‘You’re amazing,’ Tabby said in quiet awe, standing up and stretching tiredly.
‘I’m a bossy cow, but it’s what I do.’
‘Well, I’m glad it’s what you do.’ Tabby squeezed Rhi’s hand and trudged up the stairs to bed, where she would lie awake all night, checking her phone, and desperately trying not to send Harry any more text messages. She sent one at three in the morning: I am so, so sorry.
She spent the next three hours awake, worried because those words sounded so much like goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tabitha Riley meant business. She was wearing her best pair of jeans, heels that made her feel like she was towering over the universe, and a lipstick called Red Winner. She was going to find Harry, and he was going to let her apologise. Everything was going to be fine. Because she was not that stupid young woman she was five years ago, she was not going to let her pride or the misguided belief that she wasn’t good enough get in the way. She had made a mistake, she was going to fix it. End of.
Tabby strode out of the lift, walking with a wiggle. OK, so she was a little nervous. She hadn’t seen Harry in what felt like for ever. Every rejected phone call and ignored message had struck her somewhere in her stomach, and beneath the layers of make-up her skin was pale from the lack of food and sleep. She was a wreck. But it was fine. It had to be fine.
She felt as though people’s eyes were following her as she walked towards Harry’s office. The women especially, looked at her with derision and outrage. ‘How could you do that to our golden boy?’ they seemed to ask. ‘What did someone like him see in someone like you anyway?’ Tabby took a deep breath, told her inner critic to shut the fuck up, and poked her head around Harry’s office door.
His back was to her, instead he was focused solely on the other person in the room. Jenna. Of course.
‘I’m so sorry, babe,’ she said, reaching for his hand. ‘I read the article. What a bitch.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you.’ Harry’s voice was cold, but Tabby knew that tone. He was warming to her, he was being drawn back in again. Hearing that was heartbreaking.
‘Well, I’m here for you now, if you need me.’ Jenna’s voice was lilting, and Tabby watched as she brought up a perfectly manicured hand to push back a lock of his hair. They were beautiful together. And Tabby had no doubt that if Harry was hurting as much as everyone seemed to think, then sleeping with Jenna would be an easy option.
She had two choices: she could barge in their like a crazy woman, ranting and raving, begging forgiveness in front of a woman who made her feel insignificant and was waiting in the wings for Harry to return, or she could sneak back unnoticed, pride mildly intact, and work out a plan B.
For what may have been the first time in her life, Tabby chose the smart option.
She shuffled down the hall, head down, jumped in the lift, ran from the building and straight into the warm interior of The Black Cat. She ordered a single vodka tonic, and nursed it for two hours.
‘Are you all right, love?’ The barman, whose name escaped her, walked over. She never remembered names. If Harry were here, he’d remember the man’s life story. But if Harry were here, she wouldn’t need someone to ask how she was.
‘Yeah…just…’ Tabby shrugged.
‘That fella of yours causing trouble?’ He wiped down the table.
‘No, I’m the troublemaker. Always,’ Tabby said vacantly.
‘Well, he was in here last night with a blonde girl. Nothing funny, mind. But I thought you should know. Nice bloke and all, but you seem like a lovely girl. My daughter’s age. I’d hate for you to get hurt.’
Too late, Tabby thought, and smiled tightly. ‘Thanks.’
He patted her shoulder briefly, and was gone. Jenna. He came for a drink with Jenna. And he would sleep with her, if he hadn’t already. And the absolutely terrifying thing was, as long as he took her back, Tabby didn’t care. She didn’t care if he slept with Jenna, as long as he forgave her. As long as he still loved her. As long as he would let her say what she wanted to say.
That irritating voice inside her head told her she was a bad feminist, that she was a pushover, that she’d always sworn if a guy cheated she’d be out. That she was pathetic. But that voice had always led her into trouble, encouraging self-doubt and shame and blame and all sorts of ridiculous emotions. So she was going to very simply go to Harry’s house, wait for him, and apologise, because, sometimes, things changed. And when you constantly insist that you’re casual, you can’t really get annoyed if he says he loves you, you accuse him of terrible things, and then he sleeps with a girl who’s a size six. It hurt, but it was fine. Because this was something bigger. Harry’s words. He knew, and now she did too. And she was going to make everything right.
