Boy Parts(67)

I shove her, harder than I’d meant to.

‘Don’t.’

‘Why not?’ she asks. ‘You need it.’ I grunt at her. She lurches towards me, but I push her again. I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner, really. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. ‘I… You told me to leave him. You stopped seeing the Tesco boy, and you told me—’

‘Michael was a bellend. The Tesco thing was just like… It didn’t work out. It happens,’ I say. ‘What did you think I was going to do here?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says. I expect her to cry, but she doesn’t. She shuffles back to the other side of the room, and sighs, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘Never mind,’ she says.

All these years, and I’ve never really questioned why she loves me. Or why she thinks she does. With men, it’s always projection – a cliché, I know, but they fall for the idea of me. But Flo has known me for such a long time. She’s watched me putrefy, and twist, and get thinner and meaner, and stranger. But here she is.

‘What do you want from me, Flo?’ I ask. ‘Like, what do you think I can give you?’

‘What do you mean? I just want you to be happy,’ she says. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, frowning. ‘I’m sorry I’m not it.’

‘It?’

Finch comes back before she can explain what she means. And I’ll never know, because fuck me if I’m bringing this up again.

‘Which one of your horrible fucking films do you want us to stick on, then, Irina?’ Finch asks.

We watch Haute Tension. It’s a pointed choice.





Do you want me to come to the station with you???

I could meet you on my lunch break????

Nah.

Are you excited????

Meh.

Okey dokey.

Do you want me to do your bedding

Or anything else while youre away?

Whatever you want.

Dont go in my bedside table

Lol :P

Gunna lick all your stuff while you’re gone!!!!!! :P



Flo sends a kissy face emoji. Part of me wants to tell her to make sure she doesn’t top herself while I’m away. I put my phone in my coat pocket. It’s the first time I’ve worn a coat since April. Over the knee boots, hold-ups, a black PVC trench coat, and I haven’t ended up soaked in sweat in five seconds. You just can’t dress during summer. It’s been so hot I haven’t even been able to get away with a waist trainer under my clothes, but I have one on today. It’s tight across my belly, like a hug.

My hair flops into my eyes as I drag my suitcase into the Starbucks opposite the train station – I am growing out my fringe, from a Bardot Bang to something I can part on the side. But it’s not long enough, yet, and is persistently in my eyes.

I grab a black coffee, and sip, and wrinkle my nose. It’s shit, but it’ll do. I listen to Sutcliffe Jügend, and window shop. I see a boy in a university hoodie, and shorts. He is carrying a gym bag, and his calves are thick and shapely. I see a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose which is wet, red and sore. I see a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and glasses, carrying a satchel, and talking on the phone. He seems pissed off. He’s wearing a tweed suit, with a pocket square, and I watch him for a while, because he stops outside the window to talk more, growing more and more irritated the longer the conversation goes on. He catches me looking at him, and I smile. He smiles back, though it’s awkward, and he walks away when we break eye contact. I’m in an aquarium – if you tap on the glass the fish swim away.

I buy another coffee before heading into the station, where I procure a salad from M&S. I board the train comfortably before it pulls out from the station. I’ve ended up on the shit one; there’s one that takes two hours and fifty minutes, which just stops at York, then goes straight to London, but I’m on the one that takes over three hours and goes to every shitey little town on the East Coast. I start getting a bit pissed off by the time we get to Northallerton, because who the fuck lives in Northallerton. Like, Durham and Darlo I can forgive, but Northallerton feels like it specifically exists to wind up people on this train. I eat my salad, and try to sleep, but two coffees has me buzzy and jittery.

I drop Serotonin an email. I haven’t really spoken to her since I left London, even though we were quite close for a while. There’s a couple of good photos of us together on Facebook. Two from Halloween weekend, 2014. There’s the Friday night where I’m Jessica Rabbit and she’s Holli Would, then the Saturday night where I’m Ginger Spice and she’s Baby. She was almost my replacement Flo – my pet skinny blonde – but she just didn’t have the temperament for it, in the end.

She got a bit pretentious. She started working for Damien Hirst, and changed her name, and suddenly it was all I don’t want to go there! I hate that restaurant! I’ll pick my own outfits, thanks!

I email her, anyway.

Hey Sera,

I get into LDN in a couple of hours. Drinks/dinner tonight, Y/Y?

Irina



Her response comes through when we go through Doncaster.

IRINA STURGES AS I LIVE AND BREATHE.

Sounds amaze. Got in from NYC last night (dont know how much you’ve been keeping up with me but i’m living in brooklyn now #gentrification) and I would suck like 50 dicks for a brick lane curry. Shoreditch HS station for 5??