The Flatshare: A Novel

We completely forgot about eating, and now it’s 2.30 a.m. and I’ve just remembered to be hungry. Mo has gone out to get takeaway. He’s left me on the balcony with a large glass of red wine and an even larger bowl of munchies from the cupboard, which I’m pretty sure were Leon’s, but who cares – if he thinks I’d go off and marry someone else, he might as well think I’m a snack thief too.

I’m not sure who I’m angry with any more. I’ve sat here for so long my legs have cramped up, and I’ve been through pretty much all the available emotions in that time, and now they’re all muddled together in a big ugly soup of misery. The only thing I can think of with any certainty is that I wish I had never met Justin.

My phone buzzes.

Leon calling.

I’ve waited all night to see those words. My stomach drops. Has he spoken to Richie?

‘Hello?’

‘Hey.’ His voice sounds ragged and strangely unfamiliar. It’s like the energy has gone out of him.

I wait for him to say something else, staring out at the traffic sliding by below, letting the headlights draw yellow-white streaks on the insides of my eyes.

‘I am holding an enormous bunch of flowers,’ he says.

I don’t say anything.

‘I felt like I needed a physical symbol of the enormity of my apology,’ Leon goes on. ‘But I’ve realised Justin also left you an enormous bunch of flowers – actually, much nicer, more expensive flowers – so now I’m thinking, flowers, not so good. Then I thought, I’d just come home and tell you in person. But then I realised once I got here that I left my key to the flat at Mam’s place because I’m supposed to be staying there tonight. So I’d have to knock on the door, which I thought would probably scare you, since you have an unhinged ex-boyfriend to contend with.’

I watch car after car drive by. That might be the longest I’ve ever heard Leon speak in one go.

‘So where are you now?’ I ask eventually.

‘Look up. Opposite pavement, by the bakery.’

I see him now. He’s silhouetted against the bright yellow light of the bakery’s sign, the phone to his ear, his other arm cradling a bouquet of flowers. He’s wearing a suit – of course, he won’t have changed since court.

‘I’m guessing you’re feeling very hurt,’ he says. His voice is gentle, and it makes me melt.

I’m crying again.

‘I am so sorry, Tiffy. I should never have assumed. You needed me today, and I wasn’t there for you.’

‘I did need you,’ I sob. ‘Mo and Gerty and Rachel are all great and I love them and they have helped so much, but I wanted you. You made me feel like it didn’t matter that Justin happened. That you cared about me anyway.’

‘I do. And it doesn’t.’ He’s crossing the road now, coming over to this side of the pavement. I can make out his face, the smooth, sharp lines of his cheekbones, the soft curve of his lips. He’s looking up at me. ‘Everyone kept telling me I was going to lose you if I didn’t tell you how I feel, and then in comes Justin, king of the romantic gesture . . .’

‘Romantic?’ I splutter. ‘Romantic? And I don’t bloody want romantic gestures anyway! Why would I want that? I’ve had that, and it was shit!’

‘I know,’ Leon says. ‘You’re right. I should have known.’

‘And I liked that you weren’t pushing things – the idea of committing to a serious relationship scares the hell out of me! I mean, look at how hard it was to get out of the last one!’

‘Oh,’ says Leon. ‘Yes. That’s . . . yes, I see.’ He mutters something that sounds like it might be bloody Richie.

‘I can hear you without the phone now, you know,’ I say, raising my voice enough for it to carry over the traffic noise. ‘Plus I’m quite enjoying the excuse to shout.’

He hangs up and backs away a little. ‘Let’s shout, then!’ he calls.

I narrow my eyes, and then I pull off all my blankets, put down my wine and munchies, and move to the railings.

‘Whoa,’ Leon says, voice dropping so I can only just catch the words. ‘You look incredible.’

I look down at myself, a little surprised to find I’m still wearing the off-the-shoulder dress from the party. God knows what my hair looks like, and my make-up is definitely at least two inches further down my face than it was this morning, but the dress is pretty spectacular.

‘Don’t be nice!’ I shout. ‘I want to be angry with you!’

‘Yes! Right! Shouting,’ Leon calls, tightening his tie and rebuttoning his collar as though he’s preparing himself.

‘I am never going back to Justin!’ I shout, and then, because of how good it feels, I try it again. ‘I am never fucking going back to Justin!’

A car alarm goes off somewhere nearby, which I know is coincidental, but still feels pretty good – now all I need is a cat to yowl and a bunch of dustbins to fall over. I take a deep breath and open my mouth to keep yelling, then pause. Leon has a hand up.

‘Can I say something?’ he calls. ‘I mean, shout something?’

A driver slows down as he passes, staring with interest at the pair of us bellowing at one another, two storeys apart. It occurs to me now that Leon has probably never shouted in the street before. I close my mouth, a little taken aback, then nod.

‘I fucked up!’ Leon yells. He clears his throat and tries a little louder. ‘I got scared. I know it’s no excuse, but all this is scary for me. The trial. You, us. I’m not good when things are changing. I get . . .’

