My So-Called

‘Join the club,’ Ame sighed. ‘I’m a divorcee at twenty-six. Who saw that shit coming?’

Me, Tig thought, then shook it away. ‘So this is a good idea?’

‘Can’t be worse than sitting around getting bitter and angry and eating a fucktonne of ice cream, can it?’ She could hear Ame shrugging. ‘Which is pretty much what my evening now consists of.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m eating lunch in one of the abandoned offices on the thirteenth floor. It’s the only place Clint can’t find me. He just stopped by the front desk when I got back from M&S – he’s taking his new girlfriend out to lunch. She’s six foot and works at Vogue. Looks about nineteen, the perve.’

‘Oh Ames,’ Tig sighed.

‘Nah, you’re right. It’s time to be done with this. Go on your fake date with the gorgeous barman. At least one of us should be moving on.’

Tig frowned at how much sense Ame was making, and considered telling her about Darren’s wedding, but she decided she couldn’t deal with the drama. She’d dealt with it herself last night, with the help of Ollie and alcohol. She didn’t have to tell the girls now. She had to focus on how to go on a date without throwing up.

Chapter Three

She was not emotionally ready for this at all. Tig couldn’t help but look at herself, and wonder what on earth she had to offer anyone at this point. She was all dressed up: her black polka dot dress, her biker boots and leather jacket. She was dressed for war, if anything. And all she could think of was Darren. Darren leaving, Darren looking at her like she was an idiot for not getting it sooner.

‘Look, Lil, it’s just … it’s not the same anymore, you’re not the same.’ He stood above her as she curled up on the sofa.

‘Daz, I just asked you to put the kettle on, there’s no need for a hissy fit.’ She huffed and stood up, stretching out. Happy bloody Valentine’s Day to me, she thought.

‘It’s not about the sodding tea!’ Darren shouted. ‘You’ve changed.’

‘How have I changed?’

‘You’re at the gym all the time!’ He shouted.

She blinked. ‘Darren, you realise we’re getting married in five days? It’s natural for me to be at the gym.’

He looked at her, his blond hair ruffled over his round face. Darren had always looked as if someone had bleached a bulldog. A little bit boyband, a little bit rugby player.

‘No, before. Since you … since you stopped being fat.’ He took a breath. ‘Things have been different.’

‘You said …’ She tried to stop her lip from trembling. ‘You said I wasn’t fat.’

‘You weren’t. I preferred you like that.’ He looked at the floor, and then back up again.

‘What … you mean you don’t … I’m healthy now. I got fit and healthy and worked hard to be like this!’ Okay, so now she was pissed. She’d spent the last two years working out, and counting calories, and forgoing curries for salads, and finding out that she loved the gym. She loved lifting, loved being strong, and feeling her muscles strain and grow. She loved being stronger than the boys in the gym, loved feeling like her body was actually functioning as it should. And he was … angry at her?

‘Yeah, and it’s all you’re fucking about. Salads, and discipline and cardio. You’re at the gym, and you’re lifting weights to bulk out like a bloke. And your tits are too small now.’

Tig looked at him. Looked at the sad little man he was, with his beer gut from all the Stella and curries. But … but he was hers. She loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how he knew her favourite TV shows and how she liked her tea. That he would engulf her in a bear hug when she was sad, that they’d been together since they were fifteen and that everything she’d ever known about love she’d known from him.

‘So … you want me to stop going to the gym?’

‘No. I just … I just don’t think we should do this anymore.’ He shrugged at the ceiling.

‘This … this … this WEDDING THAT’S HAPPENING IN FIVE DAYS? Is that the THIS you’re talking about?’ she screamed.

‘Yes! I don’t think I love you anymore.’

‘You don’t love me and my tits are too small and you liked me better fat?’ She snorted in disbelief. ‘Anything else? My job’s a joke and my degree was shit and you hate my family?’

‘Stop being melodramatic, Lily,’ he sighed. ‘It’s not like this is easy for me, either.’

‘Are you JOKING?’ She thought her eyes were going to fall out of her skull. ‘Or are you just an IDIOT? What is actually WRONG with you? How the FUCK is this hard for YOU?’

Darren shuffled, ruffling his hair. ‘Well, it’s not been easy to be around you. You’re the one who’s gone wedding crazy, and really wanted to get married –’

‘YOU proposed to ME!’

