The Last Word

by A. L. Michael

  Tabby smiled. ‘You’re right. Why over analyse every little thing? Some things are just fun. You are very, very wise.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Which is why I have two possible dates lined up for tonight, with two equally boring men, one of whom will be absolutely amazing in bed.’

  ‘How do you know which one?’

  ‘Why do you think I booked two dates this evening? Probability is in my favour.’

  ‘The mathematical approach to achieving an orgasm. You should write a book.’

  ‘You know, that’s not a bad idea! I mean, you’d have to ghostwrite it.’

  They spent the rest of the Sunday afternoon working out Chandra’s Book of Love and Other Equations, and then she left for her dates. Tabby chatted with Rhi, did some writing, prepared for the meeting and absolutely did not worry about Harry. Because it was just a crush. And there was nothing dangerous about that. At all.

  ***

  ‘Your Twitter followers seem to be getting excited about your work being in the paper.’ Harry had a habit of perching on the desk while she sat, instead of sitting in his seat opposite her, which seemed to always put her face-to-face with his crotch. There was nothing sexy about that, it was just distracting.

  ‘Yeah, it’s weird. People being nice via the internet. Maybe there is hope for humanity after all.’ Tabby shrugged. ‘So, we’re all set on the ideas for the next piece and the edits for the Brighton one? I promise to restrain myself on cake analogies.’

  ‘Moving on from Jaffa Cakes?’

  ‘Writing just makes me really hungry.’ She grinned and stood up. ‘Anything I should know for the next week?’

  Harry stood up too, and then walked past her to close his office door. This couldn’t be good. Although most of the walls to his office were made of glass, so it wasn’t like people wouldn’t see him berating her. But missing exactly how incompetent he thought she was would be good.

  Tabby took a second to wonder why her brain always jumped to the conclusion that she was shit. She had to remember to berate herself about that later. Maybe look into a goddess workshop or buy a self-help book or something. Therapy cost too much, but maybe her mother…

  ‘Tabs! You’re not listening!’ Harry was standing in front of her, running his hands through his hair, looking a lot more wild than he had a minute ago.

  ‘I’m sorry, what? Am I in trouble?’

  ‘In trouble. What am I, the headmaster? Jeez. I’m trying to explain important things and you’re off with the fairies.’ Harry took a step forward.

  ‘What’s going on, then?’ Tabby tilted her head questioningly, very aware of how close Harry was. Why he always insisted on invading her personal space, she didn’t know, but it wasn’t comfortable. Or it was too comfortable. Something.

  ‘It’s about your last editor, you telling me about that. I just wanted to let you know that I want you to feel safe with me, and that I’m not trying to use you. That I think you’re brilliant, you know?’

  ‘I appreciate that.’ Tabby smiled, but Harry still looked troubled. For something to ruffle Harry’s cool, well, that had to mean something big. He was always in control, always had an answer for everything. ‘I think you’re brilliant too.’

  ‘I don’t think you get what I’m trying to say.’ Harry looked rather distressed.

  ‘Harry, I don’t know if you know what you’re trying to say.’

  ‘Right,’ Harry said, and then he kissed her.

  His lips were soft and he was warm, and it was just a second until she felt his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer. She was on the edge of giving in, of kissing him back, of doing more than tilting her head and almost sighing, before she realised. Harry. Harry was kissing her. Harry. And it was oh so good. And bad. Very very bad.

  She pulled back, slowly but firmly, and wrapped her arms around herself.

  ‘Right,’ she squeaked. ‘Um. Well, there’s that. I’m gonna go now…’

  ‘Right…’ Harry didn’t move, seemingly trying to work out if she was freaking out or not.

  ‘But I’ll see you during the week. For the follow-up…thing…’

  ‘Briefing,’ he croaked, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up at the ceiling.

  ‘Right, briefing.’ She reached around him to grab her bag and coat from the chair. ‘See you, Harry.’

  Harry just nodded, standing like a statue as she almost ran for the lift. When she peered back as the lift arrived, he was still standing there, staring into space in confusion. It had been a mistake, a moment of spontaneous madness on his part. That had to be it. Obviously. Otherwise…otherwise she had to think he liked her. And then she’d have to deal with all the self-esteem crap that came with that. So, no, actually, it was a moment of weakness. A really good moment of weakness.

