Sweatpants at Tiffanie's

by Pernille Hughes

  ‘I have never watched Jeremy Kyle,’ she said, indignant. No-one had ever lounged on the sodding sofa either.

  He waved his hand in the air dismissively. ‘You know what I’m saying, Tiff. You needed us to take a break.’

  Something about this was ringing alarm bells. He was flattering her, acknowledging her achievements. None of that was normal. She wolfed some more Prosecco as she corralled her thoughts.

  ‘Gavin. We split up. You ended it. Here. On our anniversary. Your closure, remember?’

  ‘But relationships are more fluid than that, aren’t they, Tiff?’ He slid his hand over hers. ‘We know that, don’t we, entrepreneurs like us?’

  ‘Gavin,’ Tiff snapped, wanting things clear in her head, ‘you keep saying “break”. That infers a gap, a space between two things, a temporary entity, as if we could get back together.’

  ‘Exactly Tiff. I knew you’d get it.’

  Tiff wondered whether Lorenzo had slipped something in her drink. Something hallucinogenic. Any moment now she expected baby unicorns to come floating past on clouds of tiramisu.

  ‘You want us to get back together?’ Her voice had gone pitchy. What was that? A little incredulity, a touch of hyperventilation and a pinch of shock.

  ‘Tiff, it’s perfect; we understand each other, we have ten years of history – you don’t just throw that away do you? – and we can hit the ground running. Some couples are destined to be together.’

  Tiff’s jaw flapped as she tried to work out what to address first. He beat her to it.

  ‘I have the connections and the business acumen; I’ll pinpoint the buildings and negotiate the deals, then you can tart them up like you have the gym. We could have a chain across the country.’

  ‘Gavin. Stop. Just stop.’ She held her hands up to him in case the words didn’t go in and signing was the only way. ‘I’m confused. Are you asking me to get back together with you or be your business partner?’

  ‘Well, both. Obviously.’

  ‘What happened to Never go back, Gav? Abe Lincoln. Abraham bloody Lincoln!’ She downed the rest of the Prosecco and started scoping the room for a refill.

  ‘Life’s about adaptability Tiff, All failure is failure to adapt, all success is successful adaptation – Max McKeown. This wouldn’t be walking backwards, like Abe worried about, it would be something forward-looking. Something new, a fresh start. Partners in business and pleasure. Think of the team we’d be, Tiff.’

  Tiff felt her eyes widen, roughly to the size of the ostentatious plates Lorenzo served.

  ‘I’ve surprised you,’ Gavin said gently, as if addressing a scared child, and patting her hand to soothe her. ‘I understand that. Perhaps our break has given your confidence a little knock, but sweetheart, I hope you never doubted that I loved you.’ He touched her chin for her to look at him, said ‘I still love you, Tiff.’

  Two months ago, she would have sobbed with joy at this conversation. She’d have taken him back with both arms, and legs, in spite of Shelby coming at her with a swinging bat. And yet…

  ‘Gav. I don’t know what to say, to be honest. After everything you said on our anniversary and the time that’s passed, you’re now saying you didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t mean it; our break was evidently very useful…’ a growl rolled up through her stomach, but she pressed it down with her free hand, ‘…but life’s moved on and now it’s clear being together is the obvious path.’ He cocked his head at her. ‘Surely you must feel the same, Tiff.’ It really wasn’t much of a question. ‘Love like ours doesn’t just disappear overnight.’

  Two months! she wanted to shout in his face. But she didn’t, because at the end of the day she had loved him, for many many years, and she’d been fully geared up to marrying him, had he asked her, which he hadn’t, but still.

  ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ she hedged weakly, feeling the seat for support as her world rocked. Spurred on by her words though, he leaned over and cradled her face in his hands. Before she knew it he’d drawn her in for a kiss, which made her eyes bug, more in shock than passion.

  He started talking again, something about markets and their combined potential, but she was only hearing odd words. He was moving way too fast. She needed her brain to catch up and for him to stop a minute. For that she needed to be brave. ‘Gavin. Stop. We need to talk,’ she said, firmly. She knew guys understood and dreaded those words, but it was necessary to deploy them in this instance. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Gavin stood up abruptly.

