The Wrong Move

by Jennifer Savin

  Sofie’s photo, on the other hand, was more staged; she’d gone for a sunset selfie taken on holiday. Somewhere with palm trees in the background. Her tanned skin glistened against the peach melba sky and her trademark boho earrings were just visible through beachy waves. The shot had been taken some years ago on the last night of one of her favourite-ever holidays – two weeks spent surfing in Bali with friends, just before she’d met Henry. During a time when she’d favoured turquoise hair over her current pastel-pink tones.

  Marcus, on the other hand, had chosen not to include a photo of himself on his profile. Instead, he’d gone for the artwork used on one of his favourite punk albums, depicting an oozing human heart being squeezed by a woman’s freshly manicured hand. The nails looked sharp, like enlarged cat claws, and were the same cartoon red as the organ. Jessie zoomed out of the image and clicked back onto the chat to read Lauren’s message which had just come through.

  Hey housies! Dinner tonight at 7? I’m going to make Mama McCormack’s famous lasagne to welcome our newest recruit. Don’t be late.

  The phone vibrated again.

  Also, I’ll make the vegan version for you Sofe

  A few seconds later the top of the screen indicated that Sofie was typing a response. It was prefaced with heart-eyed emojis.

  Yessss, thanks, babe! Henry will come too

  Jessie noted that Henry hadn’t actually been invited and wondered whether he and Sofie were one of those couples. The ones who said ‘we love Italian food’ or ‘we hate living autonomous lives.’ Jessie knew the type only too well, given that until very recently she had been a part of one herself. Now, she couldn’t wish to be further away from Matthew if she tried. Although it was a relief knowing he was back in their shared hometown of Chesterbury and didn’t know where she was, the hundred-odd miles of distance between them didn’t feel wide enough.

  Marcus sent a thumbs up into the group chat, Jessie sent two back.

  Sounds great! Let me know if I should bring anything

  What could possibly go wrong?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On her walk back to the flat, Jessie called Priya, her closest friend, and one of the reasons why she’d chosen to move back to Brighton. While Jessie had returned home to Chesterbury after graduation (upon Matthew’s insistence), Priya had stayed and was living with her girlfriend, Zoe, in a flat overlooking the remains of the West Pier. It was comforting to know she had a somebody who cared for her near by, especially after everything she’d been through this past year.

  Priya picked up after a few rings.

  ‘All right?’ she dragged each syllable out.

  Jessie suspected the call might have woken her up.

  ‘Morning, I’m just walking home, not all that far from yours, actually.’

  ‘Why, where’ve you been? Not traipsing back from a one-night stand already, are you, Jess? Bloody hell, you’ve only been back five minutes.’

  Jessie found herself moved by the sound of Priya’s laughter, having not totally realised how much she’d missed hearing it. Things between them had been strained over the last few years, and she felt a smile spread across her face now, knowing she finally had her best friend back. They’d met almost six years ago, when Priya had been waiting outside the same university lecture theatre as her, wearing sunglasses, and caught Jessie glancing over at her quizzically. Priya had offered her half a Kit Kat and explained that the indoor sunglasses were because she had a tequila-induced headache. It turned out the pair lived on the same floor in halls.

  ‘I won’t even dignify that with a response. You, of all people, know the idea of anything like that is so far from what I need now,’ Jessie said and laughed too. ‘You, on the other hand, sound like you’ve had a big night?’

  She hung up the call when she arrived back at the flat, needing both hands to recover her keys from the bottom of her gym bag. Once inside, Jessie headed into the kitchen and saw a piece of paper had been taped to the swing bin. Upon closer inspection, it read ‘Dear house, it’s really easy to use a bin. Please stop starting one on the floor next to it instead.’ The note hadn’t been signed. She raised her eyebrows and turned to raid the fridge, hungry from her workout. Reaching for the yoghurts, she noticed one was missing. Odd. And cheeky, too – whoever it was that had helped themselves had a nerve. She’d barely moved in and had only been gone a few short hours. Surely one of the unspoken rules of flat-sharing is that you have to at least be friends with a person before you start helping yourself to their food? Maybe she should start marking her territory by leaving notes on her things too. Jessie texted Priya to gauge how outraged she was entitled to be and was disappointed when the response simply read: It’s a yoghurt, hardly the crime of the century – don’t go falling out with people in your first week over dairy products! Priya was right, though; it was annoying but definitely not worth causing a scene about.