‘Yeah, but it’s … it had to be done, didn’t it? I thought we were going to wait a few years after the engagement –’

‘It’s been THREE YEARS, you fuck!’

‘Fine! I just don’t fancy you anymore, okay?’ he huffed. ‘You’re obsessed with the gym and fitness and we have nothing in common anymore. I just think we should call it, and move on.’

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew, she absolutely knew, that it couldn’t really be about her liking the gym. It couldn’t really be that, just as she’d gone from a size sixteen to a size twelve, her 38EE chest had rounded out to a 34D. She was in proportion. Her back didn’t hurt anymore … surely it couldn’t be that after twelve years, he just … didn’t fancy her? But maybe it was.

‘I’m going to lose all the deposits.’ She stared into the distance, thinking about the flowers, and the caterer and the dress in her cupboard with that silly little note attached, with the smiley face, that she replaced every day as she counted down.

‘Not really a reason to get married, though, is it?’ Darren tried to smile, like now the worst was over. She watched his face change as she bared her teeth.

‘Fine for you to say. It’s all my wages.’ She tilted her head. ‘And how are you going to do this, then? Are you moving? Am I? If you’re going to jilt me the least you can do is let me keep my flat.’

‘You can keep the flat. I’ll stay with a friend,’ Darren said quickly.

‘A friend.’

The silence hung in the air, getting thicker and more suffocating until she said in the calmest and softest voice she knew, ‘Darren, if you have been fucking around on me, I swear to God I’ll cut your dick off.’

‘I haven’t! I wouldn’t!’

‘Well, until ten minutes ago I thought you wouldn’t insult my body and break my heart, but HEY, SHIT HAPPENS!’

I sound crazy, she thought. I need to stop sounding so fucking crazy. She took a breath.

‘Okay. You go stay with your “friend”. I’m not going to be able to afford this place on my own anyway now …’ Weirdly, that was the thing that made her tearful, her chest suddenly contracting. Their flat, her home, the place they’d been for years now. Designed, and painted, and worked hard for. And now she didn’t have a home. And she’d have to live on her own; she’d never done that before. Even at uni, she’d been with Darren. She’d never been planning to ever have to do that … She took a breath, and looked up at him. She was about to break, and like fuck was he going to see it happen. She could already feel everything slipping away, visualising the kids they wouldn’t have, the home they wouldn’t live in, the Sunday morning pancakes that were the only decent thing Darren could cook, and bleaching his hair in the bathroom every few months, and the dress she wouldn’t wear …

‘You need to go now. Pack some shit up and leave. We’ll arrange a time for you to get it.’ She sounded a lot more sure than she felt.

‘Okay, Lil.’ Darren smiled at her hopefully. ‘I’m really glad you took this so well. You’re obviously on the same page I am. It must have been clear we were drifting apart to you, too, and –’

‘Darren?’ Tig took a deep breath. ‘Get your stuff, get out. And then go fuck yourself.’

Tig physically shook the memory away, standing at the doorway to Entangled. This felt wrong, it felt the most wrong thing in the world to be at her cafe dressed in real-people clothes. Tig at Entangled was a Tig who wore yoga pants and tie-dye and didn’t do much beyond wash her face and bury her head in a notebook. Somehow dressing up made her feel like an imposter, a fraud. Like she was saying she cared about Ollie’s opinion of her. She stood, hand clenched around the door handle, and growled at herself a little. ‘You’ve got this, bitch, open the freaking door,’ she told herself, and miraculously her body listened.

She marched across the wooden floor, heading for her table, not looking at anyone, purposefully not looking for Ollie.

‘Hello, lovely, we missed you today.’ Ruby smiled, rubbing her shoulder. ‘Worried the new guy ran you off.’

‘Nope,’ Tig smiled defiantly. ‘This is home. Couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.’

‘I’m glad. We miss you when you’re not here.’ Ruby pulled out Tig’s usual chair. ‘I’ll go grab your tea. Have a slice of cake, won’t you?’

Tig quickly did a calculation of how far she’d cycled, and what she’d had for breakfast, and how much of a sugar comedown she’d be on if she said yes … oh, fuck it. Time to stop being boring. ‘Have you got your Baileys and Guinness cake?’

‘Coming right up!’ Ruby squeezed her shoulders once more, and was off.

