Chapter 12
You have yourself a deal
“What do you mean you’re not coming back?”
I stare at my best friend through my phone screen in total disbelief. My marriage has just ended, and now I’m losing Ivy too. I shuffle further onto the bed and tuck my legs underneath me.
“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “Dylan wants me to run the Edinburgh office. Turns out this whole trip was a test to see how I got on and, apparently, I crushed it. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks for my stuff once I arrange for somewhere more permanent to live here, but otherwise…”
“I’m so happy for you!”
It’s only a half lie. I am really happy that her talent is finally being noticed and she’s getting the credit and responsibility she deserves.
But losing my best friend so soon after the collapse of my marriage is devastating.
I suppose Connor’s my friend now too, but I can’t talk to him about girl stuff like I can with Ivy.
As amazing as he’s been since I spiralled a few days ago, I don’t think he’d appreciate me starting to talk to him about PMS symptoms.
“Really?”
“Yes, of course! I mean, I’m going to miss you like crazy, but I’m really proud of you. I just want you to be happy.”
“I don’t think you’ll miss me too much – I hear you’ve replaced me with my brother.” Her eyebrow rises, which makes me blush.
“No one could replace you, Ivy.”
“Obviously. But I am glad you have someone. And I know that you and Connor haven’t always gotten on, but he’s a good guy. I wish I was there to help you through this shitshow with Rhys, but Connor is the next best thing. Like I said, he’s a really good guy.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see that side of him now.”
Honestly, I can barely remember the ‘old’ Connor, the one who relentlessly teased me to the point that I avoided him at all costs.
All I know now is the Connor who checks in on me with a text when he’s at work, who makes me a cup of tea every morning and gets me my posh blanket when I’m snuggled on the sofa with a book.
Ivy gives me a knowing look but doesn’t comment.
We chat for a while longer about Ivy’s new job and potential new home, and I dance around any questions she directs towards me about how I’m doing.
I’ve become a master of avoiding answering uncomfortable questions through a combination of humour and distraction.
Not long after I end my videocall with Ivy, I hear Connor coming home from the lunch shift.
Wondering if he knows about Ivy not coming back, I straighten my clothes and hair and head downstairs.
I smile at the photographs that line the stairs as I go, some of Connor and Ivy as kids, others of the whole family.
None of them are posed or professional but candid and full of life.
The beauty of each one lies in the realness, the imperfections and genuine joy on each of their faces.
My favourite, the one that never fails to make me smile as I pass it, is one of Connor at his fourteenth birthday party. He’s not looking at the camera but gazing at something off to the side, with a wide smile on his face and his eyes sparkling with happiness.
I remember that day vividly. His party was in the back garden of this very house, with his whole family coming together for a barbeque.
His dad had set up a pool for us to cool down in, so naturally, everyone was wearing swimming clothes.
Connor wore shorts and Ivy had on a bikini that she didn’t think twice about wearing.
My mum had persuaded me to wear a swimming costume, but I felt so uncomfortable that Ivy had run into the house to get me a T-shirt.
It was an oversized T-shirt for some retro band I’d never heard of, and it reached my knees, so I assumed it belonged to her dad.
“That you, Tilly?” Connor calls from the kitchen.
“No. I’m a burglar. I’m here to steal your valuables.”
Connor laughs. “Oh, well, that’s a shame. Because I brought food home from work for Tilly, but if you’re not her…”
I run down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen, parking myself quickly on one of the barstools in front of him. He gives me an amused smile.
“Hi. Did you happen to pass any burglars on your way here?” he asks, leaning on the counter between us.
“I did, actually. He was heading towards the stash of Beanie Babies you keep under your bed.”
“I knew they’d be valuable one day!”
Connor brings over the takeaway containers with The Nightingales’ logo on the side and starts to unpack them.
“Smells delicious,” I say, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “Only a tiny bit for me, I’ll make some salad to go with it.”
“You bloody won’t.” Connor puts a plate in front of me and spoons out the entire contents of the container. It’s a mix of spiced couscous, lamb, tender stem broccoli and feta cheese, and just the sight of it makes my mouth water and stomach clench simultaneously.
“Stop panicking,” he says gently. “I made this myself, so I know exactly what’s in it. It’s a healthy, balanced meal that’s going to taste good and not leave you feeling hungry after.”
He slides the plate over and hands me a fork. I look at the fork he’s holding between us and reach for it, reasoning I can always add the meal to my app later and compensate for it tomorrow.
“Don’t you dare add this to that fucking app of yours, either.” He smirks at me.
“I wasn’t—”
“Of course you were. It’s not healthy to obsess about every ounce of food you put in your mouth.”
“I don’t obsess over it,” I say defensively.
“I saw you track dried basil the other day. It was two calories.”
“It’s easy for things like that to add up…”
“Does Rhys still have access to it?”
The question takes me by surprise. To be honest, I haven’t thought about him checking my food log since I moved out, but I suppose it’s possible he’s still on it. I immediately worry about his reaction to the square of chocolate I tracked the other evening.
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s your choice, but I think it would help you to get rid of the pressure of the app. Delete it, and I’ll help make sure you eat well. Come on, you have a professional chef offering to cook for you! What do you say?”
“Hmm,” I pretend to think. “We’ll have to see if you’re any good first.” I spear a bit of everything onto my fork and bring it to my mouth. My God, it’s incredible, but I can’t let Connor know that. I chew and make contemplative faces as I swallow.
“Well?” he asks, playing along.
What the hell? I’m not losing weight this way anyway – I might as well give it a try. I can always download it again in a few days if I need to. I reach for my phone and hand it to Connor.
“Delete the app, Chef. You have yourself a deal.”
Over the next few weeks, Connor and I fall into a comfortable routine. After I told him about Ivy moving to Edinburgh, he said I could stay with him for as long as I needed, which I agreed to on the condition that he accepted proper rent. So he raised my payments by a whole fifty pounds a month.
Connor has been showing me some new recipes that he assures me are healthy, and although I don’t think I’m losing weight, I feel better in myself.
Not weighing myself daily feels unnatural, but Connor doesn’t have a set of scales in his house, and he’s forbidden me to buy a set.
I’m helping around the house, and I’ve sorted through all of Ivy’s belongings and boxed them up for her.
She’s been so busy with her new job, she hasn’t had chance to come back home to do it herself, so I offered to help her out.
We even give shopping another try, and I come away with some new jeans and tops that don’t have hoods – nothing of note for the most part, but it’s everything to me.
Obviously, I insist we visit my new happy place while we’re out so I can celebrate a successful shopping trip with a coffee and a new book or five.
Not long after, I decide that my new clothes deserve a new Matilda.
So I make appointments to have my hair cut and styled and my nails done.
But, significantly, I find that I want to start taking care of myself, but not for anyone else. I’m going to do it for myself.