  The rest of the day passed with relative ease and Jessie spent it unpacking her belongings and finding places for everything. She lined the windowsill with her photograph collection, her favourite being one of her and Priya taken at a day festival last summer, their cheeks daubed with glitter, ciders in hand. She had only been able to go because Matthew was away that weekend. On a training course, he’d said, although who knew how true that was.

  After several hours of unpacking and organising, Jessie flopped down onto the bed and watched the sun dip outside the window. Her eyes grew heavy. By the time she woke to the sound of Lauren clattering around the kitchen and singing, the sun had fully disappeared. She was singing an old 80s pop song, one that Jessie had heard her parents playing in the car before. Lauren could hold a tune, even though she probably wasn’t trying all that hard. She seemed like the kind of girl who was good at most things.

  Jessie stood up and debated what to wear for dinner later on, keen to get her outfit just right. She wanted her flatmates to like her, to think she was cool and worth getting to know. They all looked, like a lot of Brighton residents, as though they’d rolled straight out of art school or stepped off a catwalk. In comparison, she felt plain and safe. Even her haircut, with its blunt, eyebrow-grazing fringe, had been the same since she was a child. Her bravest move was getting caramel highlights woven through the dull brown on Priya’s insistence a couple of years ago. Matthew had barely acknowledged it, bar a disapproving grunt.

  Now she could feel her anxiety levels rising at the thought of having to be outgoing around people she didn’t know very well. What if they ran out of things to talk about? Or she said the wrong thing? After rifling through her newly organised wardrobe, Jessie threw on a floral tea dress that she’d brought in a vintage shop, hoping someone might at least ask where it was from and she could slip that titbit of information in. Personality in a garment. She headed downstairs, acutely aware of the shuffling her black tights made on the brown-carpeted hallway, a shuffling which then turned to squeaking when the carpet met the black-and-white kitchen tiles.

  ‘Looking lush, babe!’ said Lauren, giving her a quick glance and fanning her face with an oven glove. ‘I’ve opened a bottle of shiraz if you fancy a glass?’

  The windows were steamed. Drops of condensation raced down each, giving the kitchen an intimate feel. Jessie smiled to herself wryly. What letting agents would describe as ‘cosy’ in reality meant ‘cramped’ and that the TV and fridge were in the same room.

  ‘Love one, thanks!’ Jessie replied, helping herself. ‘I meant to ask earlier, do you have a number for the girl who lived in my room before me? The key for my lock is missing.’

  Lauren stopped humming.

  ‘Er, for Magda? No, sorry I haven’t,’ she said, looking a little awkward. ‘How’s the wine?’

  ‘Oh, it’s good …’ Jessie paused, then tried again. ‘Would Sofie or Marcus have it?’

  ‘Well, Marcus will probably have beer. And Henry will bring over a far more expensive bottle of wine for him and Sofe.’

  ‘Oh no, I meant Magda’s number – do you t
hink either Sofie or Marcus will have it?’

  Lauren made a face which suggested she was thinking before speaking.

  ‘To be honest, Magda wasn’t the easiest to live with and things didn’t end all that well.’

  Her eyes didn’t quite meet Jessie’s.

  ‘There were some clashes between her and Marcus. She’d often complain about him playing his music too loudly, that sort of thing. I was trapped in the middle, playing peacemaker, seeing as Sofie is hardly ever in.’

  Jessie sipped at the wine. Lauren looked concerned that she might have put her foot in it. It was a tricky topic to discuss, former housemates and why they left, without incriminating yourself in the process.

  ‘I swear we’re all nice and it’s a really laid-back flat,’ she said to Jessie. ‘And you fit in so well already, it’s like you’ve always been here.’

