one another, which is one of the greatest problems feminism faces to this day?’
I narrow my eyes at her, and she flashes me a big grin. ‘Or you could just say, “Thanks, come over and show me how special I am all night long”?’
‘Ugh. I don’t know why I talk to you.’
‘It’s me or Martin,’ she points out, gathering up the layouts. ‘I’ll take in these changes. You go get your man back, all right?’
*
‘No,’ Gerty says immediately. ‘Do not text him that. He is scum of the earth who treated you like shit, tried to isolate you from your friends, and almost certainly cheated on you. He does not deserve a text of this niceness.’
There is a pause.
‘What made you want to reply with that message, Tiffy?’ Mo asks, as if he’s translating for Gerty.
‘I just . . . wanted to talk to him.’ My voice is very small. The tiredness is starting to eat away at me; I’m curled up on my beanbag with a hot chocolate, and Mo and Gerty are staring down at me from the sofa, their faces a picture of concern (actually, Gerty’s isn’t – she just looks angry).
Gerty reads my draft message out again. ‘Hi Justin. So good to hear from you. I’m just sorry we didn’t get to catch up properly, despite being on the same cruise ship! And then two kisses.’
‘He did two kisses,’ I say a little defensively.
‘The kisses are last on my list of things to change about that message,’ Gerty says.
‘Are you sure you want to start up contact with Justin again at all, Tiffy? You seem a lot better in yourself since you’ve moved out of his flat,’ Mo says. ‘I wonder if that might not be a coincidence.’ He sighs when I don’t say anything. ‘I know you find it hard to think badly of him, Tiffy, but whatever excuses you can give him for everything else, even you can’t ignore the fact that he left you for another woman.’
I flinch.
‘Sorry. But he did, and even if he’s left her, which we don’t have any evidence he has, he still went off with her. You can’t reason that away or convince yourself you’ve imagined it, because you’ve met Patricia. Look back at that Facebook message. Remember how it felt when he turned up with her at the flat.’
Ugh. Why do people keep saying things I don’t want to hear? I miss Rachel.
‘What do you think he’s doing, Tiffy?’ Mo asks. He’s pushing so hard all of a sudden – it’s making me squirm.
‘Being friendly. Trying to get in touch again.’
‘He’s not asked to meet up,’ Mo points out.
‘And the look he gave you was more than friendly, by the sounds of it,’ Gerty says.
‘I . . .’ It’s true. It wasn’t a hey, I’ve missed you so much, I wish we could talk again look. But it was . . . something. It’s true I can’t ignore the fiancée, but I can’t ignore that look either. What did it mean? If he wanted to – if he wanted to get back together . . .
‘Would you?’ Gerty asks.
‘Would I what?’ I ask, buying myself time.
She doesn’t answer. She knows my game.
I think about how miserable I’ve been these last few months, how bleak it was to say goodbye to his flat. How many times I’ve looked Patricia up on Facebook and cried on to my laptop keyboard until I got a bit worried about electrocution.
I was so lucky to have him. Justin was always so . . . fun. Everything was a whirlwind; we’d be flying from country to country, trying everything, staying up until four in the morning and climbing on to the roof to watch the sunrise. Yes, we fought a lot and I made a lot of mistakes in that relationship, but mostly I’d just felt so lucky to be with him. Without him I feel . . . lost.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But a big part of me wants to.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Gerty says, standing up smartly and patting me on the head, ‘we won’t let you.’
12
Leon
Hi Leon,
All right, fine – the truth is, I panic-bake. When I’m sad or things are difficult, baking is my go-to. And what of it? I turn my negativity into delicious, calorific goodness. As long as you can’t taste traces of my misery in the cake mix, I don’t think you should be questioning why I have been baking every night this week.