‘You could find another writing job if things went sour with Harry. You can’t let that stop you!’
‘After the injunction incident, when I told you both I was looking for writing jobs, I wasn’t. It took me a year and a half before I wrote another word. I couldn’t even look at the notebooks I kept, I couldn’t form a sentence or find anything I cared enough about to put down on paper. I was…shell-shocked. And that was when I was the worst. You remember.’
And Chandra did remember. She remembered Tabby staying in a shitty bedsit in Brixton, before Rhi had found their Tufnell Park house and dragged Tabby along. She remembered how Tabby spent all day in her pyjamas, didn’t eat, didn’t read, didn’t do anything but smoke weed and watch daytime television and occasionally burst into tears. She stopped using the internet because she couldn’t bear to see what it said about David, or what had happened to the newspaper. She couldn’t watch how they represented her in the press, suddenly on the other side.
Chandra remembered when they had tried to come after Tabby with the law, and told her to write down a statement of events, and she couldn’t even hold the pen properly. She kept trying to rearrange it in her fingers until it stood upright, but she couldn’t make it work, staring in horror and eventually bursting into tears in frustration. The board declared she was under deep mental strain, and that she’d never been up to the task of working at a demanding newspaper like that. The article they wrote about her said she’d burnt out, it happened with the ones who shone too brightly too young. She’d been excellent, and then she was finished.
‘I can’t go through that again. Not even to do with the injunction and David. I can’t risk not writing. It would kill me. I would honestly…that’s my one thing.’
Chandra’s eyes were full of pity. ‘I know, but maybe you wouldn’t let yourself get back to that place. Nothing can be as bad as that, can it? You got out once, you can do it again.’
Tabby didn’t mention that the only thing that had allowed her to write again was that strange phone call one day to her mother’s house, telling her that her father had died, and that it was too late to say goodbye. That one moment, her need for catharsis, finished any block she had. She wrote frantically, without thinking, without even looking at the paper. And three days later, when she locked away all those bits of paper in the bottom of an old trunk, having decided never to look at them, she found that she could laugh again. That she could scribble a limerick on the corner of a page, that she could describe a stranger’s face, or the beauty of the Brighton seascape. After that, Tabby kept it light, Jaffa Cake stories and top ten hair bobbles. Staying away from the big stuff. Until Harry had come along and dragged her back again, or at least halfway.
‘Sorry, I made this about me. I’m so shit like that. This is about you. About you and a lovely boy, who I really want to get to know.’ Tabby wiped her eyes, feeling guilty.
Chandra put an arm around her shoulder. ‘And you will, and he’ll become a part of our little group, and we’ll all love and accept him, and invite him to Nothing Days and then take the piss. Just like with Harry.’
‘But – ’
‘Come on, Tabs, paint your future with me for just a minute, would you? Because I know what I see. I see group trips to the beach, and laughing, and Harry making us go to the posh restaurants he does, and then moaning when we drag him back to normality. I see Danny arguing with Rhi about politics a lot, but always giving in, because Rhi is Rhi. I see planning my wedding, and you covering it from random angles in your articles, and I see you, being the happiest I’ve ever seen you, like the last few months, but more so, because you finally see what the rest of us see: that this can be real for you.’
‘Jeez, Chands.’ Tabby started sobbing, partly because Chandra saying it made it all so perfect, but also because there was no reason it couldn’t be true. A few more teenagers walked past, averting their eyes from the sobbing woman and her soothing companion.
‘The mistake I made with Mark all those years ago was hiding him from my parents. He felt ignored, unloved, not special enough for me to fight for. And he was right. I was so busy holding him at arm’s length that I didn’t worry enough about what he felt. And he left, and he was right to do that. And I couldn’t get over it. No one else seemed worth fighting my parents for.’
Chandra finally revealed what had happened, her own silent days, and dark, dark nights, where neither Rhi nor Tabby, nor any family member or uni friend could understand why Mark was suddenly gone, and Chandra was suddenly mute.
