The Flatshare(71)

Holly: Well, have you told her you like her?

Me: She definitely knows.

Holly narrows eyes.

Holly: Does she, Leon?

I feel slightly discomposed. Yes? She does? The kissing is a clear clue, no?

Holly: You’re terrible at telling people how you really feel about them. You hardly ever told me how you liked me better than all the other patients. But I know you did.

She stretches out her hands, like case in point. I try not to grin.

Me: Well, I’ll make sure she knows.

Holly: It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell her anyway.

And she’s off, darting through the crowd. Shit.

Me: Holly! Holly! Don’t say any— I eventually find them together in the kitchen. Burst in at the end of what is clearly an intervention on Holly’s part. Tiffy is leaning down to hear her, smiling, hair shining red-gold under the over-bright kitchen lights.

Holly: I just want you to know he’s nice, and you’re nice.

She stands on tiptoe, and adds, in a stage whisper: Holly: So that means there isn’t a doormat.

Tiffy looks up at me, enquiring.

Press lips together as something warm and melting settles in my chest. I step in and pull Tiffy towards me, reaching over to ruffle Holly’s hair. Weird, clairvoyant child.





51


Tiffy

Mo and Gerty come around in the afternoon, once Leon’s headed off to his mum’s place, and I fill them in on the night’s dramas over a much-needed bottle of wine. Mo does his best empathetic nod; Gerty, on the other hand, just keeps swearing. She has some really inventively nasty names for Justin. I think she’s been saving them up for some time.

‘Do you want to stay at ours tonight?’ Mo says. ‘You can have my bed.’

‘Thanks, but no, I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to run away. I know he doesn’t want to hurt me or anything.’

Mo doesn’t look too sure about that. ‘If you’re certain,’ he says.

‘Call us anytime and we’ll order a taxi to collect you,’ Gerty tells me, finishing off her wine. ‘And give me a ring in the morning. You need to tell me about having sex with Leon.’

I stare at her. ‘What!’

‘I knew it! I could just tell,’ she says, looking pleased with herself.

‘Well, actually, we haven’t,’ I tell her, sticking my tongue out. ‘So your radar is off – again.’

She narrows her eyes. ‘There was nudity though. And . . . touching.’

‘On that very sofa.’

She jumps up as if she’s been stung. Mo and I snigger.

‘Well,’ Gerty says to me, brushing down her skinny jeans with distaste, ‘we’re seeing Leon on Tuesday. So we will make sure to grill him and check his intentions with you are all as they should be.’

‘Hang on, you’re what?’

‘I’m talking him through where we’re at with the case.’

‘And Mo is going along because . . .’ I look at Mo.

‘Because I want to meet Leon,’ he says, unabashed. ‘What? Everyone else has met him.’

‘Yes, but . . . but . . .’ I narrow my eyes. ‘He’s my flatmate.’

‘And my client,’ Gerty points out, grabbing her handbag off the counter. ‘Look, meeting Leon may have been a huge rigmarole for you, but we can just drop him a text and meet for brunch like normal people.’

Annoyingly, there’s not much I can say to that. And I can’t exactly fault them for being overprotective friends in the circumstances – without that, without them, I’d still probably be crying myself to sleep in Justin’s flat. Still, I’m not sure I’m ready to be at meeting-the-friends stage with Leon, and the meddling is irritating.

All’s forgiven when I get home from work on Tuesday, though, and find this note on the coffee table.

BAD THINGS REALLY DID HAPPEN. (Mo asked me to remind you.)

But you got through said bad things, and now you are stronger for it. (Gerty told me to pass on . . . though her version had more swearwords.)

You’re lovely, and I will never hurt you how he hurt you.

(That part was me.)

Leon xx

*

‘You are going to love me,’ Rachel says, standing on tiptoes to talk to me over my wall of pot plants.

I rub my eyes. I’ve just got off the phone to Martin, who has taken to calling me rather than walking down the corridor. I suspect he thinks it makes him seem like he’s busy and important – far too busy and important for getting up off his bum and coming to talk to me. Still, I now have the power to screen his calls, and if I really do have to talk to him then I can make faces at Rachel at the same time, so there are upsides.

‘Why? What have you done? Have you bought me a castle?’

She stares at me. ‘It is so weird you just said that.’

I stare back at her. ‘Why? Have you actually bought me a castle?’

‘Obviously not,’ she says, recovering, ‘because if I could afford a castle I’d buy one for myself first, no offence – but this does involve a castle.’

I reach for my mug and swing my legs out from under the desk. This conversation requires tea. We take our usual route to the kitchen: doubling back past the colour room to avoid the head of Editorial and MD’s desks, ducking behind the pillar by the photocopier so Hana won’t spot us, hitting the kitchen from an angle that ensures we can see if any senior members of staff are lurking in there.