  On cue, Marcus glided into the room, palming his fringe down flat. He slowly cracked open a lager and enjoyed letting it hiss, something to take the edge off. He wasn’t looking forward to this flat dinner but he’d do it for Lauren, of course.

  ‘Who’s hungry, then?’ Lauren asked, pulling a tray of garlic bread from the oven, flinching as the edge of it nicked her wrist.

  ‘Definitely me, it smells amazing,’ replied Jessie. ‘Thanks so much for organising this, it’s really nice of you all. Are Sofie and Henry still joining?’

  Before she could get an answer, the thud of the front door came from down the hall and in walked the odd couple, Henry striding a few paces ahead of Sofie. Almost imperceptibly, Marcus’s shoulders stiffened. Henry represented every boy at school who’d ever teased him for being too skinny, too pale or too weird. Henry’s type was the reason Marcus had spent every lunchtime locked away in the music rooms, playing the same chords repeatedly until his fingers hardened.

  ‘Looking lovely this evening, ladies! I come bearing wine,’ Henry said, producing a bottle from behind his back with flourish.

  Lauren and Jessie shared a knowing look.

  ‘Where’s the corkscrew around here?’

  Sofie shrugged. She spent so little time in the flat she’d be hard-pressed to say where most things were kept.

  ‘I think it’s in the cutlery drawer,’ said Lauren. ‘But let’s be real, I’m a screw-top kind of girl, so it’s been a while since I’ve dug it out.’

  The round pine table had been set with apricot-coloured paper napkins. Jessie thought it a sweet touch on her new housemate’s part – it was clear that Lauren enjoyed playing hostess and had gone to a lot of effort with arranging this meal. She was grateful for it. It was also clear that the wine Henry had decided to bring along was probably worth more than the battered dining table itself, just as Lauren had predicted.

  ‘On the old cat’s piss eh, Marky Mark?’ Henry gave a jovial headshake at Marcus’s can of lager, looking him up and down.

  Today’s band T-shirt had holes in it, making Marcus appear as though he’d been swallowed whole by a paper shredder, then spat back out in time for dinner. The meal wasn’t Henry’s idea of fun either. He’d have given anything for a slab of steak, so rare it was still almost twitching on his plate, and someone to swap tales of rugby initiation tasks with. Sports chat was something he’d tried initially with Marcus, but he had been met with a deafening silence.

  ‘So it would seem,’ Marcus replied coolly. ‘Sadly, I don’t have my own wine cellar to pick and choose from.’

  Lauren placed the stoneware dish of lasagne down on the table and motioned for everybody to take a seat. Sofie held back for a second until Henry had chosen his spot, then placed herself between Jessie and Lauren.

  ‘It looks delicious.’ Jessie nodded earnestly.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ agreed Sofie, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. ‘Work was insanely busy today and this is the first time I’ve sat down. We sold clean out of the new almond energy balls I made.’

  After everyone had helped themselves to a serving, poured a glass of either very expensive or decidedly cheap wine (bar Marcus) and swallowed their first few mouthfuls down, conversation turned to the landlord of the flat.

  ‘He’s fairly absent,’ Lauren said through a mouthful. ‘In fact, he actually lives in Germany. I’ve only met him once and that was years ago, when I first moved in. So, we’re talking around 2014.’

  ‘I’ve never met him,’ Sofie chimed in. ‘I found the flat through Happy Homes, the same as you, Jessie, in the spring of 2016. If there’s ever been a problem, though, Ian’s been all right enough to deal with and gets things fixed pretty quickly.’

  ‘Did you know each other before living here?’ Jessie asked Lauren and Marcus, switching her gaze between them as she spoke.

  Marcus’s eyes remained firmly fixed to his plate, as though he had a bell jar placed around him and couldn’t hear.

  ‘I guess so,’ he said eventually, monotonously.

  ‘Well, you know what Brighton’s like,’ Lauren added. ‘It’s a small city, everybody knows everybody, one way or another.’