  She allowed herself a little grin as she exited the building.

  Tabby didn’t talk about the kiss with Chandra or Rhi. As much as she loved the gossip, and actually having someone in her life to gossip about, she wasn’t sure she wanted her friends’ opinions on it yet. They’d be rational and make her talk it through and question why she ran, and question why he kissed her. She wasn’t ready for answers yet. She just wanted to quite enjoy her little secret, something that was hers. Even if it was vaguely uncomfortable and may cause problems in the workplace.

  Tabby didn’t have time to worry about Harry on Tuesday, though. Because something much worse than a mistimed kiss was happening: she was wedding dress shopping with her mother.

  Claudia Riley appeared outside Blossom Brides in town, elegantly striding down the street in her ridiculous heels. While Tabby was quite happy being short, Claudia seemed to do everything she could to tower over people. Apparently heels were symbols of power; the right pair could change your life. Tabby had yet to find a pair that did something other than cripple her feet for three days after wearing them.

  ‘Hi Mum.’ Tabby allowed herself to be air-kissed on both cheeks.

  ‘Tabitha, I’ve asked you to call me Claudia. I don’t look like a mum, really, do I?’

  ‘I called you Mum when I was a kid.’

  ‘Yes, and now you’re a grown woman. It’s vulgar.’

  Tabby bit her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that a fifty-three-year-old woman marrying a twenty-eight-year-old was probably the definition of vulgar. It wouldn’t achieve anything, except persuading her mother to choose an even worse shade of pink for her bridesmaid’s dress.

  ‘How’s the arrangements going? Liam excited?’ Tabby asked as they entered the shop, suddenly surrounded by mountains of taffeta and silk. The idea of Liam being excited by something other than selling a big house to a football star seemed preposterous.

  Tabby skimmed a silk dress with her fingertips briefly, before focusing on her mother. Claudia was in her usual outfit: tailored trousers and smart blouse. Her hair was in a razor-sharp bob, dyed a dark brown to hide the grey and her lips were thin from smiling at work. Tabby wondered how long it would be until her mother had Botox, and how she would justify it.

  ‘Oh, you know, stressful as ever. Liam’s well. His bit’s out the way now, really, isn’t it? Got the ring, popped the question, now the rest is up to me. You know what men are like,’ her mother said easily, and Tabby could almost see the thought appear in a bubble above her head, ‘Well, no, you don’t, do you?’

  ‘You’re not upset about this, are you? I know this is traditionally the time that the daughter would be getting married, but seeing as you’re still alone, I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  Even when Claudia was trying to be kind, she seemed to phrase things in the worst possible way. At least, Tabby had to hope it was an accidental bumbling that made her mother say these things. It was either she was a silly cow or a vindictive bitch, and former was preferable when it came to your mother.

  ‘Of course, I don’t mind, Mu– Claudia.’ As long as you don’t dress me in baby pink taffeta.

  ‘What do you think of this one?’ Claudia held
up an ivory dress against her, looking in the mirror. Tabby came to stand beside her and looked at their reflections, side by side: the same heart-shaped faces, the same light eyes and thick hair. Not so different after all.

  Her mother smiled at her, and Tabby felt like she’d truly connected with her, somehow.

  ‘I’m going to need you to lose fifteen pounds, darling, what with the photographers and everything. They’re thinking of putting our wedding in Brides magazine. Didn’t you write something for that once?’

  ‘Yeah, a few bits and pieces.’ Tabby shrugged, unable to recall what she possibly could have written beyond ‘Marriage is a Sham, but Have a Good Party!’ Maybe that one was for a feminist website.

  ‘Well, maybe you could use your connections, make sure my wedding gets a prime spot in the magazine? That could be your wedding present to us! More affordable. Otherwise, really, it’s me buying myself a present, isn’t it?’

  ‘Actually, Mum, I probably don’t need you to help any more – ’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, darling, shall we? You were independent before with the writing job and we all know how that turned out.’ With that Claudia bustled off to find a sales assistant.

