The Flatshare: A Novel

‘Are you all right?’ is Mo’s first question. ‘Have you been to A&E?’

Gerty, on the other hand, is focused on the real issue. ‘Why didn’t you tell us about the bathroom incident before? Are you in love with this man you’re sharing a bed with, and hiding it because you’re going to end up sleeping with him and I explicitly told you that the first rule of flatsharing is that you don’t sleep with your flatmate?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, and no, but Leon examined my ankle with some help from a friend of his who’s a doctor. I just need lots of rest, apparently. And whisky, depending on whose medical opinion you’re asking.’

‘My question now,’ Gerty says.

‘No, I’m not in love with him,’ I tell her, shifting my weight on the bed and wincing as my ankle throbs. ‘And I’m not going to sleep with him. He’s my friend.’

‘Is he single?’

‘Well, yes, actually. But—’

‘Sorry, but just to check, Tiffy, has anyone examined you for—’

‘Oh shut up, Mo,’ Gerty interrupts. ‘She’s with a trained nurse. The woman is fine. Tiffy, are you sure you’re not suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?’

‘Pardon?’

‘An A&E nurse is very different from a palliative care nurse—’

‘Stockholm Syndrome?’

‘Yes,’ Gerty says. ‘This man gave you a home when you were homeless. You are forced to sleep in his bed, and now you think you are in love with him.’

‘I don’t think I’m in love with him,’ I remind her patiently. ‘I told you, he’s my friend.’

‘But this was a date,’ Gerty says.

‘Tiffy, you do seem fine, but I just want to double-check – I’m on NHS Choices now – can you weight-bear on that ankle?’

‘You with Google is not better than a nurse with a doctor on the phone,’ Gerty tells Mo.

‘It wasn’t a date,’ I say, even though I’m pretty sure it was. I wish Mo and Gerty hadn’t got into this new habit of answering the phone together whenever they’re both home. I called Mo because I wanted to talk to Mo. It’s not that I don’t like talking to Gerty, it’s just that that is a very different experience, and not necessarily one you want after nearly drowning.

‘You’re going to need to explain this whole Johnny White thing to me again,’ Gerty says.

I check the time on my phone screen. Only five minutes until Leon gets back with lunch.

‘Listen, I have to go,’ I say. ‘But Mo, I’m fine. And Gerty, calm your protective instincts, please. He’s not trying to sleep with me or entrap me or lock me away in his basement, OK? In fact, I have very little reason to think that he’s at all interested in me.’

‘But you are interested in him?’ Gerty insists.

‘Goodbye, Gerty!’

‘Look after yourself, Tiffy,’ Mo manages to say before Gerty hangs up (she’s not big on goodbyes).

I dial Rachel’s number without pause.

*

‘So the key point here,’ Rachel says, ‘is that you are yet to have an interaction with Leon that doesn’t involve you stripping down to your underwear.’

‘Umm.’ I’m grinning.

‘You better keep your clothes on from now on. He’ll think you’re a – what’s it called when you’re one of those men who likes exposing themselves in the park?’

‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘I do not—’

‘I’m just saying what everybody’s thinking, my friend. You’re definitely not about to kick the bucket?’

‘I feel fine really. Just achy and exhausted.’

‘All right then. In that case, make the most of your free hotel stay, and call me if you find yourself accidentally whipping your bra off during dinner.’

There’s a knock at the door.

‘Shit. Got to go, bye!’ I hiss into the phone. ‘Come in,’ I call. I managed to put on the jumper Babs left me while Leon was out, so I’m now decent from the waist up, at least.

Leon smiles at me and holds up a very full bag of what smells like fish and chips. I gasp in delight.

‘Proper seaside food!’

‘And . . .’ He reaches into the bag and pulls out another one, handing it to me. I look inside: red velvet cupcakes with cream-cheese icing.

‘Cake! The best kind of cake!’

‘Doctor’s orders.’ He pauses. ‘Well, Socha said, “get her some food”. The fried fish and cupcakes were a bit of artistic licence.’

His hair is nearly dry; the salt has turned it even curlier, and it keeps springing from behind his ears. He catches me watching him try and smooth it back and grins ruefully.

‘You’re not meant to see me looking like this,’ he says.

‘Oh, and this is exactly how you’re meant to see me,’ I say, gesturing in the vague direction of my enormous baggy jumper, pale face and crazy matted hair. ‘“Drowned rat” is a favourite look of mine.’

‘Mermaid-like?’ Leon suggests.

‘Funny you should mention that. I do actually have a fin under here,’ I say, patting the blanket over my legs.

Leon smiles at that, spreading out the fish and chips on the bed between us. He kicks off his shoes and sits, careful to avoid my swollen ankle.

The food is amazing. It’s just what I need, though I wouldn’t have known it until I smelled it. Leon got pretty much every add-on to fish and chips you can imagine – mushy peas, onion rings, curry sauce, pickled onions, even one of those plastic-looking sausages they always have behind the glass – and we eat our way through it all. When it comes to the cupcake, finishing the last mouthfuls requires serious mental effort.

‘Nearly dying is exhausting,’ I declare, suddenly overcome by sleepiness.

‘Nap,’ Leon tells me.

‘You’re not worried about me falling asleep and never waking up again?’ I ask, eyelids already drooping. Being warm and full is amazing. I’ll never take being warm and full for granted ever again.

‘I’ll just wake you every five minutes to check you’re not suffering from brain trauma,’ he says.

My eyes fly open. ‘Every five minutes?’

He chuckles, already gathering up his stuff and heading for the door. ‘See you in a few hours.’

‘Oh. Nurses shouldn’t make jokes,’ I call after him, but I don’t think he hears me. Maybe I only think of saying it. I’m slipping off to sleep even as I hear the door close behind him.

*

I wake with a jolt that sends a shock of pain through my ankle. Crying out, I look around me. Floral wallpaper. Am I at home? Who’s that man in the chair by the door, reading . . .

‘Twilight?’

Leon blinks at me, putting the book down in his lap. ‘You went from unconscious to judgemental very quickly there.’

‘I did think this was a weird dream for a second,’ I say. ‘But my dream version of you would have much better book taste.’

‘It’s all Babs had to offer. How’re you feeling?’

I give the question some thought. My ankle is throbbing and my throat feels horribly sore and salty, but the ache in my head has disappeared. I can feel that my stomach muscles are going to be painful from all the coughing, though.

‘Much better, actually.’

He smiles at that. He is very cute when he smiles. When he’s serious his face is a little severe – fine-boned brow, cheekbones, jaw – but when he’s smiling, it’s all soft lips and dark eyes and white teeth.

I check the time on my phone, more to break eye contact than anything – I’m suddenly very aware that I’m lying in bed, hair mussed and bare legs only half hidden under the blankets.

‘Half six?’

‘You were sleepy.’

‘What have you been doing this whole time?’ I ask him. He shows me his bookmark – he’s nearly read the whole of Twilight.

‘This Bella Swan is a very popular lady, for one who declares herself to be so unattractive,’ he tells me. ‘Seems every single man in the book who isn’t her father is in love with her.’

I nod solemnly. ‘It’s very hard being Bella.’

‘Sparkly boyfriends can’t be easy,’ Leon agrees. ‘You want to try walking on that ankle of yours?’

‘Can’t I just stay in bed for ever?’

‘Dinner and more whisky if you can get downstairs.’

I shoot him a look. He looks back, perfectly placid, and I realise what an excellent nurse he must be.

‘Fine. But you need to look away first, so I can put my trousers on.’

He doesn’t say anything about the fact that he’s already seen way too much for turning around to be necessary; he just swivels in the armchair and reopens Twilight.