Tabby sat outside Harry’s house, visualising the scene, writing out the perfect scenario: he would be cold; she would be appealing. She would beg, plead, reach out to touch his hand. Make a brief, terrible joke. His top lip would twitch in that way it did when he didn’t want to laugh. But eventually he’d just look at her, staring until she came out with it, until she told him she loved him. He’d smile, pull her towards him. And everything would be all right. Perfect.
Tabby sat there until one in the morning. He didn’t come home.
***
I am not going to be one of those mopey cows, Tabby promised herself as she slid into a seat at Carluccios. I am going to be strong, and independent, and thankful for everything.
‘Darling! What’s wrong with your face? Have you been eating too many carbs?’ Her mother sat down, after air kissing her, and Tabby decided a large glass of wine and a calorific cake were in order.
‘How was the honeymoon?’ Tabby tried for cheerful, but her voice was manic.
‘Wonderful! Just wonderful!’ Her mother’s hair was lighter, her skin was deeply tanned, and she gave off an aura of complete contentment. She was still Claudia Riley, but there was some softness there, a happiness that Tabby couldn’t quite fathom, but seemed to come from Liam. Urgh.
‘Sad the wedding’s all over now?’
Claudia clasped Tabby’s hand with both of hers. ‘Darling, it was never about the wedding. Now I get to be with the man I love. I get to be his wife. I’m ecstatic all of the wedding stuff is done with! Now I can get back to my life.’
Tabby looked at her mother warily, and Claudia shrugged. ‘I know, it doesn’t sound like me. But I’m just so happy. Speaking of, where’s your lovely gentleman?’
Tabby steeled her jaw so she wouldn’t burst into tears when the waiter appeared. Claudia took one look at Tabby’s face and ordered a bottle of white wine and two slices of chocolate cheesecake.
Tabby’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘But there are carbs in cheesecake!’
‘Sometimes, in life, carbohydrates are completely necessary. Now, what happened to Harry?’ It was the first time in a long while that Claudia had sounded like a mother.
‘You were right, he was too good for me.’
‘No one’s too good for you. If he thinks that he’s a moron, and good riddance,’ Claudia snapped, then smiled up at the waiter as he poured their wine. ‘Thank you.’
‘Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?’
Claudia sighed. ‘Look, darling, I can be a bitch, OK? It’s not news. I’ve dealt with men stomping all over me my entire life, including your father, and it’s taken me a very long time to figure out how to be strong without tearing other people down. I’m working on it, I really am. I hope you know I love you more than anything. If I’m critical it’s because I see how wonderful you can be when you’re not weighed down with self-doubt.’
‘I’m weighed down with self-doubt because you’ve been critical of me my entire life!’ Tabby exclaimed.
‘Well, I was waiting for you to grow a backbone and tell me to go to hell! If you’re not going to stand up for yourself, Tabby, if you don’t think you’re worth it, no one else will.’
‘You�
�re meant to stand up for me! You’re my mother!’
Claudia sighed deeply. ‘Well, we both know I’ve never been very good at that. I was trying to stop you from being like me. I was trying…never mind. I don’t want to have a screaming match in a cafe, it’s uncouth. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry?’
Claudia shrugged. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel bad about yourself when all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be able to say with complete conviction that you know you’re a wonderful, talented person. You are, and I’m very proud of you.’
Tabby’s throat closed up, and she tried not to cry into her drink. ‘Where is this coming from? My entire life, nothing, and now all this in fifteen minutes?’
Claudia sipped her wine, and stared at her daughter. It seemed like an eternity before she spoke. ‘There’s no one reason. Maybe because I’m so happy with Liam. Maybe the therapy is finally kicking in. Maybe I’m getting wiser with age.’ She paused before laying down the final line. ‘Or maybe it was seeing you with Harry. Seeing that you could be happy and confident and loved. Seeing that you’d got there without my help, in spite of me. That you were still open to love, that I hadn’t fucked you up too much.’
