weekends and …’ I spend my whole life trailing round after her. She has killed my social life, and any hope of ever getting laid again, dead.
‘You should just count yourself lucky you’ve still got a job. Now, I must fly, I’ve got packing to do, and I need a manicure.’
‘Fine. I’ll have a holiday.’ I sound like a stubborn child, I know. ‘I’ll go to Ibiza.’
‘You do that. Don’t forget to post those photos, though, will you? Have you done my big apple?’
I feel like telling her where she can stuff her big apple, and let’s just say it’s in a place where the sun doesn’t shine. I reckon there is steam coming out of my ears. I can’t speak, just mouth soundlessly. But it doesn’t matter, she just takes my silence as agreement and goes off to pack.
I throw the bloody apple across the room, where it hits the window with a satisfying squelch, then I sink down onto the floor and put my head in my hands.
How could she do this to me? Devastated is not the word. Not that I wanted to go with her, but New York, I ask you. I could have begged, I should have begged. I think I might have been whimpering, and if she’d have been here, I might have been tempted to lick her feet (no, I wouldn’t, I take that back).
I don’t know why I put up with her.
Well, I do, I need the money.
I need the flat. I need Freddie.
My phone pings. Maybe it’s a last-minute reprieve? Maybe she actually has got a heart?
It’s a text from Rachel: Have fun in New York, I’m well jel! xx
Me, too.
‘Trouble with the apple, babes?’ Freddie, slumps down on the settee behind me and ruffles my hair, which is slightly annoying, but I can’t be bothered to thump him like I normally would. For the ruffling and for the ‘babes’ – which he only does to get a reaction. He leans in to take a closer look at me, and his brow furrows. ‘Wow, you really are upset. What’s up? What’s Coral the cow done now? Demanded the kitties have a mani, pedi and close shave before she even entertains the thought of them appearing on her feed?’
I can’t even raise a glimmer of a smile. I sigh and blink. As well as being an excellent kitten wrangler, he’s also good for chatting to, but I can’t work out how to speak about her without either screaming or crying. So, I change the subject.
‘Was Lora okay?’
‘She wasn’t in. Some long-haired lout in a biker jacket answered the door. I gave him my hard “Hurt these kittens and you are so dead, mate” stare.’
‘I bet he was quaking in his biker boots.’ Deep inside, I feel a slight lift: I’m pleased Lora wasn’t there, it makes me feel very slightly better.
‘Crocs. He had pink Crocs on, not boots. That’s why I dared glare at him.’
‘Ahh … you’re just a big wuss at heart.’
‘Sure am. You did explain to Coral what you meant by close-ups of a ginger pussy, didn’t you?’ He nudges me with his elbow.
‘Eugh, stop it. That’s disgusting.’ But I can’t help the tiniest of smiles from teasing at my taut face muscles. I actually feel like I’ve got a very thick face mask on and it’s set like concrete.
‘Wow mate, this is serious, isn’t it?’ He’s spotted the debris on the table. He eyes up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I’ve opened, the biggest pizza the guy at Domino’s would make for me (sometimes even a Mighty Meaty needs extra toppings), the tub of Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel Brownie, and the box of man-sized tissues with suspicion. ‘None of this was here when I went out a couple of hours ago.’
I nod.
‘I thought you said you were going carb free until you got to the Big Apple.’
‘If I do that,’ I swallow away the lump in my throat, ‘I will die of malnutrition.’
He waits. He’s good at waiting and listening. Like the old Golden Retriever I had when I was a teenager.
‘Because I’m not going.’ I take another big bite of pizza and try to swallow it down past the lump in my throat. And nearly choke. Freddie bangs me hard on the back, helpfully. ‘No Big Apple for me.’
‘What? But, you’re flying out in two days, you’ve bought stuff, you’ve packed. I thought she was dead set on going, that she had her eye on the U.S. and—’
‘She is, she has, it’s just me that isn’t going.’ I take a deep breath. ‘She cancelled my ticket.’
‘Why the hell would she do that? She needs you!’
‘She doesn’t need me, she’s got Crystal.’
‘Crystal?’ There’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his generous mouth, and I know he’s dying to laugh. ‘Coral and Crystal, you’re kidding me? Are they a new double act?’
‘Crystal is her American friend.’ I smile, despite myself. It’s hard not to.
‘So, she dumped you for some American photographer?’
‘She dumped me because of bloody Daniel.’
‘Daniel? Is that her new shag?’
‘No, he’s that stupid flaming Instagrammer she’s at war with.’ I bury my face in my hands.
‘Ahh.’
‘Sorry,’ I glance up at him through my fingers, ‘I was shouting, wasn’t I? Sorry. He’s the one with the puppy.’
‘So that’s why you’d got kittens?’
‘You got it in one.’ I top up my wine glass and wave the bottle in his direction.
‘It’s okay, I’ve got beer!’ He sinks down onto the carpet next to me and helps himself to pizza. ‘Bloody hell, what are those brown bits?’
I peer at his slice. ‘Anchovy.’
‘Are you sure that goes with the sausage?’
‘Anchovy goes with everything, and so does sour cream.’
‘Wondered what that was. So, this Daniel?’
‘He’s got more likes this month than she has, way more. This is her way of getting even. She says if she loses any sponsorship she will die.’ I try my best to say the last word in her melodramatic way.
‘What a cow. Shame you didn’t tip her into the Thames while you had the chance.’ Freddie knows all about how Coral and I met, and most things that have happened since.
He drapes his arm over my shoulders and squeezes. It’s nice, even nicer than the image of Coral flapping about in the murky brown water in her designer gear.
I’m tempted to just grab him and blub into his shirt, but I don’t think he signed up for that level of interaction when he agreed a flat share.
‘And …’ I bite my lip, trying to hold in the sudden rush of anguish. I’ve not really come to terms with the New York bit yet, it’s not sunk in, but this bit has. It is here and now, and it hurts. I wave my mobile his way. ‘I was just trying to book a cheap deal to Ibiza.’ A tear trickles past my defences, so I scrub my cheek with the back of my hand and hope he hasn’t noticed. ‘But I can’t.’ It comes out as a bit of a wail. ‘My credit card won’t play ball, I can’t even book the most economy of economy flights, the crappiest airline in the world refused to take me because I’m maxed out,’ I rub my forearm over my face, the back of my hand