The Flatshare(33)

‘Hey, Doctor Patel!’ Holly yells suddenly at a passing doctor. ‘This is Tiffy!’

Dr Patel pauses, lowers her glasses down her nose, then flashes me a smile. ‘Well I never,’ is all she says, before disappearing into the nearest patient’s room.

‘OK, Miss Holly,’ I say, spinning the wheelchair so we’re facing each other. ‘What is going on? Why does everyone here know my name? And why do they seem so surprised to see me?’

Holly looks mischievous. ‘Nobody believes you’re real,’ she says. ‘I told everyone Leon is living with a girl and he writes her notes and she makes him laugh and nobody believed me. They all said Leon couldn’t . . .’ she scrunches up her nose ‘. . . tolerate a flatmate. I think that means he wouldn’t want one because he’s so quiet. They don’t know, though, that actually he saves all his talking up for the really good people, like me and you.’

‘Seriously?’ I shake my head, grinning, and set off down the corridor again. It’s funny hearing about Leon from someone else. So far my only point of reference has been Kay, who hardly ever pops around these days.

With Holly’s instructions, we finally reach Coral Ward. She looks around, bracing herself on the arms of her chair to get a better look. ‘Where’s Mr Prior?’ she calls.

An elderly gentleman in a chair over by the window turns and smiles at Holly, his face a mass of deep wrinkles. ‘Hello, Holly.’

‘Mr Prior! This is Tiffy. She’s pretty, isn’t she?’

‘Ah, Ms Moore,’ Mr Prior says, attempting to stand and holding out his hand. ‘What a pleasure.’

I scuttle over, desperate for him to sit down in his chair again. It looks like unfolding himself out of that position would not be wise. ‘It’s such an honour to meet you, Mr Prior! I have to tell you, I adore your work – and I can’t thank you enough for crocheting all those scarves and hats for Katherin’s book.’

‘Oh, I enjoyed it very much. I would have come to your demonstration, but’ – he pats his chest absently – ‘I wasn’t feeling quite up to it, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ I say. ‘It’s not like you need the lesson.’ I pause. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen . . .’

Mr Prior smiles. ‘Leon?’

‘Well, yeah. I just wanted to track him down to say hi.’

‘Mmm,’ Mr Prior says. ‘You’ll find our Leon is somewhat tricky to pin down. In fact, he just slipped out. I think someone tipped him off that you were coming.’

‘Oh.’ I look down, embarrassed. I didn’t mean to hound him around the hospital. Justin always said I never knew when to let something drop. ‘If he doesn’t want to see me, I should probably . . .’

Mr Prior waves a hand. ‘You mistake me, my dear,’ he says. ‘It isn’t that at all. I’d say Leon is rather nervous about meeting you.’

‘Why would he be nervous?’ I ask, as if I’ve not been nervous all day.

‘I couldn’t say for sure,’ Mr Prior says, ‘but Leon doesn’t like things . . . changing. I’d say he very much enjoys living with you, Ms Moore, and I do wonder if he doesn’t want to ruin it.’ He pauses. ‘I would suggest that if you want to introduce a change into Leon’s routine, you’re better off doing it very quickly, and all at once, so he has no means of dodging it.’

‘Like a surprise,’ Holly says solemnly.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well. Anyway, it was great to meet you, Mr Prior.’

‘One more thing, Ms Moore,’ Mr Prior says. ‘Leon was looking a little emotional. And holding a letter. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you?’

‘Oh, God, I hope I didn’t say the wrong thing,’ I say, desperately trying to remember what I’d put in that letter to Richie.

‘No, no, he wasn’t upset. Just in a spin.’ Mr Prior takes his glasses off and rubs them against his shirt with shaky, gnarled fingers. ‘I would say, at a guess, that he was rather . . .’ the glasses go back on his nose ‘. . . surprised.’





22


Leon

It’s too much. I’m shaking. This is the most hope I have felt in months, and I’ve forgotten how to handle this emotion – insides have gone wobbly and skin has turned all cold and hot at same time. Heartrate has been raised for a good hour now. Can’t slow down.

I should go and thank Tiffy in person. She’s trying to find me and I keep hiding which is clearly childish and ridiculous. Am just feeling very odd about this. Like if we meet, everything will be different, and there will be no going back to how it was. And I like how it was. Is.

Me: June, where’s Tiffy?

June: Your lovely flatmate?

Me, patiently: Yes. Tiffy.

June: Leon, it’s almost one in the morning. She left after the show.

Me: Oh. Did she . . . leave a note? Or anything?

June: Sorry, love. She was trying to find you, though, if that’s any consolation.

It isn’t. And no note, either. Feel like a fool. I’ve missed the chance to say thank you; probably upset her, too. Don’t like that thought. But – still buzzing about the letter, and it buoys me through the rest of the night with only the occasional crushing memory of dodging down corridors to avoid social interaction (extreme antisocialness, even for me. Wince at the thought of what Richie will say).