  Four excruciating hours later, Tabby was sitting on her sofa, rolling a cigarette with shaky hands, while still smoking the last one she’d rolled.

  ‘That woman is a nightmare,’ she said with no emotion when Rhi asked what was wrong.

  ‘Oh, come on, she gave you life.’

  ‘And then proceeded to try and make it a living hell. Just because she made me doesn’t mean she owns me.’

  Chandra collapsed on the sofa next to her and stroked her hair. ‘Poor Tabby Cat. What was it this time?’

  Tabby took a deep breath. ‘My weight, my clothes, my job, my inability to support myself, my inability to be happy for her, my inability to keep a man and a number of other thinly veiled comments too insignificant and spectacular to mention.’

  Rhi walked back in with cups of tea, and threw a chocolate bar into Tabby’s lap.

  ‘Bless you, kind soul,’ she joked weakly.

  ‘That’s not too bad, remembering that I have to deal with my mother,’ Chandra pointed out.

  ‘Oh no, you are not starting Battle of the Monster Mums with me now. You don’t have to be a bridesmaid at your mum’s wedding! To a twenty-something! I haven’t even told you the worst part!’

  ‘Is it the dress? Has she put you in puce or something?’

  Tabby snorted and put the rolled cigarette behind her ear, focusing on the one she was already smoking. ‘No! She said I clearly needed to get laid and that she could set me up with one of Liam’s friends if I needed her to!’ Tabby choked, outraged.

  Chandra and Rhi burst out laughing.

  ‘You could double date!’ Chandra grinned.

  ‘Well, if she thinks Liam’s the right age for her, how old’s his mate? Fifteen?’

  ‘Impossible woman!’ Tabby groaned, but started laughing. ‘At least you guys will be at the wedding for moral support.’

  ‘Oh, will we?’ Rhi raised an eyebrow.

  ‘How did you swing that one?’

  ‘Well, seeing as I’m constantly alone and have little to no chance of finding a date for myself, Mum thought I might want you there so I don’t have to deal with the fact that I might never get married but she gets to do it all over again. Thoughtful, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, she’s a saint. I may need to take drugs to get through this wedding.’

  ‘I’ll just be taking pictures. I think it’ll be the same thing.’ Chandra grinned.

  ***

  The meeting with Harry during the week was always going to be awkward. It was made worse by the fact that David Crane had decided Tabby’s new role as ‘female blogger’ was to talk about sex. Because that’s what women did, obviously.

  So it was a wonderful morning where Tabby and Harry had to sit down with a far too small glass desk between them and talk about sex. Or talk about writing about sex. Which, in Tabby’s book was clearly worse. Because Harry wouldn’t only be criticising her angle on a story, but really, he’d be criticising her technique. Not that she had much technique beyond ‘always use protection’ and ‘try not to elbow them in the face’. But still. She didn’t want Harry knowing that.

  ‘So…’ Harry cleared his throat. ‘Sex.’

  Normally, this would be the point where Tabby said, ‘No thank you,’ or made some joke about his boy-whore ways. But somehow she couldn’t see that diffusing the tension. Harry seemed to be acting as though nothing had happened. Except for the fact that he wouldn’t meet her eyes and was fidgeting like a seven-year-old waiting for his dentist appointment.

  ‘Right. Was there an angle on this? Or I’m just supposed to dispense almighty wisdom, like “don’t get pregnant” and “don’t get diseases”?’

  Harry sighed. ‘I think the government has got that covered. Although thanks for taking this seriously.’

  Tabby glared. ‘I am taking this seriously. It’s not my fault talking about sex makes you uncomfortable.’

  ‘Me?’ Harry laughed. ‘You are joking? You’ve been bright red since you sat down. Every time you hear the word sex you seem to glow a little brighter.’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘Sex,’ Harry said, and Tabby felt her cheeks warm. ‘Sex sex sex!’

  She covered her cheeks. ‘Stop being a child!’

  ‘Me!’

  ‘Yes, you!’ Tabby stood up, unsure of where to go.

  ‘Running away again, are we, Tabs? You’re getting quite the reputation.’

