. I’d been trying to persuade Leon to try actually using our television, offering him my very high-quality DVD collection as a place to start. He was not convinced.

‘Almost certainly,’ Mo says. ‘That seems to be Justin’s way. But . . . are you sure you want him to?’

‘I’d like him to talk to me. Or at least acknowledge me. I don’t know where his head is at. He seemed so mad at me about the flat, but then that message after I saw him on the cruise ship was really sweet, so . . . I don’t know. I want him to call. Ugh.’ I clench my eyes shut. ‘Why is that?’

‘Maybe you spent a lot of time being told you couldn’t manage without him,’ Mo says gently. ‘That would explain why you want him back, even when you don’t want him.’

I flounder around looking for a change of subject. The latest episode of Sherlock? The new assistant at work? But I find I don’t even have the energy to be diverting.

Mo waits quietly. ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘I mean, have you thought about dating anyone else?’

‘I could date someone else,’ I protest.

‘Hmm.’ He sighs. ‘How did that look on the cruise ship really make you feel, Tiffy?’

‘I don’t know. It was ages ago now. I guess . . . it was kind of . . . sexy? And nice to be wanted?’

‘You weren’t afraid?’

‘What?’

‘Did you feel afraid? Did the look make you feel smaller?’

I frown. ‘Mo, give it a rest. It was just a look. He definitely wasn’t trying to scare me – besides, I rang you to talk about whether he’ll ever call me, and thanks, you made me feel a bit better about that, so let’s draw the line there.’

For a long while there’s silence at the other end of the phone. I’m a little shaken despite myself.

‘That relationship took its toll on you, Tiffy,’ Mo says gently. ‘He made you miserable.’

I shake my head. I mean, I know me and Justin argued, but we always made up, and things only got more romantic after a fight, so it didn’t really count. It wasn’t like when other couples argued – it was all just part of the beautiful, crazy rollercoaster that was our relationship.

‘It’ll all sink in eventually, Tiff,’ Mo says. ‘When it does, you just get on the phone to me, OK?’

I nod, not really sure what I’m agreeing to. From my vantage point I’ve just spotted the perfect distraction from how I’m feeling right now: the bag of scarves under Leon’s bed. The one I found on my first night here, which convinced me that Leon was probably some kind of serial killer. There’s a note on them which I’m sure wasn’t there when I looked at them before – it says FOR CHARITY SHOP.

‘Thanks, Mo,’ I say into the phone. ‘See you Sunday for coffee.’ I hang up, already looking around for a pen.

Hey,

OK, sorry for snooping under (y)our bed. I get that that’s definitely unacceptable. But these scarves are INCREDIBLE. As in, designer incredible. And I know we’ve never talked about this or anything, but I’m guessing that if you’re letting a random stranger (me) sleep in your bed then you’re doing it because you’re short of cash, not because you’re a really nice man who feels bad about how hard it is to get a cheap flat in London.

So while I am ALL FOR giving old clothes to charity shops (after all, I buy most of my possessions from charity shops – people like me need people like you), I think you should consider selling these scarves. You’d probably get around ￡200 a pop.

If you feel like giving one 90% off to your lovely flatmate, I won’t object.

Tiffy x

PS Where did you get them all from, by the way? If you don’t mind me asking.





14


Leon

Arms out wide, legs akimbo. A stern-looking prison guard frisks me very enthusiastically. Suspect I fit her profile of person who may bring drugs or weapons into visiting hall. Imagine her flicking through her mental checklist. Gender: Male. Race: Indeterminate, but a bit browner than would be preferable. Age: Young enough not to know better. Appearance: Scruffy.

Try to smile in a non-threatening, good-citizen sort of way. Probably comes across as cocky, on reflection. Begin to feel slightly queasy, the reality of this place seeping in despite the efforts I have made to pointedly ignore rolls of barbed wire on top of thick steel fences, windowless buildings, aggressive signs about consequences of smuggling drugs into prisons. Despite having done this at least once a month since November.