He flounders, as if he’s run out of words, and something warm gives way in my chest.

‘Squirrelly?’ I offer.

In the light from the streetlamp I watch his lips move into a lopsided smile.

‘Yeah. Good word.’ He clears his throat again, moving closer to the balcony. ‘Sometimes it feels easier to just be the way I was before you. Safer. But . . . look what you’ve been able to do. How brave you’ve been. And that’s how I want to be. OK?’

I rest my hands on the railing and look down at him. ‘You’re doing a lot of talking down there, Leon Twomey,’ I call.

‘It seems in times of emergency I can be quite verbose!’ he yells.

I laugh. ‘Don’t be doing too much changing, now. I like you as you are.’

He grins. He’s dishevelled and shabbily handsome in his suit, and suddenly all I want to do is kiss him.

‘Well, Tiffy Moore, I like you too.’

‘Say again?’ I call, cupping a hand around my ear.

‘I really, really like you!’ he bellows.

A window above me flies open with a clatter. ‘Do you mind?’ shouts the strange man from Flat 5. ‘I’m trying to sleep up here! How am I supposed to get up in time to do my antigravity yoga if I’m kept up all night?’

‘Antigravity yoga!’ I mouth down at Leon, delighted. I’ve been wondering what he did every morning since the first day I moved in here!

‘Don’t let the fame go to your head, Leon,’ warns the strange man from Flat 5, then he reaches to close the window again.

‘Wait!’ I call.

He looks down at me. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m your other neighbour. Hello!’

‘Oh, you’re Leon’s girlfriend?’

I hesitate, then grin. ‘Yes,’ I say firmly, and hear a little whoop from street level. ‘And I have a question.’

He just stares at me with the air of a man waiting to see what a small child will do next.

‘What do you do with all the bananas? You know – the bananas from the empty crates that live in your parking space?’

To my surprise, he breaks into a big, half-toothless smile. He looks quite friendly when he’s smiling. ‘I distil them! Lovely cider!’

And with that, he slams the window.

Leon and I look at each other and simultaneously burst out into giggles. Before long I am laughing so hard I’ve started to cry; I’m holding my stomach, ugly-laughing, gasping for breath and screwing my face up hard.

‘Antigravity yoga!’ I hear Leon whisper, his voice just carrying on a gap in the traffic noise. ‘Banana cider!’

‘I can’t hear you,’ I say, but I don’t shout for fear of waking the ire of the strange man from Flat 5 again. ‘Come closer.’

Leon looks around, and then backs up a few steps.

‘Catch!’ he calls in a stage whisper, and then he chucks the bouquet up to me. It soars lopsidedly through the air, shedding leaves and the odd chrysanthemum as it goes, but, with a dangerous lunge towards the railings and a squeaky sort of shriek, I manage to catch it.

By the time I’ve got a good hold on the flowers and laid them on the table, Leon has disappeared. I lean over the edge of the balcony in confusion.

‘Where have you gone?’ I call.

‘Marco!’ comes a voice from somewhere nearby.

‘Polo?’

‘Marco.’

‘Polo! This is not helping!’

He’s scaling the drainpipe. I burst out laughing again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting closer!’

‘I did not have you down as a drainpipe-climbing man,’ I say, wincing as he reaches for another handhold and hauls himself up a little higher.

‘Me neither,’ he says, turning to look at me as he scrabbles about for a spot for his left foot. ‘You clearly bring out the best in me.’

He’s only a few feet away from me now; the drainpipe passes right up by our balcony, and he can almost reach our railings.

‘Hey! Are those my munchies?’ he says as he reaches an experimental hand up.

I just give him a look.

‘. . . Yeah, fair enough,’ he says. ‘Give a fella a hand?’

‘This is insane,’ I tell him, but I move to help anyway.

Carefully, he lets one foot dangle, and then the other, until he’s hanging by his hands from our balcony railings.

‘Oh my God,’ I say. It’s almost too terrifying to look at, but I can’t look away, specifically because then I won’t be paying attention if he lets go, and that idea is much worse than watching him hanging there, scrabbling to find a foothold on the bottom edge of the railings.

He pulls himself up; I give him a hand with the last yank, my hand grasping his as he swings himself over.

‘There!’ he says, brushing himself down. He pauses, breathless, and looks at me.

‘Hi,’ I say, suddenly feeling a little shy in my over-the-top dress.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Leon says, opening his arms for a hug.

I lean into him. His suit smells of autumn, that outdoor-air smell that clings to your hair at this time of year. The rest of him smells of Leon, just the way I want it to, and as he pulls me close I shut my eyes and breathe him in, feeling the solid strength of his body against mine.

Mo appears in the doorway, fish and chips in a plastic Something Fishy bag in his hands. I didn’t even hear him come in, and I jump a little, but with Leon’s arms around me the idea of Justin turning up in the flat doesn’t feel nearly so terrifying.

‘Ah,’ Mo says, seeing the pair of us. ‘I’ll take my fish and chips elsewhere, shall I?’