A. Michael - The Last Word

Chandra’s eyes moved past her to the dance floor, and of course, she couldn’t help but look. Harry had his arms around the doll-like girl, but looked across at Tabby, stuck his tongue out and winked.

‘Fifty quid says you don’t last a month.’ Chandra grinned.

‘Bad odds.’ Tabby sighed, breaking eye contact, and finishing the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Chapter Seven

Tabby was going to kill Chandra. Because, of course, once she’d put the damn thought into her head, it was impossible to get it out: she could not stop thinking about Harry. She could also not stop thinking about how long it had been since she’d had sex, and how Chandra thought she was opposed to orgasms. She wasn’t. She just…wasn’t attracted easily. Or wasn’t hanging out in the right places. But then, obviously, when she did find someone attractive, they haunted her.

Which was why Tabby was running. Then baking, then shopping. When Rhi came home from a half day at the library, she found Tabby with her head in the oven.

‘Pulling a Sylvia Plath?’

‘You know we’ve never cleaned this properly? We’ve lived here for over two years! It’s ridiculous!’ Tabby’s manic voice was muffled from inside the oven, her yellow-gloved hands working desperately.

‘Tabs, you’re high off the fumes, get out of there.’ Rhi waited until she could see her housemate, covered in dirt, her dark hair covered with a bandana. ‘Don’t you have a meeting with your editor today?’

‘Yep.’ Tabby’s face fell. ‘I feel like I’m going to the dentist.’

‘I thought he liked your last article?’

‘That’s the problem. He’s being nice to me. And when he’s being nice to me, I forget he’s a dangerously charming arse who is there to make money, and I start to…like him.’

Rhi took a deep breath, and seemed to be accumulating the energy to deal with this. ‘Do you think you have a thing for men in positions of power over you? Because I’ve got this really good book on dominants and submissives – ’

‘No! I mean, not really. He just…I don’t know what he’s going to do. I keep thinking I have him figured out and then he surprises me. It’s Chandra’s fault. She put the sex thing in my head.’ Tabby pulled off the marigolds and surveyed her nails.

‘Which is where it’s going to stay. In your head,’ Rhi said firmly. ‘You’ve done the editor thing before, remember? Doesn’t end well.’ Rhi cast a disapproving eye over Tabby’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Now, seriously, will you go shower and get ready for this meeting? If you fancy him, you might as well look fabulous, right?’

Tabby grinned, and kissed Rhi’s cheek on the way out. ‘You said fabulous.’

‘What’s wrong with that? Gay men don’t own the word!’ Rhi shouted as Tabby raced up the stairs.

She was going to be fine. Really. So, OK, thinking about Harry that way was kind of awkward, but she’d convinced herself out of bigger things in the past. Convincing your drunk self that your future self would really regret ordering a cheese feast pizza at four in the morning had to be a meaner feat and she’d done that occasionally. Much more difficult than telling herself that Harry was not only not that interesting or even nice, but that even if he was interested in her, she wouldn’t want him. Easy. Done.

And then, of course, he texted her: Let’s meet at ‘our’ pub for the meeting. Less confusing menus, more stale beer. Harry .

Bloody irritating man, being all responsive to her needs.

When she got to The Black Cat, there was Harry, chatting with the old barman, keenly nodding like he was really enjoying himself.

‘Hey there,’ Tabby sidled up, smiling automatically at the interaction.

‘Hey Tabs.’ Harry kissed her cheek, and she felt herself holding her breath until it was over. ‘This is Nigel,’ he nodded at the barman, ‘he’s owned this pub for twenty-five years. Can you believe it?’

‘That’s a long time.’ Tabby smiled inanely, watching how Harry manipulated the conversation, made the older man feel interesting and worthy of a story.

‘A big deal in a central London location, I can tell you.’ Nigel smiled. ‘Anyway, what can I get your beautiful lady friend?’

Tabby smiled, and watched as Harry looked to her for confirmation. ‘Red wine?’

‘As long as you don’t harp on about vintages, that’ll be lovely.’ Tabby raised an eyebrow.

‘A bottle of whatever red you think is best, Nigel, cheers.’

Harry’s voice had changed, she noticed. His sharp London accent had faded away to something softer, not quiet cockney, not quite northern, but something. He had a light blue shirt on, rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual smart trousers. She looked down at his shoes.

‘What?’

‘I was kind of hoping to see the pink Converse again.’ She grinned.

‘You making fun of me?’

‘No, Harry, I’m honestly expressing appreciation for the first thing about you that seemed genuine. Is that all right?’

He paused. ‘Is that a pretentious way of saying you liked my trainers?’

‘Yes.’ She grabbed her glass of wine and clinked it against his one sitting on the bar. ‘Cheers to that. Shall we get a table?’

He shrugged and smiled, gesturing for her to go ahead. ‘Lead the way.’

They ended up sitting back at the same table as last time, but as soon as they sat down, things seemed to get awkward. Tabby wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t her, she knew that. She’d realised being around Harry and having to deal with the exhausting banter all the time meant she had no time to focus on how pretty his eyes were. Which was a relief. But somehow, the meeting wasn’t working.

‘So, I really liked this idea of People Within Places, if you wanted to explore that further. I – ’

‘Yes, that’s – ’

‘I was – ’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘No, you go ahead.’

Silence.

It kept happening. Harry would try to be accommodating, overly friendly, make a big deal over the smallest idea. And it wasn’t just patronising, but it made her feel like the idea was worthless and he was just trying to be kind. Which meant, clearly, none of her ideas were very good, and he was just trying to get whatever he could out of her.

‘Listen, darling, I was hoping we could go back to the uni fees concept. I love it, I think it’s brilliant.’

‘It’s not,’ Tabby said flatly.

‘What?’

‘It’s not brilliant. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but it’s weird.’

Harry sighed. ‘I’m trying to be a supportive editor.’

‘By holding my hand like a child? I’m not a moron.’

‘Look, your friend said I’d been tearing you down, so now I’m trying not to. But apparently I’m an arsehole either way. I’m making an effort here, so could you stop making me feel like I’m being a shitty human being?’

Watching Harry lose his cool was way too much fun. A delicious vein in his neck seemed to twitch, his cheeks went a little red and his eyes seemed to turn a darker green. Tabby was enjoying him being off-balance way too much. But maybe now it was time to apologise. After all, she’d won, right?

‘I’m sorry, Harry, honestly.’ She smiled and patted his hand.

‘You don’t look sorry,’ he grunted, and then looked at her closely. ‘You look smug.’

She widened her eyes. ‘That’s just my face. Why would I be smug? Look, we’re trying to get used to each other, it’ll take some work. I appreciate you making the effort.’

‘Don’t have this problem with my other writers,’ Harry sighed. ‘I just chat away and they take it or leave it. None of them tell me to my face that I’m talking bollocks.’