The Flatshare: A Novel

I can’t believe Martin had the guts to come in to work. I always had him down as a coward, but actually, of the two of us, I seem the most nervous about facing him. It’s like . . . talking to Justin by proxy. Which is frankly terrifying, no matter how much I tell Leon I’m feeling fine. Martin, on the other hand, is swanning about as usual, gloating about the success story of the party. I guess he probably doesn’t know I know yet.

He’s yet to mention the proposal, I notice. Nobody in the office has. Rachel put out the memo that I wasn’t actually engaged, which has at least saved me a morning of warding off congratulations.

Rachel [10:06]: I could just walk over, kick him in the balls, and we’d be done with it.

Tiffany [10:07]: Tempting.

Tiffany [10:10]: I don’t know why I’m being such a wuss. I had this conversation totally planned out in my head yesterday. Seriously, I had some great one-line putdowns cued up. And now they’ve just gone, and I feel a bit freaked out.

Rachel [10:11]: What would Someone Who Isn’t Mo say, do you reckon?

Tiffany [10:14]: Lucie? She’d tell me it’s natural to be freaked out after what happened on Friday, I guess. And that talking to Martin feels a bit like confronting Justin.

Rachel [10:15]: Right, I can see that, except . . . Martin is Martin. Weedy, petty, malicious Martin. Who kicks my chair and undermines you in meetings and kisses the head of PR’s arse like it’s Megan Fox’s face.

Tiffany [10:16]: You’re right. How can I possibly be afraid of Martin?

Rachel [10:17]: Want me to come with you?

Tiffany [10:19]: Is it pathetic if I say yes?

Rachel [10:20] It would make my day.

Tiffany [10:21]: Then yes. Please.

We wait until the morning team meeting is over. I grit my teeth through all the congratulations Martin gets for the party. A few curious glances are shot in my direction, but it’s glossed over. I flush with shame anyway. I hate that everyone in this room knows that I have ex-boyfriend drama. I bet they’re all concocting their own outlandish reasons why I am no longer engaged, and not one of them has come up with the truth.

Rachel grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, then gives me a little shove in Martin’s direction as he gathers up his notebook and papers.

‘Martin, can we have a word?’ I say.

‘Not a great time, Tiffy,’ he says, with the air of a very important person who rarely has time for spontaneous meetings.

‘Martin, mate, either you step into this meeting room with us or we adopt my plan, which was kicking you in the balls right now in front of everyone,’ Rachel says.

A flash of fear crosses his face, and my anxiety evaporates. Look at him. He suspects we know now, so he’s back-peddling. Suddenly I can’t wait to hear what crap he comes up with.

Rachel herds him into the only free meeting room with a door and clicks it shut behind us. She leans back against it, arms folded.

‘What’s this about?’ Martin asks.

‘Why don’t you hazard a guess, Martin?’ I say. My voice comes out surprisingly light and pleasant.

‘I really have no idea,’ he blusters. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘If there is, how long will it be before Justin is informed of it?’ I ask.

Martin meets my gaze. He looks like a cornered cat.

‘I don’t know what you . . .’ he tries.

‘Justin told me. He’s fickle like that.’

Martin sags. ‘Look, I was trying to help you out,’ he says. ‘He got in touch about our flat back in February, saying he was helping you look for a place, and made a deal with us so we could offer you our spare room for five hundred a month.’

Back in February? Bloody hell.

‘How did he even know who you were?’

‘We’ve been friends on Facebook for ages. I think he added me when you guys first got serious – at the time I figured he was checking out the guys you work with, you know, the protective type. But I posted the ad about the flat on there and that’s how he got in touch.’

‘How much did he offer you?’

‘He said he’d pay the difference,’ Martin says. ‘Hana and I thought it was sweet of him.’

‘Oh, that’s Justin,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘And then when you didn’t take the room, he seemed so down. We’d got chatting when he popped around to discuss the arrangement, and then he asked if I could drop him a line every now and again, just letting him know how you are and what you’re up to so he doesn’t worry.’

‘And that didn’t strike you as, I don’t know, creepy?’ Rachel asks.

‘No!’ Martin shakes his head. ‘It didn’t seem creepy. And he wasn’t paying me or anything – the only time I took money from him was to get Tasha Chai-Latte to come and film, OK?’

‘You took money from him for stalking Tiffy?’ Rachel says, visibly swelling with rage.

Martin cringes.

‘Hang on.’ I hold my hands up. ‘Go back to the start. He asked you to let him know where I was every now and then. So that’s how he knew I’d be at that book launch in Shoreditch, and how he knew I’d be on the cruise ship?’

‘I suppose so,’ Martin says. He shifts back and forth on his feet like a child who needs the toilet, and I find myself starting to feel a little sorry for him, which I immediately quash because the only thing getting me through this conversation is rage.

‘And the trip to Wales for the shoot?’ I say.

