The Flatshare(94)

‘Wait!’ I call.

He looks down at me. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m your other neighbour. Hello!’

‘Oh, you’re Leon’s girlfriend?’

I hesitate, then grin. ‘Yes,’ I say firmly, and hear a little whoop from street level. ‘And I have a question.’

He just stares at me with the air of a man waiting to see what a small child will do next.

‘What do you do with all the bananas? You know – the bananas from the empty crates that live in your parking space?’

To my surprise, he breaks into a big, half-toothless smile. He looks quite friendly when he’s smiling. ‘I distil them! Lovely cider!’

And with that, he slams the window.

Leon and I look at each other and simultaneously burst out into giggles. Before long I am laughing so hard I’ve started to cry; I’m holding my stomach, ugly-laughing, gasping for breath and screwing my face up hard.

‘Antigravity yoga!’ I hear Leon whisper, his voice just carrying on a gap in the traffic noise. ‘Banana cider!’

‘I can’t hear you,’ I say, but I don’t shout for fear of waking the ire of the strange man from Flat 5 again. ‘Come closer.’

Leon looks around, and then backs up a few steps.

‘Catch!’ he calls in a stage whisper, and then he chucks the bouquet up to me. It soars lopsidedly through the air, shedding leaves and the odd chrysanthemum as it goes, but, with a dangerous lunge towards the railings and a squeaky sort of shriek, I manage to catch it.

By the time I’ve got a good hold on the flowers and laid them on the table, Leon has disappeared. I lean over the edge of the balcony in confusion.

‘Where have you gone?’ I call.

‘Marco!’ comes a voice from somewhere nearby.

‘Polo?’

‘Marco.’

‘Polo! This is not helping!’

He’s scaling the drainpipe. I burst out laughing again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting closer!’

‘I did not have you down as a drainpipe-climbing man,’ I say, wincing as he reaches for another handhold and hauls himself up a little higher.

‘Me neither,’ he says, turning to look at me as he scrabbles about for a spot for his left foot. ‘You clearly bring out the best in me.’

He’s only a few feet away from me now; the drainpipe passes right up by our balcony, and he can almost reach our railings.

‘Hey! Are those my munchies?’ he says as he reaches an experimental hand up.

I just give him a look.

‘. . . Yeah, fair enough,’ he says. ‘Give a fella a hand?’

‘This is insane,’ I tell him, but I move to help anyway.

Carefully, he lets one foot dangle, and then the other, until he’s hanging by his hands from our balcony railings.

‘Oh my God,’ I say. It’s almost too terrifying to look at, but I can’t look away, specifically because then I won’t be paying attention if he lets go, and that idea is much worse than watching him hanging there, scrabbling to find a foothold on the bottom edge of the railings.

He pulls himself up; I give him a hand with the last yank, my hand grasping his as he swings himself over.

‘There!’ he says, brushing himself down. He pauses, breathless, and looks at me.

‘Hi,’ I say, suddenly feeling a little shy in my over-the-top dress.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Leon says, opening his arms for a hug.

I lean into him. His suit smells of autumn, that outdoor-air smell that clings to your hair at this time of year. The rest of him smells of Leon, just the way I want it to, and as he pulls me close I shut my eyes and breathe him in, feeling the solid strength of his body against mine.

Mo appears in the doorway, fish and chips in a plastic Something Fishy bag in his hands. I didn’t even hear him come in, and I jump a little, but with Leon’s arms around me the idea of Justin turning up in the flat doesn’t feel nearly so terrifying.

‘Ah,’ Mo says, seeing the pair of us. ‘I’ll take my fish and chips elsewhere, shall I?’





68


Leon

Me: It’s probably not the right time.

Tiffy: I sincerely hope you’re joking.

Me: Not joking, but definitely hoping you’ll tell me I’m wrong.

Tiffy: You are wrong. Now is the perfect time. We are alone, in our flat, together. It literally does not get better than this.

We stare at each other. She’s still wearing that incredible dress. Looks like it would tip off her shoulders to the floor with one tug. I’m desperate to try it. I resist, though – she says she’s ready, but it’s not been the sort of day for tear-my-clothes-off sex. Slow, lovely, clothes-staying-on-for-tantalisingly-long-time sex, maybe.

Tiffy: Bed?

That voice – exactly like Richie described it. Deep and sexy. Much sexier when it says things like ‘bed’, too.

We stand at the foot of the bed and turn to face one another again. I lean to take her face between my hands and kiss her. Feel her body melt against mine as we kiss, feel the tension leave her, and pull back to see her eyes have gone fiery behind the blue. The desire is instant, on the moment our lips touch, and it takes enormous effort just to rest my hands on her bare shoulders.