The Flatshare: A Novel

When it comes to the part where we take crochet hooks and wool out to the crowd, I head towards the little girl who was staring at me earlier. She grins as I approach, all big front teeth and cheekiness.

‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Are you Tiffy?’

I stare at her, and then duck down to the level of her wheelchair, because looming feels weird. ‘Yeah! People keep asking me that today. How did you guess?’

‘You are pretty!’ she says gleefully. ‘Are you nice as well?’

‘Oh, I’m horrible, actually,’ I tell her. ‘Why did you think I might be Tiffy? And’ – as an afterthought – ‘pretty?’

‘They said your name at the beginning,’ she points out. Oh, right, of course. Though that doesn’t explain all the creepy nurses. ‘You’re not really horrible. I think you’re nice. It was nice of you to let that lady measure your legs.’

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ I say. ‘I think that particular act of niceness has gone quite underappreciated up until this point, actually, so thank you. Do you want to learn how to crochet?’

‘No,’ she says.

I laugh. At least she’s honest, unlike the man behind her, who is valiantly having a go at making a slip knot under Katherin’s supervision. ‘What do you want to do, then?’

‘I want to talk to you about Leon,’ she says.

‘Ah! You know Leon!’

‘I’m his favourite patient.’

I smile. ‘I bet. So he’s mentioned me, has he?’

‘Not very much,’ she says.

‘Oh. Right. Well—’

‘But I told him I’d find out if you were pretty.’

‘Did you now! Did he ask you to do that?’

She thinks about it. ‘No. But I think he wanted to know.’

‘I don’t think he does . . .’ I realise I don’t know her name.

‘Holly,’ she says. ‘Like the Christmas plant.’

‘Well, Holly, me and Leon are just friends. Friends don’t need to know if friends are pretty.’

Suddenly Martin is right at my shoulder. ‘Can you pose with her?’ he mutters in my ear. God, that man knows how to creep up on you. He should wear a bell, like cats that eat birds.

‘Pose? With Holly?’

‘The leukaemia girl, yeah,’ Martin says. ‘For the press release.’

‘I can hear you, you know,’ Holly declares loudly.

Martin has just enough decency to look embarrassed. ‘Hello,’ he says in a stilted sort of way. ‘I’m Martin.’

Holly shrugs. ‘All right, Martin. My mum hasn’t given permission for you to take my photo. I don’t want my photo taken. People always feel sorry for me because I don’t have very much hair and I look sick.’

I can see Martin thinking that that was pretty much the idea. I am overcome by a sudden but not unprecedented urge to punch him, or at least kick him in the shins. Maybe I could stumble over Holly’s wheelchair and make it look like an accident.

‘Fine,’ Martin mutters, already off in Katherin’s direction, no doubt hoping that she’s located a similarly cute patient with fewer qualms about being plastered all over the Internet in order to further Martin’s career.

‘He’s horrible,’ Holly says matter-of-factly.

‘Yes,’ I say, without really thinking. ‘He is, isn’t he?’ I check my watch; we finish up in ten minutes.

‘Do you want to go and find Leon?’ Holly asks, looking at me rather cannily.

I glance over at Katherin and Martin. I mean, my work as a model is done, and I’m not even any good at crocheting, let alone teaching other people to do it. It’ll take them ages to get all this wool cleared up, and it would be quite nice not to be here for that bit.

I tap out a quick text to Katherin. I’m just heading off to find my flatmate to say thanks for organising. I’ll be back in time to tidy up xx (I definitely won’t.)

‘That way,’ Holly says, and then, when I totally fail to push her wheelchair, she laughs and points to the brake. ‘Everyone knows you have to take the brake off.’

‘I just thought you were really heavy,’ I tell her.

Holly giggles. ‘Leon will be in Coral Ward. Don’t follow the signs, they take you the long way. Turn left!’

I do as I’m told. ‘You really know your way around this place, don’t you?’ I say, after being directed down a dozen corridors and, at one point, through an actual closet.

‘I’ve been here seven months,’ Holly says. ‘And I’m friends with Mr Robbie Prior. He’s on Coral Ward and he was very important in one of the wars.’