  ‘Ah, the arrogant bastard we all know and love has returned. So nice to see you again, Mr Shulman, I remember you from my first meeting here, before I was tricked into thinking you had a personality!’

  Harry just grinned in that irritating way he had when he had the upper hand. ‘Huh.’

  ‘“Huh.” That’s your response? “Huh”?’ Tabby glared at him with absolute fury. And the fact that he wasn’t at all annoyed was irritating her even more. So he was fine with everything. It didn’t mean anything. He was just Harry Shulman, editor and shag-about-town, taking a chance when he had it and completely devoid of human emotion. She couldn’t even bear to look at him.

  She wanted to walk out of the door, but instead started pacing back and forth. He won if she left. So instead she was going to rant until he apologised. Although what he’d be apologising for, she wasn’t exactly sure. For being an arse. Yes. An arrogant arse.

  ‘Of all the pigheaded, arrogant, mono-syllabic – ’

  ‘Mono-syllabic?’

  ‘ – responses. I mean, really, who do you think you are, Harry? Are you really convinced you’re so fucking special – ’

  And apparently he did, because when she turned to continue pacing, he was standing in front of her, blocking her way. She stared resolutely at his throat, refusing to look up to meet his eyes. She watched as that vein throbbed in his neck again, felt her heart racing.

  ‘Move out of my way,’ she said softly.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Her anger was starting to still and turn into something a little like fear. Her fingertips were throbbing and she bit her lip, still staring straight ahead.

  ‘I’m proving a point,’ Harry said, and lifted her chin so she had no choice but to lock eyes with him.

  ‘Which is?’ Tabby whispered, but she really didn’t want to know, because he was inches from her and radiating heat. He was magnetic, and he knew it, and as soon as she gave in, he won.

  ‘You want me as much as I want you,’ he said slowly, tracing a line behind her ear with his fingertip.

  ‘I…you…’ Tabby took a deep breath and blinked, before taking a step back. She immediately missed Harry’s warmth. She also immediately managed to convince herself that denial was clearly the best thing here. Although she couldn’t quite figure out why, with Harry standing there looking at her with all this affection, like he tr
uly cared about her. It was a game, it had to be. She looked at Harry, with his ruffled hair and desperate expression, like it was up to her to make a choice. Like she could think clearly. Right, be defensive, that was the ticket.

  ‘Look, Harry, it’s not me. It’s just that we’ve been spending so much time together.’ She backed away, chattering quickly, as if afraid she’d lose the nerve if she stopped talking, and just beg him to take her on the floor of the office. ‘You haven’t had time for your boy-whore ways. It’s difficult to have a life with this job, I know. I haven’t done my knitting in weeks.’

  She could hear the clapping sound as Harry threw his head in his hands and moaned. ‘Seriously? I’m telling you I want to ravish you and you want to make a jumper.’

  She fixed him with a glare, which was easy, as he was looking at her with look number twenty-five: Tabby is Crazy. ‘You don’t want to ravish me. I’m just the only female in the immediate area. And I’m knitting a scarf, thank you very much.’ Yes, that sounded in control, belittling him, that would get the power back.

  Harry laughed, but it was an ugly, harsh sound. ‘You’re unbelievable, you know that? You think I follow my dick around like some sort of divining rod, looking for the nearest available shag? Jesus!’

  ‘I didn’t mean – ’

  ‘That I don’t give a shit about who I sleep with as long as I sleep with someone? Oh no, I get it, thanks. Wouldn’t want to think you’ve actually got to know me over the last few weeks.’

  What was she supposed to say? ‘Oh, OK, you’re right. Wanna have sex?’ She could carry on fighting until he eventually gave up and went home with one of the model-type girls who at this very moment were probably primping in their cubicles in the hopes that Harry would notice them. Then she could go back to her life of writing and whining about Harry and he could carry on with his regularly scheduled programming. That would make sense.

  Or, she could take a chance, go into it knowing she would get hurt, but at least she’d chosen it. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so tense all the time, too. If sleeping with Harry was the easiest way to get him off her mind, then think of all the time she’d be saving. It would be like an investment.