The Last Word

‘Again?’ Rhi sighed. ‘Does this mean we have to go get drunk again, because I’m not sure my liver can handle it.’

‘I was sleep deprived! And worn down, and jittery from all the coffee, and really, really mad! Oh shit. Why am I so fucking pathetic?’

‘If you start a pity party I’m dumping this tea all over you,’ Rhi said calmly, holding it up. ‘You can either act rationally, admit maybe you’ve made a mistake, but understand it’s done now. Or you can carry on with this self-flagellating crap.’ She held the mug of tea aloft. ‘Now, what’s it gonna be?’

‘Sure, add scald marks to the forever-alone and without-a-backbone failing writer.’

Rhi tipped the mug, and it splashed onto Tabby’s sock.

‘Hey!’

‘I warned you. Now seriously, I say this as one of the people who loves you most in the world: Shut the fuck up and go to bed.’

Tabby made a grumbling noise and stood up. ‘My sock’s damp.’

‘Uhuh.’ Rhi tapped her foot, then eyed the door. ‘Go on.’

‘Can I at least have my mug of tea?’ Tabby asked sadly, and Rhi handed it over.

‘Might as well be living with my mother!’ Tabby called from halfway up the stairs.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Your mother would never let you smoke in the house!’ Rhi replied, and turned up the volume on the TV.

***

Since Rhi had opted out of the plans that weekend, both because she refused to support Tabby’s constant whining and because she’d legitimately made plans with friends back in Manchester, it was up to Chandra to amuse her. Which meant they’d ended up in a glitzy cocktail bar with flashy lighting and minimal furniture, where the toilets were apparently ‘ironically’ ornate, whatever that meant. As soon as they’d perched themselves precariously on high bar stools around a wobbly table, with a good view of the barmen, Chandra was inundated with drinks offers. She seemed to suit this place, as did the men who pursued her. Well presented, highly paid, smiling sincerely but up for a lot less than an actual relationship. Rich, pretty boys whose arrogance got them everywhere. Actually, Tabby thought, she knew someone like that.

Chandra was always sleek and sophisticated with an edge of sexy. Men seemed to take in her tailored suits and high heels and realise she was someone expensive, someone who would challenge them. Occasionally Tabby looked over at her friend and thought that if she’d just met her now, she’d be terrifically intimidated by her. Luckily, they had ten years of drunken escapades, boy secrets and in-jokes to make sure that growing apart wasn’t an option. Plus, each had held the other girl’s hair back while they puked at the end of the night, and had made multiple not-nearly-sober-enough calls to the other’s mum, explaining they were fine, and had decided to have a sleepover. The stuff best friends are made of.

But, boy, did they have different taste in men.

‘So what do you do?’ The Suit chatting up Chandra really thought he was smooth, leaning forward, staring into her eyes. Tabby could not find one defining factor that differentiated him from the other suits who accosted her friend every time they came here. Rich pretty boy with too much hair gel. Where were the real people, Tabby wondered, and not for the first time.

‘Oh, a little bit of almost everything,’ Chandra replied lightly, not even an edge of flirtation in her voice. She looked around, uninterested.

Tabby stifled a groan and turned back to watch this particular incarnation of hell unfold. He really thought he was in with a chance. Go back to banker school, moron.

‘I mean…as a profession?’

So boring. So very, very boring. Tabby tapped the side of her vodka tonic with her nail and wondered why she’d even come out. Sure, when Chandra got chatted up, it was usually fun, something to joke about. But Tabby found a strange lump in her throat, and she didn’t know if it was loneliness or jealousy, or just how maidenly she felt sitting on a stool, swinging her legs back and forth. This was not her place.

‘What do you think I do?’ Chandra asked. This was always the kicker, and Tabby found herself focusing on The Suit, more out of habit than anything else.

‘I…Are you a model? Or a dancer? You’re beautiful.’

Chandra turned back to Tabby and rolled her eyes. ‘Original,’ she mouthed.

