The Flatshare: A Novel

‘Are you all right?’ Ken asks.

I’m pretty much frozen. My heart is pounding.

‘Yes. Sorry, yes, I’m fine.’ I try a smile.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ he says tentatively. ‘I mean, the party’s nearly over . . .’

Do I? I did, about one minute ago. Now, even with the buzz of that kiss still warm on my lips, I want to run away. I’m not really thinking thoughts – my brain is just producing this extremely unhelpful one-tone note of panic, like a loud long uuuhhhh rattling back and forth between my ears.

Someone calls my name. I recognise the voice, but I don’t connect the dots until I turn and see Justin.

He’s standing in the doorway between the garden and the pub, dressed in an open-necked shirt with his old leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He looks painfully familiar, but things are different too: his hair is longer than he ever wore it when we were together, and he’s got new city-corporate shoes. I feel as if I’ve conjured him up by thinking about him – how else could he possibly be here?

His eyes flick to Ken for a moment, and then they’re back to me. He crosses the grass between us. I am glued to the spot, shoulders tensed, crouched over on the bench with Ken beside me.

‘You look beautiful.’

This, unbelievably, is the first thing he says.

‘Justin.’ This is about all I can manage. I look back at Ken, and no doubt my face is a picture of misery.

‘Let me guess,’ says Ken lightly. ‘Boyfriend?’

‘Ex,’ I say. ‘Ex! I would never – I . . .’

Ken smiles an easy, sexy smile at me, and then turns an equally good-natured one on Justin. ‘Hi,’ he says, holding out his hand for Justin to shake. ‘Ken.’

Justin barely looks at him; he shakes his hand for approximately half a second before turning back to me. ‘Can I talk to you?’

I look between him and Ken. I can’t believe I was even thinking about going home with Ken. I can’t do that.

‘I’m sorry,’ I begin. ‘I really . . .’

‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ Ken says, standing up. ‘You have my contact details if you fancy getting in touch while I’m still in London.’ He waves the sampler, still in his hand. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he says, extremely politely, in Justin’s direction.

‘Yeah,’ is all Justin says.

As Ken walks away, the uuuhhhh quietens and I feel as if I’m waking up a little, coming out of some sort of trance. I stand, knees shaking, and face Justin.

‘What. The hell. Are you doing here?’

Justin doesn’t react to the venom in my voice. Instead he puts his hand on my back and starts leading me towards the side gate. I move mechanically, unthinking, and then shrug him off sharply as soon as I clock what’s happening.

‘Hey, whoa.’ He looks at me as we pause in the gateway. The evening air is warm, almost stifling. ‘Are you OK? Sorry if I surprised you.’

‘And ruined my evening.’

He smiles. ‘Come on, Tiffy. You needed rescuing. You’d never go home with a guy like that.’

I open my mouth to speak, and then close it again. I was going to say he doesn’t know me any more, but somehow it doesn’t come out. ‘What are you doing here?’ I manage instead.

‘I was just coming in for a drink. I come to this place a fair bit.’

I mean, this is just ridiculous. I cannot believe this. The cruise ship might have been a coincidence – a very weird one, but just about plausible – but this?

‘Do you not think this is odd?’

He’s confused. He tilts his head, like huh? My stomach flips – I used to love that little head-tilt.

‘We’ve bumped into each other twice in six months. Once, on a cruise ship.’

I need an explanation for this that isn’t ‘Justin appears when you think bad thoughts about him’, which is currently all my half-frozen brain can believe. I’m scaring myself a little.

He smiles indulgently. ‘Tiffy. Come on. What are you suggesting? That I got on that cruise to see you? That I turned up tonight just to see you? If I wanted to do that, why wouldn’t I just call you? Or turn up at your office?’

Oh. I . . . I guess that makes sense. My cheeks flush; I’m suddenly embarrassed.

He squeezes my shoulder. ‘It is great to see you, though. And yeah, it’s a pretty crazy coincidence. Fate, maybe? I did wonder why I suddenly wanted a pint this evening, of all evenings.’ He does an exaggerated mysterious face, and I can’t help smiling. I’d forgotten how cute he is when he clowns around.

No. Not smiling. Not cute. I think of what Gerty and Mo would say, and gather my resolve.

‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

‘I am glad I bumped into you,’ he says. ‘I really . . . I have been meaning to call. But it’s so hard to know where to start.’

‘Hit the phone icon, I’d suggest, then search your contacts by name?’ I say. My voice is shaking a little, and I hope he doesn’t hear it.

He laughs. ‘I forgot how funny you are when you’re angry. No, I mean, I didn’t want to tell you this on the phone.’

‘Tell me what? Let me guess. That you’ve broken up with the woman you left me for?’

I’ve caught him off guard. There’s a little thrill when I see his perfect confident smile waver, and then a wash of something else – more like anxiety. I don’t want to piss him off. I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to see you, Justin. This doesn’t change anything. You still left me for her, you still – you still . . .’

‘I never cheated on you,’ he says immediately. We’ve begun walking, I’m not sure where; he stops me again and puts his hands on my shoulders, turning me so I have to look him in the face. ‘I would never do that to you, Tiffy. You know how crazy I am about you.’

‘Was.’

‘What?’

‘How crazy I was about you, is what you meant to say.’ Already I wish I’d taken the chance to tell him that the reason I don’t want to see him is actually nothing to do with Patricia. Although I’m not sure what it is about. It’s about . . . all the other stuff, whatever that was. I feel very muddled all of a sudden. Justin’s presence always does this to me – makes me all confused until I lose my train of thought. That was part of the romance, I guess, but right now it doesn’t feel nice at all.

‘Don’t tell me what I mean and don’t mean.’ He looks away for a moment. ‘Look, I’m here now. Can’t we just go get a drink somewhere and talk about it? Come on. We can go to that champagne bar around the corner where they serve your drinks in paint cans. Or we can go to the top of the Shard, remember when I took you there as a treat? What do you say?’

I stare at him. His big, brown eyes, always so earnest, always sparkling with that crazy excitement that caught me up every time. His perfect jawline. His confident smile. I try very hard not to think about the awful memory that came when I kissed Ken, but it seems to be in my system now, worse than ever with Justin here. My skin’s crawling with it.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I told you,’ he says, impatient now, ‘I didn’t know how to tell you about this.’

‘And why are you here?’

‘Tiffy,’ he says sharply, ‘just come for a drink.’

I flinch, and then take another deep breath. ‘You want to talk to me, you call ahead and we arrange a time. Not now.’

‘When, then?’ he asks, frowning, his hands still heavy on my shoulders.

‘Just . . . I need time.’ My head feels cloudy. ‘I don’t want to talk to you right now.’

‘Time like a couple of hours?’

‘Time like a couple of months,’ I say before I’ve thought about it, and then I bite my lip, because now I’ve given us a deadline.

‘I want to see you now,’ he says, and suddenly the hands that are on my shoulders have moved to touch my hair, my upper arm.

That flashback plays behind my eyes. I shrug him off. ‘Try delayed gratification, Justin. It’s the only kind you’re going to get, and I have a feeling it’ll be good for you.’

And with that, I turn before I can change my mind, and stumble back into the bar.