Chapter 2
‘Well, isn’t this just the fucking life.
’ Laurie rested her head back on the sofa, stretched out her legs until her toes wiggled and took a sip of the Prosecco I’d just handed her.
She looked so happy, which made me feel all fuzzy in return.
Because this was what moving here had been all about – being within ‘spontaneous dinner and drinks’ distance of Laurie and giving her occasional breaks from the relentless pace of life as a working mum of preschool-aged twins.
‘I still can’t believe this is the first time I’ve seen this place,’ she said, as I poured some lentils and vegetable stock into a saucepan of roasted vegetables I’d prepped earlier today, as if I was a smug contestant on Come Dine with Me.
‘Believe it or not, it’s the first Saturday night I’ve had the place to myself since I moved in.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘I’m absolutely not kidding. Tabbi seems to have a strict home-based weekend routine of head-to-toe pampering, which starts on Friday nights with a foot peel and ends on Sunday evenings with her hair twisted around a dressing-gown cord and tied on her head like a giant, balayaged croissant.’
‘Aren’t you only meant to do those foot peel things once a month?’
‘Fuck knows. But she’s shed so much foot skin since I moved in, she must be down to the bone by now.’
Laurie threw her head back into the sofa cushion and cackled for a solid twenty seconds. I loved making her laugh.
‘So where is this accomplished skin-shedder tonight?’ Laurie asked, once she’d collected herself.
‘She said something about a sound bath in a heated barn just outside Chippenham. And then she’s staying over at her friend’s place so they can go shopping for Thailand travel bits tomorrow.’
‘When is she flying out?’
‘Her flight’s on Thursday, so just a few days left to tolerate the auditory assault of her voice.’ I swear I felt my eardrums tremble at the mere mention of her vocal cords.
‘Flor, c’mon, she can’t be that bad.’
I puffed out my cheeks. I had no intention of turning this into a bitching session about someone who was doing nothing wrong beyond being themselves in their own home, but Laurie was now the only person left in the world I could confide in.
‘It’s not like she’s horrible or anything; I just don’t find her easy to connect to. She reminds me a bit of my sister, actually, although I would never actively choose to live with Anneka, Jesus.’
‘But you did choose to live with Tabbi, though.’
‘Ish. But mainly I chose to live here.’ I gestured around the room with my drink and sighed with contentment.
The flat had never looked or felt so serene.
Gentle piano music trickled out of the Bluetooth speaker at the perfect volume, there wasn’t a single overhead light switched on, and a mini potted Christmas tree a client had sent me sat pride of place on the kitchen table, its gentle Alpine scent muddled in with that of the flickering scented candles on every surface.
The combination of it all created the optimum atmosphere of a calm, grown-up Christmas.
No doubt the opposite vibe waiting for Laurie back home with her three-year-old twins – stairgates and fireguards as far as the eye could see.
I noticed her glass was almost empty, so I gave the simmering soup a final stir before joining her on the sofa with the bottle, topping up my glass as well as hers. We clinked vessels and linked our spare arms, exhaling simultaneously with contentment.
Laurie was undoubtedly the best friend I’d ever had. I’d always felt like the odd one out at school, with plenty of surface-level acquaintances but no deep friendships that were strong enough to sustain themselves once I’d left home for university.
And then, that very first day I’d arrived at my hall of residence, everything changed.
Laurie was helping Ben – who’d been her boyfriend since secondary school – move into his room on the ground floor, her own room the next floor up.
And then I had arrived, having been given the number of the room next door to Ben’s on an otherwise all-male floor.
It quickly became clear that some kind of error had been made.
The matter was solved when a very sweet guy called Will had shown up a few hours later with a room number on an all-female floor.
The four of us had quickly bonded, helped along by our shared love of indie music and fizzy dynamic that we later came to understand was a neurospicy one.
All four of us had our quirks and struggles but, from the outset, our collective energy had felt like unbreakable magic, with Will and I becoming more than friends midway through our first year.
Finally, I’d found my people and felt like I belonged.
‘Noah and Nancy excited about Christmas, then?’ I asked, after a moment of comfortable silence.
‘That’s an understatement. They’re starting to vaguely understand the concept of Santa.
They’ve gone all in. As has Ben – he’s doing that Elf on the Shelf nonsense.
Yesterday morning the sodding elf had unwrapped all my tampons.
As if I had the time to explain what a tampon was to two three-year-olds while I was trying to get them out the door for nursery. ’
‘Ben. God love him.’
‘Weirdly, I do.’
I nudged her lovingly. Laurie, Ben, Will and I had moved to London together after university – me and Will having both secured graduate positions with the civil service – the four of us sharing a flat for a few years before Laurie and Ben got engaged and found their own place.
Eventually, they’d moved to Bath while Laurie was pregnant to be nearer family. We’d missed them terribly.
‘So how are you really doing, Flor?’
Right on schedule.
‘Honestly, I’m doing okay. Like, I still have bad days.
But I think this fortnight to myself is exactly what I need.
I haven’t really felt settled since… everything.
I think I’m finally ready to tie up some loose ends, rustle up some work for the new year and crack on with some long-overdue life admin. ’
Including registering with a new GP and making sure I didn’t lose my hard-fought-for place on the ASD assessment waiting list.
‘And, most importantly, lord it up in this lush flat with one of the world’s most stunning cities on your doorstep.’
‘Basically, yeah.’
‘I’m so jealous.’
‘The grass is always greener and all that,’ I said, with a sad smile.
Laurie slung an arm around me and held me close.
‘You’re still in touch with him, I’m guessing?’ I mumbled, the question easier to ask while my face was hidden in the depths of her jumper.
Laurie exhaled through her nose. ‘Do you really want to know?’
I swallowed, weighing up the pros and cons of opening this Pandora’s box. Will and I had had zero contact since he’d walked out just before our wedding. And, despite the fact that it had already been six months, I still wasn’t convinced I was ready to go there.
‘Yeah, fair question. Perhaps we can revisit it in January?’ I suggested.
‘Let’s do that. New year, new start, hmm?’ she murmured into the top of my head, giving me a squeeze.
I performed an exaggerated gag and heave at the cliché, causing Laurie to snort.
‘I mean, let’s not get hung up on the social construct of the Gregorian calendar…’ I said, sitting upright.
‘But…?’
‘But, yeah: new year, new start.’
‘Well, let’s cheers to that.’
We clinked glasses again and, after a slurp, I went to check on the soup and set the nano-table next to the window.
‘Flor?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I’m so proud of you.’
‘Laurie. Don’t.’
‘What? I’m allowed to say sentimental shit to my best friend.’
‘Fine, I’ll allow it – just this once. But look at me: I’m not exactly thriving.
I live in a loft with a skin-shedding stranger, I spend more time talking to a cat than other humans and my career looks like it could dissolve any day now thanks to generative AI’s terrifying ability to churn out speeches. ’
‘Baby steps. Think back to just a few months ago.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘Fine, but the difference between the Flora then and the Flora now is monumental. You must be able to see that?’
The truth is I could see it; I just couldn’t necessarily feel it.
Sure, on the surface – with my freelance endeavours and new living arrangements – it looked very much like I’d begun to piece myself back together after the disintegration of my twelve-year relationship with Will and, with it, the loss of my job and most of my friends who’d also been my colleagues.
But the truth was, I still felt 90 per cent broken.
Now the new year was just around the corner, the pressure was well and truly on to start sticking myself – and my life – back together for real, emerging like a fresh butterfly from its chrysalis come January.
Perhaps, with the quiet certainty of the next couple of weeks laid out before me, I would finally be ready to reach for the sticky tape.