It took a few minutes more for The Suit to realise he wasn’t going to get anywhere, suddenly confused as to why the pretty girl who’d let him do his spiel wasn’t really interested.

‘You know, if a guy once guessed what I do for a living correctly, I might have to marry him.’ Chandra grinned.

‘And what do you do?’ a very familiar voice asked from behind them.

Tabby screwed up her eyes and didn’t turn around. ‘Hi Harry.’

When she did turn around, of course, she wasn’t lucky enough to be hallucinating, he was actually there. His white shirt glowing in the bar lighting, a little bit more stubble than during the week, there was no doubt he was painfully good-looking. Even Chandra looked a little shocked.

‘Of course, this is your scene.’ Tabby sighed, looking down. She noticed his expensive shirt and jeans ensemble had changed slightly, the addition of what looked like pink Converse. For some reason, she felt a sudden rush of affection towards those trainers.

‘So…?’ Harry raised an eyebrow.

‘She’s an actuary,’ Tabby replied, unsure if that was where he was going. Harry surveyed Chandra for a moment before nodding.

‘I can see why no one’s guessed correctly.’ He said it in such an easy, straightforward manner that it didn’t appear inappropriate. Chandra surveyed him, settling on a response that was half-hatred, half-approval. Please don’t flirt, please don’t flirt.

‘And you are?’ Chandra asked, though she knew perfectly well.

‘Harry Shulman, Tabby’s editor.’ He put an arm around Tabby and squeezed briefly. The natural ‘old maid’ feeling that came from sitting on a minimalist Perspex bar stool in a hip bar was not improved by this contact. Tabby held back a glare.

‘Oh, you mean the editor who’s been making Tabby’s life a misery and has managed to convince her she’s a talentless airhead who should stick to beauty columns and pointless rants, you mean?’ Chandra asked innocently, sipping her drink.

Harry’s eyes widened and he ran a hand through his hair in what looked like embarrassment.

‘I suppose you calculated the risk of a comment like that.’

‘What do you think?’ She arched an eyebrow.

Harry gave Tabby an exasperated look, as if to ask, ‘Is your friend for real?’, to which Tabby only replied with a raised eyebrow of her own. Harry huffed, and grabbed the edge of her seat to spin her around so she was facing him. He had that determined look. While only really having four face-to-face experiences with Harry, she felt that she could suddenly categorise at least ten different looks. And any one of them could be deadly when focused directly on you. Harry’s attention was a spotlight and while most people seemed to bloom and come alive under his gaze, all Tabby seemed able to do was freeze like a rabbit in headlights.

‘You didn’t reply to my email,’ he said simply.

‘I haven’t checked my computer since – ’

‘Since you sent me that article at stupid o’clock on Friday?’ His mouth twitched. ‘You know it was brilliant, that’s why you’re putting me through this. You knew I’d love it and so you’re getting back at me for criticising you. But you took exactly what I said! I knew we’d be an excellent team!’

Enthusiasm seemed to shine from him, and he suddenly looked so boyish and excited that Tabby wanted to hug him.

‘David loved it, the whole department loved it. It was being forwarded throughout the office! I’m so glad you listened to what I was saying. I know I was hard on you – ’

Here Chandra snorted, and Tabby widened her eyes at her.

‘ – but really, it was because I knew what you were capable of.’ Harry smiled, suddenly so affectionate that Tabby really couldn’t bear it. She also couldn’t bear to tell him she was terrible at taking criticism and her only creative motivation was pissing him off.

‘So I’m not fired then?’

‘Fired? Fired!’ He settled into a gentle grin and leaned in. ‘You are far too excellent to be fired. Plus, we have a twelve-week contract. I can’t fire you. Whether you write shit or gold, you’re here. With me.’

Tabby sat for a moment, considering Harry, his wide grin, his eagerness. He’d said she was excellent. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and tried not to smile like an idiot.