‘And now I don’t have to fight my parents about Danny because they’re supportive. But even if they weren’t, I’d fight for him. That’s how I know. That was my lesson. This is yours.’ Chandra elbowed her gently.
‘I can’t believe your mum approves of a boyfriend!’ Tabby said hoarsely into the silence a few minutes later. It was starting to get to that grey time of day, and rain clouds were settling in.
‘Are you ready for the final bombshell, now we’ve got all the drama out of the way?’ Chandra dabbed at her own eyes delicately with her fingertips.
‘OK, hit me, I can take it!’ Tabby turned to face her friend completely, meeting her eyes.
‘He’s Indian!’
Tabby Riley squealed, and her ‘no fucking way!’ could probably be heard from Chandra’s parent’s house. So that was at least one thing that hadn’t changed in ten years. They spent the next hour at the bus stop, each grasping an alcopop. And it wasn’t until Tabby knew everything she possibly could about her best friend’s new boyfriend, had laughed and cried, and cried with laughter, that it finally started to rain.
Chapter Twenty
‘OK, darling, I’m going to need you to be very relaxed.’
Harry’s voice at the end of the phone line was calm and tentative, and Tabby did the only thing she could when faced with Harry the Lion-Tamer. She panicked.
‘What the hell’s happened? Are you all right?’
Harry huffed, ‘I’m fine. Everyone and everything is fine. We’ve just got a bit of not-so-friendly banter at the paper with the competition, and, well, I didn’t want you to be caught unawares. That’s all.’
Harry sounded too breezy, too care-free.
‘Shulman, stop bullshitting me. I know when you’re spinning a PR web,’ Tabby grumbled and pushed her laptop aside, stretching out on her bed, phone in the curve of her neck. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’
‘OK.’ Harry’s terse business voice made an appearance, and Tabby suddenly missed him a little, and wanted him to call her ‘darling’ or ‘babe’ or whatever the hell he wanted to call her. ‘Clearly a rival paper has seen how our sales are affecting them and have decided to attack our newest blogger in the hopes of distracting us. Now, I’m only telling you this so you don’t get a shock if you randomly find it, that’s all…’
Harry voice faded as Tabby grabbed her laptop and quickly typed her own name into a search engine. When the first hit was labelled ‘Why Bloggers Should Remain Bloggers’, and was listed on the Guardian. A writer at the Guardian was reviewing her work at The Type. OK, so it would be bad, but whatever. She had a great job, and she knew she was good at what she did.
‘Harry, honestly, I’m not going to get upset just because…’ She scanned the article and her gaze settled on the name on the byline. An official sounding name, a smarmy picture. It could have been any widely respected and often-read writer. Except that it was Dick the Prick. Being a prick, again.
‘Did you see who wrote it?’ Tabby breathed softly, her eyes picking out ‘incapable’, ‘unstable’ and ‘atrocious ramblings of a naive and unbalanced youngster’. He had called her an embarrassment to print, and recalled the time he had worked with her, sure even then that she would be destined for online journalism, that only certain writers could make it into print, and the doomed and untalented would purge their eager minds online, into the ‘rubbish bin of puerile thoughts.’ He even asked if she was obsessed with cake, and compared her to ‘an even
more irritating and less self-aware Bridget Jones.’ He was comparing her to a fictional character, a needy fictional character.
‘I did. Tabs, you still there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tabby said emptily. ‘Am I?’
Harry took on his ‘I’m in control’ voice, one that usually made Tabby either completely relax, or get very, very irritated. ‘Look, sweetheart, it’s really not a problem, OK? The guy’s a dick. We ignore it, it gives us some free advertising, and we know that he is coming from a place of jealousy. Our paper is selling more, due to his protégé, who he threw away. He’s striving for something. He’s desperate. Don’t worry about it, honestly.’
Tabby felt that anger harden in her stomach, from a frazzled knot of worry into a ball of desperate violence. She wanted to punch and kick and hurt. She was angry with Richard, at herself, at Harry, and she wasn’t even sure why she was angry with Harry, as he was being so lovely and supportive.
