The Flatshare(89)

I think about going home, but home is full of Tiffy’s belongings. The smell of her, the clothes I’ve seen her in, the negative space around her. And eventually she’ll come back from the launch – the flat’s hers for tonight and the weekend. So that’s out. Can sleep at Mam’s, obviously, but oddly seem to be just as furious with her as with Tiffy. Besides, can’t stand the thought of sleeping in mine and Richie’s old room tonight. Can’t be where Tiffy is, can’t be where Richie isn’t.

I have nowhere to go. Nowhere’s home. Just keep walking.

This flatshare. I wish I’d never done it. Wish I’d never opened my life up like that and let someone else walk in and fill it up. I was doing fine – safe, managing. Now my flat’s not mine, it’s ours, and when she’s gone all I will see is the absence of tiffin and books about bricklayers and that bloody stupid paisley beanbag. It’ll be another room full of what’s missing. Just what I didn’t want.

Maybe I can still save her from a life with him. Yes to a proposal doesn’t mean they’ll definitely get married, and she could hardly say no, could she, with all those people staring. I feel a dangerous surge of hope, and do my best to quash it. Remind myself that there is no saving of people – people can only save themselves. The best you can do is help when they’re ready.

Should eat. Can’t remember when I last did. The night before? Already seems like for ever ago. Now that I’ve realised I’m hungry, my stomach growls.

Swing into Starbucks. Walk past two girls watching Tasha Chai-Latte video of Justin proposing to Tiffy. Drink tea with lots of milk in, eat some sort of overpriced toastie with lots of butter in it, and stare at the wall.

I realise, when barista clearing the table gives me curious, pitying look, that I am crying again. Can’t seem to stop, so I don’t make myself. Eventually, though, people are noticing, and I want to be moving again, alone.

More walking. These smart shoes are rubbing raw at the skin of my heel. Think longingly of the worn-in shoes I wear at work, the easy way they fit, and within fifteen minutes or so it’s clear I’m not just walking now, I’m walking somewhere. There’s always room for another nurse in the hospice.





65


Tiffy

Gerty’s calling. I pick up, hardly thinking about it – it’s reflex.

‘Hello?’ My voice sounds strangely flat, even to me.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Tiffany? What the fuck is wrong with you?’

The shock makes me cry again.

‘Give me that,’ Mo says. I look up at him as he takes the phone off me, and breathe in sharply when I see his expression. He looks really angry. Mo never looks angry. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he says into the phone. ‘Oh yeah? You watched a video, did you? And it didn’t occur to you to ask Tiffy what happened? To give your best friend the benefit of the doubt before you scream down the phone at her?’

My eyes widen. A video? Shit. What video?

And then it dawns on me. Tasha Chai-Latte, filming the whole thing. Martin organised that, presumably, which means Justin would have known about it. No wonder he was so keen to make sure everyone caught my ‘reply’ to his big question – he needed it for the camera.

Martin also saw me and Leon together in the castle in Wales, right after Justin had had his suspicions raised when he’d dropped around to my flat and found Leon in his towel.

‘Mo,’ I say urgently. ‘Ask Gerty where Leon is.’

*

‘Call him again.’

‘Tiff, his phone is still off,’ Mo says gently.

‘Again!’ I say, pacing back and forth from the sofa to the kitchen. My heart is beating so hard it feels as if there’s something trying to work its way out between my ribs. I can’t bear the thought of Leon seeing that video and thinking that I’m engaged to Justin. I can’t bear it.

‘His phone is still off,’ Mo says, my mobile to his ear.

‘Try calling from yours. Maybe he’s screening my calls. He probably hates me.’

‘He won’t hate you,’ Mo says.

‘Gerty did.’

Mo narrows his eyes. ‘Gerty has a tendency to be judgemental. She’s working on it.’

‘Well, Leon doesn’t know me well enough to know I’d never do this to him,’ I say, twisting my hands together. ‘He knows I was really hung up on Justin, he probably just thinks— oh, God.’ I’m choking up.

‘Whatever he thinks, it’s fixable,’ Mo assures me. ‘We just need to wait until he’s ready to talk. He’s had a tough day too, going to court with Richie.’

‘I know!’ I snap at Mo. ‘I know! You think I don’t know how important today was for him?’

Mo doesn’t say anything. I wipe my face.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you. You’ve been so great. I’m just angry with myself.’

‘Why?’ Mo asks.

‘Because . . . I bloody well dated him, didn’t I?’

‘Justin?’

‘I’m not saying what happened today was my fault, I know it doesn’t work that way, but I can’t help but think – if he’d not got to me, if I’d been stronger . . . we’d never have ended up here. I mean, bloody hell. None of your ex-girlfriends try to make you marry them and then use that to break up your current relationship, do they? Not that you have a current relationship, but you know what I mean.’