The Flatshare: A Novel

It’s too much. I’m shaking. This is the most hope I have felt in months, and I’ve forgotten how to handle this emotion – insides have gone wobbly and skin has turned all cold and hot at same time. Heartrate has been raised for a good hour now. Can’t slow down.

I should go and thank Tiffy in person. She’s trying to find me and I keep hiding which is clearly childish and ridiculous. Am just feeling very odd about this. Like if we meet, everything will be different, and there will be no going back to how it was. And I like how it was. Is.

Me: June, where’s Tiffy?

June: Your lovely flatmate?

Me, patiently: Yes. Tiffy.

June: Leon, it’s almost one in the morning. She left after the show.

Me: Oh. Did she . . . leave a note? Or anything?

June: Sorry, love. She was trying to find you, though, if that’s any consolation.

It isn’t. And no note, either. Feel like a fool. I’ve missed the chance to say thank you; probably upset her, too. Don’t like that thought. But – still buzzing about the letter, and it buoys me through the rest of the night with only the occasional crushing memory of dodging down corridors to avoid social interaction (extreme antisocialness, even for me. Wince at the thought of what Richie will say).

At the end of my shift I leave at a jog and head for the bus stop. Call Kay as soon as I’m out the door. Cannot wait to tell her about the letter, the criminal lawyer friend, the list of questions.

Kay is unusually quiet.

Me: This is amazing, no?

Kay: This lawyer’s not actually done anything, Leon. She’s not taking on the case – or even saying she believes Richie is innocent, really.

Almost stumble, like someone has physically put out hand to stop me.

Me: It’s something, though. There’s not been something for so long.

Kay: And I thought you weren’t ever going to meet Tiffy. That was the first rule we set when I agreed to this flatshare.

Me: What . . . ever? Can’t meet her ever? She’s my flatmate.

Kay: Don’t make out like I’m being unreasonable.

Me: Didn’t realise you meant . . . Eh, this is silly. I didn’t meet her, anyway. I called to tell you Richie news.

Another long silence. I frown, walking slower now.

Kay: I wish you’d come to terms with Richie’s situation, Leon. It’s draining so much of your energy, all of this – it’s changed you these last few months. I think the healthiest thing – if I’m honest – is to reach acceptance. And I’m sure you will, it’s just . . . it’s been a while. And it’s really putting a strain on you. On us.

Don’t understand. Did she not hear? It’s not like I’m saying same old things, hanging on to same old hopes – I’m saying, there is new hope. There are new things.

Me: What are you suggesting? We just give up? But there’s new evidence to get, now that we know what to look for!

Kay: You’re not a lawyer, Leon. And Sal is a lawyer, and you’ve said yourself that he did his best, and I personally think it’s not right for this woman to be interfering and giving you and Richie hope when the case was so open and shut. The jury all thought he was guilty, Leon.

Coldness growing low down in stomach. Heartrate ups again, and for all the wrong reasons this time. I’m getting angry. That feeling again, the trapped hateful rage at hearing someone you try so hard to love saying the worst things.

Me: What is this, Kay? I can’t figure out what you want from me.

Kay: I want you back.

Me: What?

Kay: I want you back, Leon. Present. In your life. With me. It’s like . . . you’ve stopped seeing me. You drift in and out and spend your spare time here, but you’re not really with me. You’re always with Richie. You always care about Richie – more than you care about me.

Me: Of course I care more about Richie.

The pause is like silence after a gunshot. I slap hand to mouth. Didn’t mean to say it; don’t know where it came from.

Me: I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that. Just . . . Richie needs more of my . . . care right now. He has nobody.

Kay: Do you have any of your care left for anyone else? For you?

She means, for me?

Kay: Please. Actually think about it. Actually think about you and me.

She’s crying now. I feel wretched, but that roaring hot–cold sensation deep in my stomach is still burning.

Me: You still think he’s guilty, don’t you?

Kay: Damn it, Leon, I’m trying to talk about us, not about your brother.

Me: I need to know.

Kay: Can’t you just listen to me? I’m saying this is the only way you can heal. You can carry on believing he didn’t do it if you like, but you need to accept that he is in prison and will be for a good few years. You can’t keep fighting. It’s pulling your life apart. All you do is work and write to Richie and fixate on things, whether it’s some old guy’s boyfriend or the latest detail in Richie’s appeal. You used to do stuff. Go out. Spend time with me.

Me: I’ve never had much spare time, Kay. What I have has always been for you.

Kay: You go to see him every other weekend these days.

Is she really angry at me for visiting my brother in prison?

Kay: I know I can’t be mad at you for that. I know that. But I just . . . What I mean is, you have so little time, and now I feel I get an even smaller fraction of it, and . . .

Me: Do you still think Richie is guilty?

There is silence. I think I’m crying now too; there’s a hot wetness on my cheeks as yet another bus speeds by, and I can’t bear to get on.

Kay: Why does it always come back to this? Why does it matter? Our relationship shouldn’t have this much of your brother in it.

Me: Richie is part of me. We’re family.

Kay: Well, we’re partners. Doesn’t that mean anything?

Me: You know I love you.

Kay: Funny. I’m not sure I do know that.

Silence stretches on. Traffic speeds by. Scuff my feet, looking down at the sun-scorched pavement, feeling unreal.

Me: Just say it.

She waits. I wait. Another bus waits, then drives on.

Kay: I think Richie did it, Leon. It’s what the jury decided, and they had all the information. It’s the sort of thing he’d do.

Close my eyes slowly. It doesn’t feel like I expected it to – it’s strange, but it’s almost a relief. Have been hearing her say it in silence for months, ever since The Argument. This is an end to the endless twisting in the gut, the endless waiting on the edges of conversations, the endless knowing but trying not to know.

Kay is sobbing. I listen, eyes still closed, and it’s like I’m floating.

Kay: This is it, isn’t it?

It’s obvious, all at once. This is it. Can’t do this any more. Can’t have this eating away at my love for Richie, can’t be with a person who doesn’t love him too.

Me: Yes. This is it.