‘Mother!’
‘Oh, whatever. I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to say “fuck” in public.’ Claudia rolled her eyes.
Tabby grinned, her first proper smile in days.
‘What?’ Claudia smiled automatically.
‘It’s just the first time that I’ve been overwhelmingly convinced that you’re my mother.’
They clinked glasses.
‘So, tell me. Harry.’ Claudia tried again, pushing Tabby’s slice of cheesecake closer towards her.
‘I screwed it all up, Mum, I really did. He was wonderful, and loving, and I threw it back in his face. I wrote this article – ’
‘Yes, I read it.’
‘And now – ’ Tabby felt the sob rising up in her lungs, waiting to constrict her throat and make her choke.
‘Now he’s hurt and upset and wondering whether he’s been a fool. You just have to convince him you care about him. It was a mistake,’ Claudia said rationally.
‘Yes, but he won’t see me! Won’t take my calls, return my messages. I’m completely frozen out. It’s radio silence.’ Way to go not being whiny, Tabs, her inner bitch pointed out.
‘Oh darling, you’re completely going about this the wrong way. You know how tangled up you get when you’re passionate about something. And you’re terrible at apologising, you get that from me.’
‘So?’
‘So, you need to work to your advantage. Apologise in print.’
Tabby considered this, poking her cheesecake with her fork, still unable to eat until the problem was solved.
‘You mean send him a love letter?’ Tabby wondered aloud. ‘Or an apology letter.’
‘No, I mean send him an article. If you embarrassed him publicly, apologise publicly. Best way to set the record straight. And to prove how much you care.’ Claudia grinned. ‘And it probably won’t hurt that dick over at the Guardian to read it, either.’
Tabby sat in stunned silence for thirty seconds until she started to smile. ‘I love you, Mum.’
‘See, I’m not so awful, right?’ Claudia grinned, and they both finished the bottle of wine and two slices of cheesecake pretty quickly. After all, Tabby had an amazing article to write.
***
‘Tabs, you’re starting to terrify me. It’s been ten hours.’ Rhi knocked on her door. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘Don’t need sleep. Just need coffee. And words. Important words. Like “love” and “sorry”.’
‘Greatest words in the dictionary. They fix everything, honestly. Now please, just nap for a bit. Just to undo the fact that your hands are shaking from the five cups of coffee you’ve had.’
‘I’m a writer, Rhi. This is how I work,’ Tabby yelled, and got up to slam the door. ‘This is important!’ she screeched, although Rhi had already left.
She scanned the pages she’d written: too long, too over the top, too mushy. Not really her, at all. But, she supposed, her style was bitching about things she hated, and gushing about stuff she loved. But the ‘stuff’ wasn’t usually a person. It just felt too…personal. Which was the whole point. Baring her soul to her work mates, her competition, her friends, followers and the world. Telling everyone who knew her and didn’t, that she loved Harry Shulman.
When she woke up, it was four in the afternoon, and she was drooling on her laptop. It was not an unusual state to be in. While she was sometimes taken by the Muse, unable to type quick enough to get it all out, the state of frenzy was different: this wasn’t just her writing, this was her life. It was important. It would make or break her. And she definitely thought way too much.
She scanned the page, sighed, and picked up her mobile.
‘Neil? It’s Tabby. I need another favour.’
A dry voice at the other end of the phone informed her the last favour he did, bypassing the editor, resulted in a very upset editor.
‘Come on, Neil, this will make it all better, I promise.’ Tabby clicked ‘send’. ‘It’s jumping through cyberspace to you right now. It’ll fix everything, honest.’
‘I really don’t know, Tabby, if I get in trouble – ’
‘I will take the fall. I probably won’t be working at the paper much longer if this doesn’t work out anyway. Please?’