  ‘Definitely. We’ve got so much to plan and rediscover,’ he gave her a wink making her entire stomach knot. ‘But first there’s this.’ He dipped his hand into his suit pocket. ‘Perhaps I wasn’t precise about the extent of my intentions, but I’m sure this will dispel any doubts and give you all the reassurances you need.’ He pulled out a jewellery box, and opened it in her face, like the jaws of a croc. Tiff’s dumbfounded gape was somewhat similar. ‘Princess-cut emerald, set in white gold, surrounded by diamonds, Tiff. The green matches my eyes.’

  He was giving her Forever.

  The entire unexpectedness of the moment had her gobsmacked. Gavin, taking his usual lead, lifted her hand and slid the ring, pushed the ring, onto her finger.

  ‘I bought it a size or two smaller, to incentivise you, but look, you’re already nearly there for a perfect fit.’ Tiff looked at it stunned, then back to his face, then back to the ring. OMFG. But still she had no words. The pressure wasn’t helped by numerous heads in the near vicinity turning to watch them.

  ‘The champagne’s on ice back at mine.’ He bent and cupped her face for another kiss. ‘Come on, sweetheart, make it official. What do you say?’

  Tiff’s mouth opened and closed several times. She shook her head to clear it. Gavin – and the other diners – waited intently for her reply. She wasn’t sure what had just happened. She had two further false starts before managing an answer.

  ‘I need the loo.’

  She braced herself on the sink and gasping for air, stared in the mirror. Shock glared straight back at her. This was the last thing she was expecting. True, she hadn’t known what he’d intended when he’d called, she’d thought perhaps an apology for the last time they met, but definitely not this.

  He loved her. He still loved her. He’d always loved her. That’s what he’d said. Out loud. In a public place. And then there was the ring on her finger. Two months ago this was how she’d imagined it in her head, (although perhaps with a ring that didn’t cut off her circulation).

  Still no words came to her, her tongue had ravelled in knots as it so often did around Gavin. It always had. Either she’d been happy to follow his lead, or she was unwilling to contradict him. Tiff took a harder look at herself, why was that? Why was it she time and again held her tongue or allowed him to steamroller her? She didn’t have that problem with Mike.

  Tiff turned to rest against the counter top, to think it through without the judgement of her own reflection. She knew. Deep down she knew. She’d always been scared if she rocked the boat, if she hadn’t been compliant, Gavin would change his mind about being with her. Looking at her ring, she saw it clearly now. Their ‘successful dynamic’ was simply her appeasing him, so he wouldn’t abandon her, as she’d thought Mike had, like her dad effectively did.

  Yet for all of that, he’d left her anyway.

  Tiff felt the shame and the grief begin to envelop her, but then she batted it away. Yes he’d left her, but she’d survived it. And this ring, this enormous ring, said she’d survived admirably. She was a prize again, a trophy like Shelby had said. It gave her a huge surge of confidence.

  She could have it all back; Gavin, her home, her life as she’d known it (obviously not her legs, because Shelby). Like Mike – Mike who was leaving, possibly never to be seen again other than on the telly – had said; she could have some stability. It took her a moment to pinpoint the last time she’d felt stable; her anniversary – just befor
e her bum hit her cold seat by the window.

  Tiff looked at the door to the restaurant and back at her face in the mirror. She looked at the ring and what it represented; his leadership, safety, a familiar life.

  Why was she even having to consider it? This was a no-brainer.

  Taking a deep breath, Tiff strode directly up to the table. She didn’t sit. She wanted her full height for this moment.

  ‘Gavin, thank you.’ He looked up at her and smiled, triumphant. ‘Thank you for believing in me and in my new business, to the point you’d commit to being part of it. And to being with me. That is very, very heartening.’ She took another breath. ‘Regardless of that, the answer is no.’