‘Oh really, sweetheart, why should I not worry? Should I sit back and let you take care of everything? Because last time I did that, I ended up taking the blame for a major political scandal and being used as a scapegoat.’
Harry’s voice was quiet and firm. ‘I’m not him, Tabitha. Be careful.’
His warning just riled her more. ‘What are you going to do, Harry? Will you fire me? Will you use our personal relationship to explain why our paper is suddenly suffering? What are you going to do to me, Mr Big-Shot Editor, tell me!’ She was quite enjoying herself, except for the sick feeling in her stomach, and the little voice in her head screaming, ‘Shut up! What the fuck are you talking about, you mad woman!’
‘Don’t test me, Tabby.’ There were times when Harry’s voice got all growly, but it was usually when she was teasing him, and he was just about to pin her to the bed and tickle her until she cried, or kneed him, whichever happened first. But this dark, angry, quiet voice was so still, so full of control that Tabby almost shivered.
‘Or…what?’ she asked softly, not really sure where to go.
Harry sighed and she could visualise him running his hands through his hair, and see that irritated look he always used to have when she first started arguing with him. Except she could also tell he was sad, and possibly backing down. When he spoke, however, he was all control and complete calm, once again.
‘I’m not going to give you an ultimatum, Tabby, I know that doesn’t work with you. I’m not going to tell you what to do, what to say or what to think. I’m not going to mention that you still haven’t given me an answer about continuing to work at the paper indefinitely, or that I know you heard me when I told you I loved you. I’m just going to tell you that everything is going to be all right. And maybe that you shouldn’t be such a massive bitch to the people who are trying to help.’
He hung up on her. She would have been outraged if she wasn’t too busy feeling guilty. But then, of course, the article was just sitting there on her laptop screen, and she couldn’t not look at it. She couldn’t stop herself reading it and re-reading it. Analysing it, looking at his words, what things about her he particularly attacked, using his intimate knowledge of every one of her issues. Dick the Prick knew exactly what he was doing. If he hadn’t implied that she slept her way to the top, proclaimed she was shallow, untalented and untrustworthy after her injunction debacle, she might have been able to accept it as criticism and move forward. But the bastard had saved up all her secrets and issues from three years ago to use against her. And, forgetting Harry for a moment, it was time to get even.
***
It was a week later when Tabby got a phone call from Chandra.
‘Hello?’
‘What the fuck have you just done?’ Chandra’s voice was tight and irritated.
‘I don’t know, what have I done?’
‘I’ve just read your latest article.’
Tabby frowned. ‘Didn’t you think it was good? I was really proud of that.’
Chandra huffed, and Tabby looked at herself in the mirror, applying concealer to the dark circles under her eyes. She was going to have a celebratory drink with Rhi, when she came back from the library. War against Dick the Prick had been waged. And she would win.
‘I can’t believe they printed it. Did Harry see it?’
Tabby bit her lip. ‘I passed it straight to the editorial team, I didn’t think he’d let me publish it.’
‘Well, no fucking wonder! Have you spoken to him?’
‘I know he’s probably angry about me bypassing him, but it had to be done – ’
‘Tabby! He’s not going to be angry about ignoring him as an editor. He’s going to be heartbroken about what you’ve said about him!’
Tabby frowned at her reflection, turning away to truly focus on her friend. ‘I didn’t write anything about him. It was about Dick the Prick attacking me in print last week.’
‘It’s called “A Good Writer Sleeps Alone!”, Tabs, the entire article is about how you shouldn’t sleep with your editor because they’ll take advantage of you, take credit for your work and screw you over. If the people at your office read this, they’ll think you’re talking about Harry. No one knew about you and Richard.’
Tabby’s jaw dropped. ‘How could anyone think that about Harry? He’d never do anything like that!’
‘They’ll think it because you implied it, you idiot!’ Chandra shouted. ‘Now phone that boy and beg forgiveness! Jeez!’
