The Flatshare: A Novel

Can’t think. Can’t anything. Somehow find my feet and get back to the courtroom, but the daydream feeling has morphed into an aura of unreality around everything. Mechanically, I smile at Richie. Notice how bright his eyes are, how hopeful he looks. Fail to feel anything.

It’s probably the shock. I’ll recover shortly and get my head back into the hearing. I can’t believe anything has managed to distract me from this. Feel suddenly furious with Tiffy, choosing today of all days to dump me and go back to Justin, and can’t help but think of Mam, how she’d always go back to those men no matter what Richie and I said.

Some part of my brain reminds me Mam didn’t want to be with those men. She just didn’t think she was allowed to be anywhere else. She didn’t think she meant anything if she was on her own.

But Tiffy wasn’t on her own. She had Mo, Gerty, Rachel. Me.

Richie. Think of Richie. Richie needs me here, and there’s no fucking way I’m losing him again. Too.

Gerty is summing up. Just about manage to listen – she’s so good you can’t help but follow her argument. Then, with peculiar lack of fanfare, it’s over. We all stand. Judges leave. Richie is taken back to wherever it was he was brought from, with a wistful backwards glance. We walk through the court building in silence, Gerty tapping away at her phone, Mam cracking her knuckles incessantly.

Mam looks sideways at me as we reach the entranceway.

Mam: Lee? What’s wrong?

Then Gerty gives a little gasp. Hand to mouth. Glance over, dull-eyed, and notice that she is watching the video play out on Facebook.

Gerty: Oh my God.

Mam, on alert: What’s happened?

Me: Tiffy.

Mam: Your girlfriend? What’s she done?

Gerty: She wouldn’t.

Me: She would. You know people do. Go back. It’s hard to leave what you’ve known. Not her fault. But you know people do.

Gerty’s silence says enough. Suddenly more than anything I need to get away from here.

Me: We won’t get a verdict over the weekend, will we?

Gerty: No, it’ll be next week. I’ll call when—

Me: Thanks.

And I’m gone.

*

Walk and walk. Can’t cry, am just dry-throated and aching-eyed. I’m sure that some of this is fear about Richie, but all I can think about is Justin, arms out, yelling ‘She said yes’ to the whooping crowd.

Play out every scene. The endless notes, Brighton, the night eating tiffin together on the sofa, the trip to Holly’s party, kissing against the Aga. My gut twists at the memory of how her body would go cold when she thought of him, but then I harden myself. Don’t want to feel sorry for her. For now, just want to feel betrayed.

Can’t help it, though. Can’t stop thinking of the way her knees would shake.

Ah, there we go. There’s the tears. Knew they’d turn up eventually.