Tig took the time to look around Entangled, and all was as it always had been. Bright-coloured paintings on the walls, the box of lego pieces at the back. Whitewashed walls, and mismatched tables – the whole place was bright, and airy, and personal. Tig had wandered in years ago, when she’d seen a poster for life drawing classes, and from then on it had become a haven. The staff had seen her photographs, they’d seen her planning her wedding, they’d seen her fall apart but continue chugging along. She should almost be embarrassed, she supposed, the amount of her life that had been on show in this public place, but, to be honest, Ruby took care of her. She’d turned up a few days after the wedding was supposed to have taken place, and Ruby took one look at her, brought her tea and cake, and informed the staff that no one was to ask any goddamn questions. And slowly, things had gone back to normal.

‘Hey!’ Tig looked up and saw Tabby walking past her to her usual seat. The journalist often sat at the back of the cafe around the same time of day. ‘Guinness cake! Good choice!’

‘I’ll regret it later.’ Tig smiled at the brunette as she got out her laptop and started faffing with her notepads.

‘No,’ the woman shook her head firmly. ‘There shall be no regretting cake. I do not regret the cakes I have eaten, only the ones I have not.’

‘Good mantra,’ Tig grinned. ‘Lot of work today?’

The brunette sighed. ‘Last couple of articles for deadline. I’m travelling for a couple of months, off next week. Has to be finished.’

‘Awesome. Where are you going?’

‘I have no idea. My boyfriend decided I need more surprises in my life. Which is awful and makes me want to vomit. But if it’s one less thing to arrange, then that’s fine with me!’ The woman laughed, and Tig thought suddenly, I want to be like you. You know what you’re doing.

‘Well, I’ll let you get on. Happy working!’ Tig said.

‘You, too!’

Tig turned back around, got out her own notebook. That was what she loved about this place, the comfort of it all, the familiarity. Home.

A towering slice of moist chocolate cake and a green tea suddenly appeared on her table.

‘Well, don’t you look gorgeous.’ His voice seemed to laugh at her a little.

Tig looked up. ‘I didn’t yesterday?’

‘Oh, you’re definitely acting like a girlfriend now,’ Ollie grinned. She looked at him, blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, straining at the biceps, black beanie covering most of his blond hair. His eyes were still as dangerously green as they had been the night before.

‘Isn’t it somewhere in the rules you’re meant to make a girl wait before you phone her up and ask her out. Something about a three-day rule?’

He leaned in and she found herself taking a sharp breath at how close he was, how his cologne smelled spicy and intoxicating. ‘I don’t play games, Tigerlily. If I want something, I go for it.’

He doesn’t want you, not like that, she reminded herself.

‘Oh, shut up, this whole thing is a game,’ she said, brash and loud, trying to stop him using that soft voice that made her stomach dip.

‘It’s a lesson, very different.’

‘It’s an arrangement, and had money changed hands for services we’d both be in jail.’ She looked back at her tea, wondering why she couldn’t be cool anymore. Tigerlily was nothing if not cool under pressure. Or, at least, the old Tig was. Ollie seemed to be intent on showing her that she was a newbie at all of this, and was enjoying every minute of it.

‘That makes no sense, unless one of us has offered services I wasn’t aware of. Not that I’d complain,’ he smirked.

‘I’m going to take all of that bullshit as an ill-fated attempt to tell me you like my dress, right?’

‘You take it however you want to, gorgeous. I’m afraid I have to get back to work.’ He winked. ‘I’m done at six – dinner?’

‘If you stop being such an arsehole,’ she said pointedly, watching as he grinned again, rearranging his hat. As he lifted his arms, the shirt slipped up, showing the barest sliver of his stomach, and Tig averted her eyes, unsure why that seemed so intimate.

‘It’s called flirtation, darling, it’s all good practice.’

‘Well, when you’re done reminding me why I don’t date, feel free to come back as the Ollie you were yesterday, who was capable of having an honest conversation.’ She huffed, exasperated.

‘You’ll learn to love it once you learn to play.’

‘That’s what they said about football and I still can’t stand it.’

Ollie stood in front of her, hands on hips, head tilted as he smiled, as though he couldn’t quite believe her.

‘You are something else, Tigerlily James. Now I’ve got to go before I get fired for hitting on the staff. Ruby was very aware that I’d talked to you yesterday and that you weren’t here this afternoon. Apparently, wooing her favourite patron is not the done thing.’

‘Neither is using the term wooing,’ Tig grinned. ‘Oh, I think I’m getting the hang of this smart-arse thing now. You’re right, it’s enjoyable!’