  Talk then turned to how Lauren and Sofie had gone to the same life-drawing class for years, only realising they vaguely knew one another a few weeks after Sofie had taken up residency in the flat.

  ‘Are you all unpacked and settled in now, Jessie?’ Sofie asked.

  Jessie noticed Henry leaning on his elbow and looking over in her direction.

  ‘If you ever need a hand moving anything else in or want a lift to IKEA, feel free to call me,’ he said. ‘I’m good at flat pack furniture and … all other kinds of bedroom-related activities.’

  He gave a guffaw and drained his glass, then looked at Sofie, expecting her to be laughing along too.

  She wasn’t. Instead, she frowned slightly and thought back to the day that Henry had spectacularly tried – and failed – to build her a bookcase. She’d ended up batting him away and doing it herself in half the time. His bravado always cranked up a notch when he drank wine.

  Henry cocked his head to one side. The sound of scraping cutlery filled the silence. Lauren widened her eyes at Jessie in confused solidarity and reached for the cheaper bottle of wine.

  ‘Why does every single wine on the planet seem to say it’s great paired with fish or pasta?’ Lauren turned the bottle round and read the label. ‘No matter where it’s from or what it’s like.’

  They all forced a laugh, glad for a change of subject. Henry’s boomed over everybody else’s.

  ‘Have I ever told you about the summer I spent studying wine in France?’ he said, refilling his glass, then swirling and studying the contents.

  ‘Yes – and let me guess, you’re about to again?’ Sofie muttered.

  ‘Thanks for this.’

  Marcus stood up and carried his empty plate over to the sink, adding it to the pile.

  ‘Plenty left for seconds if you’d like?’ Lauren offered, her voice a little too high, but Marcus shook his head.

  ‘There’s some band stuff I need to be getting on with. See you later.’

  With that, the party wound down to four. Okay, so it hadn’t been the great bonding session she’d imagined, but Jessie felt happier than she had done in a long time. Even if Marcus was difficult, Sofie and Lauren seemed like the type of girls she would love to be friends with and intent on getting to know her. Henry probably hadn’t meant anything by offering to help either, she was just on edge, as per usual, and reading too much into things.

  A short while later, Henry ordered a taxi back to his place, Sofie dutifully following, too tired to explain that she’d prefer to sleep in her own room for a change. Jessie volunteered to do the washing-up again, to say thank you for dinner, and Lauren headed out to her usual spot on the balcony to smoke. She exhaled and looked down at the street, to where Henry was holding open the taxi door for Sofie. At that exact moment, Sofie glanced up at the balcony. For a split second, their eyes met, then Henry ushered Sofie inside. There was something about him that just didn’t sit right.

  CHAPT
ER FIVE

  Despite a small smattering of nerves, on the whole, Jessie was quietly confident about her impending job interview. She wasn’t a complete novice when it came to working for the NHS, having done plenty of temp administrator shifts throughout university – well, something had needed to pay for all those weekend trips back to Chesterbury to visit Matthew. As much as he’d insisted he couldn’t cope without her, he rarely made the effort to drive down to Brighton, claiming that Jessie’s student accommodation was too shabby and that Priya obviously didn’t like him. He was spot on about the latter.

  She strode purposefully towards the gated entrance of Tulip Court, an unimposing building primarily used for psychiatric outpatient appointments and substance-abuse therapy groups. The area, Woodingdean, was a little out of town and not one she was overly familiar with. Reaching the reception desk, Jessie gave her best winning smile and smoothed down the black suede skirt she’d decided made her look most employable earlier that day. She’d teamed it with a black blazer on loan from Lauren and pinstripe shirt, with plain pointed court shoes which were not too high, professional-looking and easy to walk in. Jessie had been grateful when Lauren offered to help her with choosing an outfit, along with soothing any last minute pangs of self-doubt. It felt as though the two of them were already forming a real bond and, in fact, she was already looking forward to dissecting the interview with her later. It was good to know she could make new friends and that people did like her. Jessie was almost beginning to feel more like her old self. Almost.