  He opened his mouth to protest. ‘No. No, let me explain,’ she said, holding up a hand. She was back to sign language, but she thought he was going to need it. ‘Firstly, you’ve only come back when there was something in it for you. You’re only wanting me back now I’m slimmer. If you thought I was a couch potato, you should have said, instead of all that faff about bloody paths. You could have encouraged and supported me to get fitter, rather than ditching me. But that’s fine, as yes, you did do me a favour.’ Much as she was telling him off, Tiff couldn’t help but have a big smile on her face.

  ‘Being by myself showed me I’d stayed with you for so long because it was the safe option. The gym, my gym, isn’t the safe option; it feels like I’m flying by the seat of my pants, and I’m loving it, so thank you for that; for forcing me to stand on my own two feet again. If we’d been together when I got it, I would have followed your advice to sell. But now I know I can do it, and more to the point, I can do it without you. Which means Gav, sharing it with you would be a choice, not a necessity, and so I choose not to.

  ‘No, no, still going,’ she said, as he tried again to cut in, ‘Were I to share it with someone, it’d be someone who supports me, who doesn’t make me feel crappy, someone who doesn’t think I’m limited. He’d be someone, who even if we were on different paths, would still stick around, because he likes me for me, sweatpants and all, whatever their size. He wouldn’t be with me for what he can get and that Gavin, is what counts.

  ‘I think I might have been guilty of that when I first went out with you,’ she admitted, lowering her head ashamed, ‘you offered me safety. I grew to love you and rely on you, but it was the safety which won me, and I’m sorry about that, because that’s lousy isn’t it? I see it now.’ She caught his eye again. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for that. But you should know I’m grateful for it too; you did make me feel safe. But it was a safety to hide in and it was very dependent, whereas what I need is a security to fly from, and if that’s with someone else, he’d be there to cheer for me and commiserate with me.’ It dawned on Tiff she might just know exactly such a person. She might recently have sent exactly such a person away. Oh bloody hell.

  ‘I used to worry what I would do without you, Gav, and the answer is simple really – Anything I want.’ Tiff pulled at the ring as she stepped back, her smile still wide on her face, ‘In summary, Gavin, I’m not up for sharing your path; I want to blaze my own trail, and I’ll steer it myself as I’m not the bloody cart to anyone’s horse. So thanks for the ten years, and thanks for the belief and the offer, and possibly the worst proposal in history, but no thanks. Not in a million years.’ With a final concerted yank the ring came off.

  Boom, she thought, striding past the nosy diners, out of Lorenzo’s to find a cab, away from an astounded Gavin with his ring in his hand, feeling like a walking motivational quote. So her love life might be in flaming tatters, but she was capable and she’d rustle up a plan, and in the meantime she had a business and a future. Tiff thanked the heavens for that.

  Chapter 31

  Lying on her mat plinth she couldn’t sleep. She was partially in shock over Gavin’s bombshell, but more pressingly she was pretty sure, no fairly certain, actually totally one hundred percent convinced, she’d made an error of epic proportions. She’d honestly believed she was doing the right, decent, honourable thing in sending Mike away. She’d been selfless, so pat on the back for that, but she’d been a monumental fool too. Bummer.

  She wasn’t a millstone, or a cart, she was as much an opportunity as LA. It had just taken her a while, and perhaps a proposal, to get it. Maybe, had she told him how she felt, they could have devised some alternative plan where they got their second chance and he still got his new career.

  Oh pants. She drew the duvet up to her nose. Her mussed sheets still carried the scent of him, of them. She’d left him a message from the cab, to call her, but he hadn’t. He might be asleep, she told herself. He might also be packing. He had his ticket, he’d agreed to the job. He was pretty hacked with her too, she imagined. What if he walked out of her life as calmly as he’d walked back in? She couldn’t even begin to quantify how much that would hurt.

  She needed an action-plan. She started a list. It calmed her ranting brain. She’d keep calling him. That was a given. And if he didn’t take or return her calls, then what? She didn’t actually know where he lived. Scouring Rightmove for pictures of a house with a Formula One tyre coffee table, or a boxing ring would not be efficient use of her time. The airport! She’d track him down and do one of those climactic declarations at the gate à la Ross and Rachel. Except it’d have to be at check-in because she didn’t have money for the ticket to pass Security.

