The Flatshare(97)

Got Monday off, so walk Tiffy to the tube and then cook myself an elaborate fry-up involving black pudding and spinach.

Sitting still alone is not good. Odd – normally I’m all for lonesome sitting. But when Tiffy is out, I feel her absence like a missing tooth.

Eventually, after much pacing and not looking in the direction of my phone, I call my mother.

Mam: Leon? Sweetie? Are you OK?

Me: Hi, Mam. I’m fine. Sorry for walking out like that on Friday.

Mam: It’s OK. We were all upset, and what with your new girlfriend marrying that other guy . . . Oh, Lee, you must be heartbroken!

Ah, of course – who would have filled Mam in?

Me: It was a misunderstanding. Tiffy has a, uh, bad-news sort of ex-boyfriend. That was him. She didn’t actually say yes to marrying him, he just tried to force her into it.

Dramatic, soap-opera style gasp down the phone. I try very hard not to find it annoying.

Mam: Poor little thing!

Me: Yes, well, she’s doing fine.

Mam: Have you gone after him?

Me: After him?

Mam: The ex! After what he’s done to your Tiffy!

Me: . . . what are you suggesting, Mam?

I decide not to give her time to answer.

Me: We’re looking into getting a restraining order.

Mam: Oh, sure, those are great.

Awkward pause. Why do I find these conversations so difficult?

Mam: Leon.

Wait. Fidget. Look at the floor.

Mam: Leon, I’m sure your Tiffy’s nothing like me.

Me: What?

Mam: You were always a sweetheart about it, not like Richie with all his screaming and running off and all, but I know you hated the men I dated. I mean, I hated them too, but you hated them right from the start. I know I set a . . . I know I set a terrible example.

I feel deeply, profoundly uncomfortable.

Me: Mam, it’s fine.

Mam: I really am getting sorted now, Lee.

Me: I know. And it wasn’t your fault.

Mam: You know, I think I nearly believe that?

Pause. Think.

I nearly believe that too. Who’d have thought – you say something true enough times, you try hard enough, and maybe it sinks in.

Me: Love you, Mam.

Mam: Oh, sweetheart. I love you too. And we’ll get our Richie back, and we’ll look after him, won’t we, like we always have?

Me: Exactly. Like always.

*

It’s still Monday. Monday is interminable. I hate days off – what do people do on days off? I just keep thinking trial, hospice, Justin, trial, hospice, Justin. Even warm fuzzy Tiffy thoughts are struggling to keep me afloat now.

Me: Hi, Gerty, it’s Leon.

Gerty: Leon, there is no news. The judges have not called us back for a verdict. If the judges call us back for a verdict, I will call you, and then you will know about it. You do not need to call me to check in.

Me: Right. Sure. Sorry.

Gerty, relenting: I suspect it will be tomorrow.

Me: Tomorrow.

Gerty: It’s like today, but plus one.

Me: Today plus one. Yes.

Gerty: Don’t you have a hobby or something?

Me: Not really. Sort of just work all the time, generally.

Gerty: Well, you live with Tiffy. There will be no shortage of hobby-related reading material. Go read a book about crochet or building things out of cardboard or whatever.

Me: Thanks, Gerty.

Gerty: You’re welcome. And stop calling me, I am very busy.

She hangs up. It’s still a little unnerving when she does that, no matter how many times you’ve endured it.





71


Tiffy

I can’t believe Martin had the guts to come in to work. I always had him down as a coward, but actually, of the two of us, I seem the most nervous about facing him. It’s like . . . talking to Justin by proxy. Which is frankly terrifying, no matter how much I tell Leon I’m feeling fine. Martin, on the other hand, is swanning about as usual, gloating about the success story of the party. I guess he probably doesn’t know I know yet.

He’s yet to mention the proposal, I notice. Nobody in the office has. Rachel put out the memo that I wasn’t actually engaged, which has at least saved me a morning of warding off congratulations.

Rachel [10:06]: I could just walk over, kick him in the balls, and we’d be done with it.

Tiffany [10:07]: Tempting.

Tiffany [10:10]: I don’t know why I’m being such a wuss. I had this conversation totally planned out in my head yesterday. Seriously, I had some great one-line putdowns cued up. And now they’ve just gone, and I feel a bit freaked out.

Rachel [10:11]: What would Someone Who Isn’t Mo say, do you reckon?

Tiffany [10:14]: Lucie? She’d tell me it’s natural to be freaked out after what happened on Friday, I guess. And that talking to Martin feels a bit like confronting Justin.

Rachel [10:15]: Right, I can see that, except . . . Martin is Martin. Weedy, petty, malicious Martin. Who kicks my chair and undermines you in meetings and kisses the head of PR’s arse like it’s Megan Fox’s face.

Tiffany [10:16]: You’re right. How can I possibly be afraid of Martin?

Rachel [10:17]: Want me to come with you?

Tiffany [10:19]: Is it pathetic if I say yes?

Rachel [10:20] It would make my day.

Tiffany [10:21]: Then yes. Please.