‘Like I said, it’s getting late. You should go.’ Rupert doesn’t want to talk about it, he never wants to talk about it.
‘Of course.’ She puts her empty glass on the low coffee table, jumping slightly as the front door slams closed and Miles appears, rubbing his hands together against the cold and stinking of cigar smoke, thick and heavy in the air. ‘Miles, we should leave Rupert in peace. It’s been a long day.’ Parroting Rupert’s words back to him as she reaches behind her for her coat, her leopard print scarf, then reaching for Rupert himself, pulling him towards her as she kisses his cheek leaving a dark red stain from her lipstick. And then they go, and he is completely alone.
Any buzz that Rupert might have got from the wine is long gone now, as he shifts in the chair, a chill settling over him despite the warmth blasting from the radiators. He feels clear-headed suddenly as he looks around the kitchen, taking in the dust that thinly coats the kitchen table, the window sill and even parts of the worktop. He let the cleaner go after Caro died. Tea stains litter the floor around the waste bin and Rupert feels a sudden surge of nausea. Sadie is right. This is not who he is. He needs to sort himself out. Caro would be appalled to see the way he’s been living since she’s been gone. He shakes his head at the thought of Caro and reaches for the bottle of whisky on the kitchen counter. He pours a healthy measure and opens up his laptop, tapping his fingers impatiently as he waits for the browser to open. He’s going to do what Sadie said – he’s going to sort himself out and get things back on track. He can’t change what happened, but he can start to move on. She’s right, it’s been long enough.
An hour later, he rereads what he has written and presses the submit button, a fluttering in his stomach making the nausea rise again, as he waits for the confirmation email. It’s done.
Chapter Two
I heave a sigh of relief as I let myself into the flat, dragging Tiny behind me. I dread walking her most of the time, my heart sinking as she dances in circles whenever Mags gets the lead out. Tiny has no idea how to behave in public, having taken to peeing on things she shouldn’t and barking at every single person who crosses our path, but the alternative is to sit in the flat all day while Mags smokes joint after joint, and sometimes I just can’t bear the thought of it; I have to get out, get some fresh air.
The strong smell of weed in the hallway tells me that Mags is awake, and she hasn’t left the flat yet. I unclip Tiny’s leash, wincing as the little dog rushes into the kitchen, barking her high-pitched, ear-splitting yaps.
‘Your dog is a psychopath,’ I say to Mags as I walk into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. I pull out a carton of orange juice, drinking deeply and ignoring my flatmate making a fuss of her socially inept chihuahua.
‘Well, there’s a reason why I ask you to take her for a walk, and it’s not just because you’re not paying me any rent at the moment.’ Mags resumes her position, sitting on the table top, and peers through the smoke curling from the end of her joint to where Tiny has tucked herself into a ball and promptly gone to sleep.
‘I am looking for a job, there just doesn’t seem to be much out there,’ I say quietly, a fizz of irritation burning low in my belly. No ‘thank you’ for taking the dog out, just a dig about my finances. I turn to the sink and start washing the glass out, letting the cold water run over my wrists.
‘Oh, you know I don’t mean it,’ Mags snorts, stubbing her joint out. ‘Take as long as you need, I can make the rent. I know you’ve had a tough time. It was just a joke.’
Secretly, I think that perhaps Mags needs to take a second look at her ‘jokes’ because they’re really not very funny, but I don’t say anything, instead just keep drying my glass until it squeaks under the pressure of my hand.
‘I like having you here, you know that.’ Mags jumps down off the table and pulls me into a musty, patchouli-scented embrace. ‘I don’t mind looking after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ I pull away, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose. I’ll never get used to the incense that Mags burns day and night. Mags has been kind to me after what happened with Harry, but honestly this was only ever meant to be a temporary thing. I didn’t envisage myself still living here six months on.
‘Well, clearly you do.’ Mags’s voice takes on a snippy tone. ‘Not being funny, Emily, but you didn’t exactly have people beating down the door to take care of you when Harry treated you the way he did. It’s not like you had anywhere else to go, and your mum didn’t really rise to the occasion, did she? Too busy sunning herself.’
I squash down a sigh. It’s not the first time that Mags has thrown back in my face how she was the only one who helped me when I was literally on my knees, and once again, I wish I hadn’t revealed to Mags how I felt about my mum, after two bottles of wine in front of the telly one Friday night. ‘I know, Mags, and I do appreciate it, you know I do.’
And I do appreciate it, I’m not lying. I still remember the fear that gripped me every time the buzzer rang, or