  If he still went, she coached herself – in spite of the public humiliation in front of the check-in queue, whose sympathy should surely be with her if she’d given it her best shot – she’d understand. He’d made a commitment and he was a man of his word. It would be a setback obviously, but she’d just have to revise and adjust.

  She considered the list. Two action points weren’t enough. She could text him, invite him to dinner next time he was over. What was the worst he could do? Laugh in her face? She could overcome that. She’d start with offering him a Greggs lunch and if he declined then at least there’d be an extra pasty for her as consolation.

  Physical exhaustion finally winning over, that was as far as she could get; a two-step plan of attack with a contingency. That would have to do for now. She was also supposed to be planning the coming day. In hindsight, even before her new Mike emergency, organising the press visit so close to the equipment delivery might not have been smart, but she’d wanted the place to look pristine for them. She wanted the bikes to be shiny and the treadmills scuff-free. She planned to push the paper for a follow-up story on the hopefully teeming classes. Secretly, in her head, the story led with a picture of herself hanging upside down on a pole, but she knew she’d need a shed-load of practice to reach that point. Perhaps Sammi would do her a couple of fast-track private lessons—

  It was more of a plink than a bang from downstairs, but it caught her attention. Her ears were fine-tuned to the building now, she could differentiate the pipes gurgling on all the floors; each had their own timbre according to age and repairs. This sound however, wasn’t one she recognised. Listening hard she caught a few nondescript noises, but clearly someone was moving around the building.

  Mike.

  ‘Yessss.’

  She’d been convinced she’d have to do the running and yet here he was on another of his nocturnal visits. Obviously he’d calmed down. Fighters were like that, she imagined; they needed time to cool off. On the other hand, he could have come to shout at her. For being a fool and not asking him to stay. That was fair enough too. She’d take it.

  Sitting up, she quickly tried to sort her hair. She wrenched her bed-socks off too, flicking them out onto the floor. Bed-socks were not sexy. Cute dragons on them did not change that.

  Actually, on reflection, this wasn’t how she wanted him to find her; lying in bed as if waiting for him. Mike shouldn’t think she’d been expecting him – she definitely hadn’t and it would swipe at his pride which she could ill afford. Should she pretend to be asleep? No, too cringy. She’d rather meet him halfway or something. That felt
like the better choice, a truce. Getting up, Tiff smoothed down her PJs. Serendipitously, they were a newer pair but she made a mental note to invest in something silkier, skimpier.

  Approaching the staircase she reached out for the light switch. There was no point breaking their necks. Something stopped her. The sounds from below weren’t ascending. She was expecting Mike to jog up the stairs towards her room. These sounds were decidedly shuffling around in the foyer. There was a long hissing sound. What was he doing down there? She took the first flight on her tiptoes. If he was sorting some surprise for her, she didn’t want to spoil it. Mike was good at surprises – she blushed at the thought. That hissing sound again; like helium balloons being filled. Moving further down the stairs she endeavoured to be super-stealthy and hear as much as possible.

  There was only one person as far as she could make out and an odd thwumping sound reminding her of walking across a bouncy castle as a child. Something regularly interrupted the hissing; something rattling, something metallic. The sounds connected in her brain as the smell of paint hit her nose. Ball bearings in a spray can.

  ‘NO!’ she screamed, slamming her hand against the light switch and barrelling down the remaining steps.

  Aaron stood slack-jawed on the sodding sofa staring at her. The newly-painted reception was a maelstrom of black scrawl. The slim window at the side of the doorway was smashed.

  Initially, she could only formulate a babble of No’s. She couldn’t believe anyone would do this, wanted her to walk in the next morning to this horror. It was the art of bus shelters, all swear words and knobs. Had it been bored teens, it would’ve been depressing enough, but it was Aaron; this was personal. This was pure bilious spite. God, it made her angry.

  ‘Put down the paint and get off my sodding sofa, you arsehole.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ he snarled, his breath sour with booze.