‘Mr Prior! Does he knit?’

‘All the time,’ Holly says.

Excellent! I’m on my way to meet my life-saving knitter and my note-writing flatmate. I wonder if Leon will talk the way he writes, all short sentences and no pronouns.

‘Hey, Doctor Patel!’ Holly yells suddenly at a passing doctor. ‘This is Tiffy!’

Dr Patel pauses, lowers her glasses down her nose, then flashes me a smile. ‘Well I never,’ is all she says, before disappearing into the nearest patient’s room.

‘OK, Miss Holly,’ I say, spinning the wheelchair so we’re facing each other. ‘What is going on? Why does everyone here know my name? And why do they seem so surprised to see me?’

Holly looks mischievous. ‘Nobody believes you’re real,’ she says. ‘I told everyone Leon is living with a girl and he writes her notes and she makes him laugh and nobody believed me. They all said Leon couldn’t . . .’ she scrunches up her nose ‘. . . tolerate a flatmate. I think that means he wouldn’t want one because he’s so quiet. They don’t know, though, that actually he saves all his talking up for the really good people, like me and you.’

‘Seriously?’ I shake my head, grinning, and set off down the corridor again. It’s funny hearing about Leon from someone else. So far my only point of reference has been Kay, who hardly ever pops around these days.

With Holly’s instructions, we finally reach Coral Ward. She looks around, bracing herself on the arms of her chair to get a better look. ‘Where’s Mr Prior?’ she calls.

An elderly gentleman in a chair over by the window turns and smiles at Holly, his face a mass of deep wrinkles. ‘Hello, Holly.’

‘Mr Prior! This is Tiffy. She’s pretty, isn’t she?’

‘Ah, Ms Moore,’ Mr Prior says, attempting to stand and holding out his hand. ‘What a pleasure.’

I scuttle over, desperate for him to sit down in his chair again. It looks like unfolding himself out of that position would not be wise. ‘It’s such an honour to meet you, Mr Prior! I have to tell you, I adore your work – and I can’t thank you enough for crocheting all those scarves and hats for Katherin’s book.’

‘Oh, I enjoyed it very much. I would have come to your demonstration, but’ – he pats his chest absently – ‘I wasn’t feeling quite up to it, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ I say. ‘It’s not like you need the lesson.’ I pause. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen . . .’

Mr Prior smiles. ‘Leon?’

‘Well, yeah. I just wanted to track him down to say hi.’

‘Mmm,’ Mr Prior says. ‘You’ll find our Leon is somewhat tricky to pin down. In fact, he just slipped out. I think someone tipped him off that you were coming.’

‘Oh.’ I look down, embarrassed. I didn’t mean to hound him around the hospital. Justin always said I never knew when to let something drop. ‘If he doesn’t want to see me, I should probably . . .’

Mr Prior waves a hand. ‘You mistake me, my dear,’ he says. ‘It isn’t that at all. I’d say Leon is rather nervous about meeting you.’

‘Why would he be nervous?’ I ask, as if I’ve not been nervous all day.

‘I couldn’t say for sure,’ Mr Prior says, ‘but Leon doesn’t like things . . . changing. I’d say he very much enjoys living with you, Ms Moore, and I do wonder if he doesn’t want to ruin it.’ He pauses. ‘I would suggest that if you want to introduce a change into Leon’s routine, you’re better off doing it very quickly, and all at once, so he has no means of dodging it.’

‘Like a surprise,’ Holly says solemnly.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well. Anyway, it was great to meet you, Mr Prior.’

‘One more thing, Ms Moore,’ Mr Prior says. ‘Leon was looking a little emotional. And holding a letter. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you?’

‘Oh, God, I hope I didn’t say the wrong thing,’ I say, desperately trying to remember what I’d put in that letter to Richie.

‘No, no, he wasn’t upset. Just in a spin.’ Mr Prior takes his glasses off and rubs them against his shirt with shaky, gnarled fingers. ‘I would say, at a guess, that he was rather . . .’ the glasses go back on his nose ‘. . . surprised.’