‘Eat your cake, clever clogs.’

*****

‘This isn’t really how it’s meant to work.’ Ollie made a face as he opened the door for her and they left Entangled together. It seemed so public, with the other staff there, the ones she’d sort of known for years, judging her somehow. He’d pulled on a leather jacket of his own, so now she was worrying that they looked like they matched, or that people would look at them and know they were faking it somehow.

Shut up, Tig, you’re overthinking this, she thought furiously.

‘How’s it meant to work?’

‘Well, I pick you up from your house for a start.’ Ollie’s hand seemed to hover at the base of her spine, as if he was guiding a startled horse. It was somehow both irritating and comforting.

‘What if you turned out to be a nutcase, and then you knew where I lived?’ Tig shook her head. ‘This is a much better plan.’

He nudged her with his elbow as they walked along. ‘Trust issues.’

She stopped and looked at him pointedly. ‘Uh, duh?’

He was almost painfully beautiful, and she wished she hadn’t stopped to face him now. If she’d only picked one of the nice, nerdy types who appreciated her brain and wanted to buy her coffee. The ones who would hover around as a ‘friend’ for months and months, until they got drunk and accidentally realised they were a couple. She could deal with that. That didn’t feel quite so … obvious as this. She just had to keep remembering it was all a lie. He hadn’t asked her out because he was attracted to her, and the banter wasn’t to get her into bed. It was literally him taking pity on a charity case. She had to think of Ollie more as a mentor, a lecturer in the world of dating, rather than a fake boyfriend. Right. Teacher.

‘You look wonderful, by the way.’ He smiled at her, so damn sincere. Or at least seemingly so. Not that you could tell. Urgh, this whole thing was a mess.

‘Oh, um …’ – she felt her skin heat up and bit her lip in irritation – ‘this dress is really old.’

‘Tigerlily? Step One of Ollie’s intro into dating: someone gives you a compliment, you say thank you. You keep rejecting nice words, people won’t give them to you anymore.’

Ollie paused and raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if she was going to argue with him. ‘Let’s try again? Tigerlily, you look wonderful tonight.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Tig purposefully chanted like a child.

‘Sarcastic, but I’ll take it. How do you feel about Thai food?’

Tig grinned in relief. ‘My favourite.’

‘A little birdie may have mentioned that.’

‘And how does that little birdie feel about you fake-dating her favourite customer?’

‘She knows I’m leaving in four months, and thinks it’s terribly unfair of me to drag you into anything,’ Ollie shrugged. ‘But, Ruby seems the type to let you make your own mistakes. Plus, if I hurt you, I’m out of a job, so that should give you some confidence in the situation.’

Tig grinned to herself. ‘Maybe a little.’

They turned down a side street in Kings Cross, and then another, and another, until Tig was thoroughly lost. Which was always kind of jarring, when she felt she knew North London like no one else could. But everyone had their secret spots in the city, and she loved that Ollie was no exception.

They entered a dark, small restaurant, and the waiter lit up, shaking Ollie’s hand, and ushering them in.

‘Come here often?’ she asked as they settled.

‘I used to work here, always try to stop by whenever I’m back in London.’ Ollie waved over the counter to the chef in the back, an older portly man who smiled back with two thumbs up.

‘You were a waiter?’ Tig asked. ‘Is that what the job in four months is?’

Ollie grinned at her, and took off the beanie, ruffling his hair. ‘Ah, now you’re intrigued, right? Who waits four months for a waitstaff job?’

‘Someone who needs a really good cover for a heist?’ Tig offered, nodding in thanks as the water was brought to their table.

‘Know what you want, Ollie?’ the waiter asked.

‘Can you ask Chef for the usual? He’ll know.’ He shared a grin with the waiter.

‘Probably going to shit himself.’

‘If it’s as good as it was when I left, he’s got no worries.’ Ollie winked, then turned to Tig. ‘Wine?’

‘Sure, whatever you prefer.’ Tig shrugged, guessing that it was probably better to make as few decisions tonight as possible.

‘You’re not allergic to anything, or hate certain foods, or …’

‘Nope, I’m all good,’ she smiled, and the waiter nodded and walked off.

‘What are you, the king of London Thai food?’

Ollie leaned in and looked at her. ‘I’m a chef.’

‘What, like someone who makes meth?’

Ollie tilted his head. ‘That’s a cook.’

‘Oh.’