Martin visibly starts to sweat. ‘I, ah, he rang me about that one after I texted him to say where you’d be . . .’

I twitch. It’s so creepy I want to go and shower immediately.

‘. . . and he asked about the guy you’d be bringing to help out with the modelling. I gave him the physical description you’d given me. He went all quiet, and sounded really upset. He told me how much he still loved you, and how he knew this guy and he was going to ruin everything . . .’

‘So you spent the whole weekend running interference.’

‘I thought I was helping!’

‘Well, you sucked at it anyway, because we sneaked off and made out in the kitchen at three in the morning so HA!’ I say.

‘In danger of losing the higher ground, there, Tiffy,’ Rachel says.

‘Right, right. So, you debriefed Justin when we got back?’

‘Yeah. He wasn’t that happy with how I’d handled things. Suddenly I felt really bad, you know? I hadn’t done enough.’

‘Oh, this man is good,’ Rachel says under her breath.

‘Anyway, then he wanted to plan this big proposal. It was all very romantic.’

‘Especially the part where he paid you to get Tasha Chai-Latte to film it,’ I say.

‘He said he wanted the whole world to see it!’ Martin protests.

‘He wanted Leon to see it. How much did that even cost? I should have known it couldn’t have come out of the book’s budget.’

‘Fifteen thousand,’ Martin says sheepishly. ‘And two for me for organising.’

‘Seventeen thousand pounds?!’ Rachel shrieks. ‘My God!’

‘And a bit leftover, so I got Katherin that limo, in case it would persuade her to do that interview with Piers Morgan. I just . . . figured Justin must really love you,’ Martin says.

‘No, you didn’t,’ I tell him flatly. ‘You didn’t really care. You just wanted Justin to like you. He has that effect on a lot of people. Has he contacted you since he proposed to me?’

Martin shakes his head, looking nervous. ‘I figured from the way you left the party that it hadn’t exactly gone as he’d hoped. Do you think he’ll be mad at me?’

‘Do I think . . .’ I take a deep breath. ‘Martin. I do not care if Justin is mad at you. Soon, I will be taking Justin to court for harassment or stalking, once my lawyer has got around to figuring out which of those she likes better.’

Martin goes even paler than he usually is, which is saying something. I’m surprised I can’t see the whiteboard through him.

‘So you’d be prepared to testify?’ I say briskly.

‘What? No!’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, it’s . . . this would be very embarrassing for me, and this is a really important time at work—’

‘You are a very weak man, Martin,’ I tell him.

He blinks. His lip shakes a little. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he says eventually.

‘Good. See you in court, Martin.’

I sweep out of the room with Rachel in tow, and as I head to my desk I feel exhilarated. Particularly as Rachel is quietly but unmistakably humming ‘Eye of the Tiger’ as we walk through the office.

*

The world seems like a slightly brighter place after the Martin showdown. I sit up taller and decide I’m not ashamed about what happened at the party. So my ex-boyfriend proposed to me and I said no – so what? Nothing wrong with that. In fact, Ruby gives me a silent high-five on my way to the bathroom mid-afternoon, and with Rachel sending me girl-power songs every fifteen minutes I start to feel quite . . . empowered about it all.

It takes enormous effort to concentrate on work, but in the end I manage it: I am researching a new trend in cupcake icing when I get the call. Almost instantly, I realise that I will always remember this website about icing-bag nozzles. It’s that kind of call.

‘Tiffy?’ says Leon.

‘Yeah?’

‘Tiffy . . .’

‘Leon, are you OK?’ My heart is pounding.

‘He’s out.’

‘He’s . . .’

‘Richie.’

‘Oh my God. Say it again.’

‘Richie is out. Not guilty.’

I let out a shriek that sends every single person in the office staring my way. I make a face and cover the phone for a moment.

‘Friend won the lottery!’ I mouth to Francine, the nearest nosy person, and let her trundle off to spread that particular piece of news. If I don’t nip this in the bud they’ll all think I’m engaged again.

‘Leon, I don’t even . . . I really thought it would be tomorrow!’

‘So did I. So did Gerty.’

‘So . . . is he just . . . out? In the world? God, I can’t imagine Richie out in the world! What does he even look like, by the way?’

Leon laughs, and the sound makes my stomach flip. ‘He’ll be at our place tonight. You can finally meet him.’

‘This is unbelievable.’

‘I know. I can’t actually . . . I keep thinking it’s a dream.’

‘I don’t even know what to say. Where are you now?’ I ask, bouncing in my chair.

‘I’m at work.’

‘Didn’t you have the day off?’

‘Didn’t know what to do with myself. You want to come down here after you finish? No worries if it’s too out of your way, I’ll be home by seven, I just thought—’

‘I’ll be there at half five.’

‘Actually, I should come meet you . . .’

‘I can do it on my own. Really – I’ve had a good day, I can do it. See you at half five!’