Maybe it was the desperation in her voice, or maybe Neil read the article, but he agreed. Finally, Tabby could relax. Until the article got published. And then she would have some major grovelling to do. Tabby sighed and stretched, if she was going to have to grovel, she should at least look fabulous. She put her laptop gently on the floor, and stretched out across her bed. Everything was going to be fine. Within minutes she was asleep, exhaustion overcoming her nerves.
And there it was, the next morning:
Confessions of an Emotionally Unstable Writer
by Tabitha Riley
I know, simply by writing this from a personal perspective, certain journalists will brand me a pointless blogger, and insist I return to the realms of Twitter and Wordpress. But here’s the thing: perspective pieces are the truest form of writing, they give a sense of the issue and the writer. And you guys know me by now. You respond to my stupid wonderings, you question when I ramble, you elucidate when I am confused. You, dear readers, are my friends.
And so I must apologise for my previous article. It was a shameful, ill-advised attempt at getting payback. And everyone knows, when you try and strike back at an ex, it never works out well. Especially when he works at the Guardian and is trying to ruin your reputation.
The thing is, I’m kind of a mad bitch. I try and act like I know what I’m doing, but unless I’m writing, I have no idea. This is all I am. I write about Jaffa Cakes and reality TV and why no one appreciates pre-CGI movies any more. I ramble and rant and call it art. But when it comes to the important things in life, like relationships, I’m a bit of a fool.
Like there’s this guy, readers, and I’m going to tell you all about him. He’s way out of my league. This man is so beautiful that I couldn’t even look at him without losing my breath. And so, as you probably figured, I decided to argue and fight with him, because it was easier than admitting that he was a bit of a hottie. And I’m an emotional wreck.
So the problem is, readers, that I wrote that article last week about an evil editor I was involved with, who took advantage of me and ruined my life. And this wonderful guy I’ve been telling you about, he’s an editor. But he’s not evil, he’s amazing. And he’s saved my life, given me a voice in a major paper, believed in me, supported me and loved me.
And I’ve pretty much treated him like a boa constrictor. Because I’m terrified.
I’m telling you all this so all of you know, all you hundreds of people who read this, people who know me, people who don’t, that I, Tabby Riley, shouty, pouty writing ma
niac, am completely in love with Harry Shulman, Specialist Blog Editor at The Type.
And if he ever forgives me for the first article, I’m hoping he’ll forgive me for this one too, and a few hundred other things I’ve done wrong. Because I want nothing more than to be his Girl Friday.
I can’t end this with, ‘Reader, I married him,’ because that’s mad and completely copyrighted. But I can tell you this, readers: I am fighting. Support via Twitter and in the form of cake is appreciated.
OK, so it wasn’t the best thing she’d ever written. But it was from the heart. So that had to count for something, right? And he’d forgive her. He had to.
Four hours later, Tabby was still scowling at her phone. Nothing. No response at all. Why hadn’t he called with that cocky voice, saying something like, ‘So you love me, do you, Tabs? Well, I am adorable.’ Nothing.
‘Maybe he fell back in love with Jenna,’ Tabby said to Rhi as they sat in the back garden, smoking. Tabby resolved to give up smoking. And drinking. And chocolate. And anything else that made her happy. Clearly she did not deserve to be happy.
‘How is that even possible?’ Rhi had no answers, and for once, was wondering along with Tabby. She had given her orders, and they didn’t seem to have worked. For now, there was nothing to be done, except drink copious amounts of tea, watch the light fading in the back garden, and hope that something happened.
‘Maybe…maybe all this happened so they could get back together and be happy. Maybe I was just a crossing path on the road of his life. He would learn that he still loved the woman who screwed him over, because I’m so high maintenance. And I would realise I was capable of love, but was also capable of severely fucking it up. Huh.’
Tabby was clearly at the exhausted, confused stage of acceptance. She had fought. She had lost. She was going to be graceful. She was better off for having met Harry, she was. And she was sure that, eventually, this gnawing sense of loss in her stomach, and the fact that she could occasionally smell his cologne on her pillow would fade. And she would stop wanting to cry.
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