He frowned. ‘You think it’s more likely that I manufacture methamphetamine than it is that I cook decent food for people to eat?’

‘Umm …’ Tig screwed up her nose. ‘No, but …’

‘But!’

‘Okay, number one: you’re kind of a salesman. I walk around hating everything attached to a penis the last seven months, I am fuming that my ex is getting remarried less than a year after dumping me, and … you somehow convince me to enter a relationship with you.’

‘A fake relationship.’

‘Yes, but one that involves coming to restaurants, and wearing real clothes, and talking to someone else. I still don’t know how any of this has happened.’

‘It’s a magical substance called wine. And possibly empathy, or even chivalry,’ Ollie said snootily.

‘Chivalry? How about capitalising on the situation?’

‘How about you were miserable, I was lonely, and I thought we’d get along. Which, of course, is working out swimmingly!’ Ollie rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table.

Tig bit her lip, tugged at her hair. ‘Okay, I seem to be stuck on my “automatic bitch” setting. Truce?’

Ollie sighed. ‘Just … I have no ulterior motives. In this situation, we could not have been more upfront. We hang out for a few months, have a nice time. You keep away my crazy neighbour, I take you for some nice dinners, we have a laugh. We hopefully leave as friends, and if not, it’s been a nice experience. That’s it!’

‘I know … I’m just …’

‘You’ve been hurt. I know.’ Ollie reached across and squeezed her hand. He looked so damn earnest she actually felt guilty for accusing him of being a drug merchant. Or creator. Whatever.

‘Okay, sorry. Let’s start again. So you’re a chef!’ Tig injected enthusiasm into her voice.

Ollie raised an eyebrow, smirk firmly in place. ‘No, no, no. Wait a minute. What was number two?’

‘Two?’

‘On the list of reasons why I’d make a more believable meth maker than food creator?’

‘Um – well, you look like you subsist on a diet of grilled chicken and protein shakes. Not really what you’d expect from a chef.’

Ollie grinned like a Cheshire cat and said nothing.

‘What, no smart-arse answer to that?’

‘Hey, it’s a compliment. I’m not complaining.’ He threw his hands up.

‘Is it not true?’

He twitched his nose a little. ‘Partly. I was a fat chef for a while. Now I work out and eat a lot of protein. Luckily, I know how to season stuff. Healthy food doesn’t have to be boring.’

Tig shrugged. ‘I like bland. It makes me feel like I know it’s good for me.’

‘I’ll cook for you sometime,’ Ollie said earnestly. ‘I created a whole menu for this fat camp in Vermont. They didn’t even realise it was health food.’

‘So is that your new job? Health food stuff?’ Tig leaned in, engaged by the idea that Ollie might have been a different type of person, that he had looked different before. A fat chef. But he looked so at home in his body. So proud of it. He owned it, like you would never have known. Maybe he wasn’t really a fat chef, in the same way those popular girls at school would go on fad diets to lose three pounds, when they were waifs to begin with. It’s just what you say, isn’t it?

The waiter returned with the wine, and a series of appetisers, each so delicious that Tig actually moaned upon chewing. They sat quietly for a few moments, savouring the tastes. Ollie didn’t turn around but simply raised his arm and put a thumbs up. Tig was facing the kitchen and saw the chef grin and nod at himself, proud and contented.

‘Did you design this menu?’

Ollie nodded, clearly fighting his ego, and failing at being modest about it. ‘I was brought in to fix up the menu, give it a little boost. The last chef was a waste of space. I came in, trained up these guys and set the new menu in place.’

‘So we’re here because you wanted to show off?’ Tig smirked knowingly.

‘We’re here because I wanted to be able to grab you from Entangled, and I know the food is good,’ Ollie insisted, ‘though bragging is part of the appeal. It could have gone the other way – if the menu had screwed up, I could have gone all Gordon Ramsay on the chef, and you would have run away screaming.’

‘Well, there’s always next week,’ she smiled, and held up her wine glass to his. ‘Here’s to new adventures, and taking chances.’

‘Changed your tune now you know I can feed you.’

Tig laughed. ‘Women are very practical.’

The meal passed more smoothly after that, talking about food and drink, different places in London they loved, places they’d like to go.

As they left the restaurant, the chef came round and hugged Ollie, thanking him for the opportunity, promising to make him proud. Ollie rested his hand on Tig’s back as they walked along.

‘You going to the tube station?’ he asked.