Chandra hung up on her. It seemed like the longer they stayed friends, the more they were able to tell each other the truth. And the truth was that Chandra liked Harry, and thought he was good for her friend. And the other truth was that Tabby was a silly, scared, angry girl who had just hurt the first man who trusted her.
She quickly rang Harry’s mobile, but it only rang twice before going directly to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to her. Well, that was infuriating, because she wanted to explain. She tried ringing the office and being put through to Harry at the paper. He was in meetings all day. She tried again through the switchboard, posing as an informant with a story. It didn’t even get past his secretary, who informed her that, ‘Mr Shulman has no interest in any stories from anyone, Miss Riley.’ Damn caller display.
She had options. She could email him. She could go to the office. She could wait outside his house like a desperate freak. She could get angry and refuse to apologise and be irritated that he was taking everything so personally. Yeah, indignant was probably the way to go. Stupid man.
Instead, she decided to do nothing. Except that was making her nervous. So she decided to kill the hours until Rhi came home with drinking and baking. Everyone loved cookies. And even mean writers who accidentally ruined their casual fling’s professional reputation were allowed to enjoy cookies.
She burned each batch.
Eventually, after two hours, Rhi came home to find Tabby sitting on the living room floor, teary-eyed with a bottle of wine and a plate of burnt cookies.
‘I think I’ve fucked everything up again!’ She burst into tears.
Rhi, who’s tired and exasperated expression quickly morphed into surprise and sympathy, held her close and stroked her hair while Tabby explained.
‘I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Chandra thinks about things more emotionally than most people,’ Rhi said soothingly.
Tabby resolutely stomped upstairs, brought her laptop back down, opened the article and watched as Rhi’s mouth dropped open while she read.
‘Jesus, Tabs, really? “Obsessive sycophant? Woman hater? Dominant and vindictive”?’
‘I was trying to get even!’ Tabby wailed.
‘Look, I’m sure all the people who read Dick the Prick’s piece will get what you’re doing. Hell, I’m sure even Harry knows what you meant to do. I mean, why would you suddenly go from loved up at your mum’s wedding to hating his guts, it wouldn’t make sense. He’s probably just irritated that you’ve embarrassed him,’ Rhi said, prying a burnt cookie from Tabby’s hand.
‘We s
ort of argued. Before this.’
‘About?’ Rhi was wary.
‘How I didn’t trust him. And couldn’t make a decision on whether to stay. And I compared him to Richard.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Tabby!’
‘I know!’ Tabby howled softly, and felt like her stomach was about to cave in from the pain. ‘I’m awful!’
‘You’re not awful, you’re just ridiculous! You’re usually so much better at putting yourself down on a page, but why can’t you just say what you’re thinking when you actually think it, to the person you want to know?’
‘What?’
‘Tell Harry you love him, moron.’ Rhi sighed.
‘But – ’
‘But fucking nothing, OK? The only reason you’re holding out is because it seems too easy. And you know why it seems that way? Because it is! Girl meets boy. Girl fights with boy. Girl has crazy sexual chemistry with boy. Girl and boy shag. Girl and boy get to know each other. Girl and boy fall in love. It lasts for a while or it ends. Everything’s fine. The End.’
‘It’s not that simple!’ Tabby protested.
‘It is! It is that simple. You just want more drama, for the story to be more complex. But sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes, boy whores stop their whoring ways for a girl like you. Sometimes, the person you want to love you is exactly the person capable of loving you that way. Sometimes, everything works out. As long as you don’t go and make things more complicated!’
Rhi stood up and towered over Tabby, who was pouting, her bottom lip wobbling with the unfairness and truthfulness of it all. It was her fault. She made things dramatic. She was stupid and passionate and impulsive, and none of those things sounded good right now.
‘You are going to go upstairs, get into bed, have a good long sleep, and tomorrow you’re going to go find Harry and force him to let you apologise. You are going to throw yourself at him and use every womanly wile available to you. Because that man has been good for you. And to you. And he didn’t deserve this.’ Rhi paused. ‘But, for the most part, he deserves you, and that’s the surprising part. Now go to bed,’ she said softly.
The Last Word Page 18