The Last Word

‘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.

‘So, no problem with the “praise” part of the job then, just the criticism.’ Of course, he noticed her slightest movements, the twitch of her lips as she considered that, yes, maybe she was a bit excellent. Just a bit. And he liked it, really liked it. And when she stopped thinking about these things and focused on just how close Harry was, invading her personal space once again, his hands resting either side of her, she realised she needed to be at her wittiest. But nothing happened.

‘OK, so I’m not so great at the criticism. But it’s not like you stuck to being constructive, is it? Some of it was pretty mean!’

‘Oh shut up, you love it,’ Harry said, back to his jokey, cocky self, but he at least let go of her barstool, so she felt a little more in control. Tabby just folded her arms and tipped her head to the side, questioning him.

‘I thought that’s what we were doing, the whole banter-insulting thing?’ he said, slightly unsure. ‘I thought that’s what you got off on.’

‘Excuse me?’

He smirked briefly. ‘Work-wise, mind-in-the-gutter. I thought you needed someone to argue with to get your best work. You’ve been writing great articles so far, but no one’s pushed you to be better. That’s my job.’

Tabby considered this. He had his bloody earnest look on again, so if she cut him down he’d look like a beaten puppy. Bastard.

‘Well, I do like arguing with you,’ she conceded.

‘I like arguing with you too,’ he said. ‘I am honestly sorry if I upset you. But I’m probably going to do it a few more times.’

‘Oh, I have no doubt.’

‘And you’re probably going to call me a stuck-up prick or a self-invested arsehole, or whatever it was that you called your editor in that article.’

Tabby smiled innocently. ‘I have no idea what you mean, Harry. I’m a professional. It was just an article.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He rolled his eyes, and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. Her chest tightened briefly, and then he was back in his space, far away from her. ‘Speaking of people who want to argue, I seem to have angered another violent woman.’

‘Your calling in life, it seems.’ Chandra smirked as Harry shrugged.

‘Wish me luck,’ he said, before walking over to a delicate doll of a girl: tall, thin, with long blonde hair pulled messily into a plait. She was wearing a strapless silver bodycon dress that clung to her non-existent curves, and just looking at her skyscraper heels made Tabby feel dizzy. She looked down at her own shoes: purple felt, stack heels, with bunny rabbit buttons. OK, well she wasn’t his type, clearly. Like that mattered anyway, she wasn’t going to do anything. Just because someone gives you a much deserved compliment, doesn’t mean you suddenly forget they’re an arrogant twat.

As much as Tabby wanted to hate the girl on the dance floor, for being able to wear those shoes and that dress, and pull of the chic party-girl look, she almost had to pity her. She was staring uncertainly into Harry’s eyes as he convinced her she was the most important person in the world. And he was damn good at it, Tabby had to admit. She watched the girl go from sullen, to unsure, to begrudgingly amused. By the end of whatever speech he’d given her, she was looking at him like he was the answer to her prayers. Which, Tabby was pretty sure, he certainly was not.

‘So – ’ Tabby turned to Chandra, who simply held up a finger.

‘You know the rule, Tabs.’

Chandra’s Thirty Second Rule: After an important encounter with a member of the opposite sex (or in Rhi’s case, a member of either sex) you had to wait thirty seconds before discussing it. Chandra said this was to allow information to properly sink in, so you could discuss things with a clear head. Tabby only adhered because it meant the person they were discussing was usually across the room by that point, and wouldn’t accidentally overhear.

‘It wasn’t an encounter!’ Tabby whined. ‘He’s my boss!’

‘Mmf!’ Chandra held her hand up yet again. ‘Twenty-seven, twenty-eight…’

Tabby huffed and crossed her arms, purposefully not looking at the dance floor, where she was sure Harry was using his other skills to convince the girl of how important she was.

‘Thirty!’ Chandra paused. ‘EEEEEEP! So cute! Why haven’t you bonked his brains out yet?’

‘Ew, Chands, don’t say bonked.’ Tabby felt her stomach twitch, and gestured towards the dance floor. ‘And because, clearly, she is.’

‘Yeah, for tonight. What about tomorrow?’

‘I cannot casually sleep with my editor!’

‘Because…?’

Because been there, done that, and it almost ruined my life? Tabby grasped around for an answer that wasn’t pathetic and grounded in self-doubt.

‘Because it’s unprofessional, I’m there to write.’

‘So write after a night of head-banging sex with a guy who looks like he knows what to do. Jeez. I’ve never met anyone so resistant to an orgasm.’

‘Mean!’ Tabby looked around at the surrounding tables, hoping no one had heard. Conversations with Chandra concerning sex always seemed to be louder than any other conversation she took part in.

‘Well, when was the last time you had sex?’ Chandra asked simply, eating the cherry from her cocktail.

‘You know when. You made me discuss it in painful detail the morning after.’

Chandra’s eyebrows disappeared under her fringe. ‘The clammy hands guy? That was ages ago! Like a year or more.’

‘Well, it put me off for life, OK?’ Tabby knew she was getting defensive, but all this talk was making her crabby. Even if she liked him, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t do anything about it. ‘Look, I’m not sleeping with him I’m not doing anything with him except writing a bunch of articles. And even that is under duress. I’m just not interested in him.’

Chandra’s eyes moved past her to the dance floor, and of course, she couldn’t help but look. Harry had his arms around the doll-like girl, but looked across at Tabby, stuck his tongue out and winked.

‘Fifty quid says you don’t last a month.’ Chandra grinned.

‘Bad odds.’ Tabby sighed, breaking eye contact, and finishing the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Chapter Seven

Tabby was going to kill Chandra. Because, of course, once she’d put the damn thought into her head, it was impossible to get it out: she could not stop thinking about Harry. She could also not stop thinking about how long it had been since she’d had sex, and how Chandra thought she was opposed to orgasms. She wasn’t. She just…wasn’t attracted easily. Or wasn’t hanging out in the right places. But then, obviously, when she did find someone attractive, they haunted her.

Which was why Tabby was running. Then baking, then shopping. When Rhi came home from a half day at the library, she found Tabby with her head in the oven.

‘Pulling a Sylvia Plath?’

‘You know we’ve never cleaned this properly? We’ve lived here for over two years! It’s ridiculous!’ Tabby’s manic voice was muffled from inside the oven, her yellow-gloved hands working desperately.

‘Tabs, you’re high off the fumes, get out of there.’ Rhi waited until she could see her housemate, covered in dirt, her dark hair covered with a bandana. ‘Don’t you have a meeting with your editor today?’

‘Yep.’ Tabby’s face fell. ‘I feel like I’m going to the dentist.’

‘I thought he liked your last article?’

‘That’s the problem. He’s being nice to me. And when he’s being nice to me, I forget he’s a dangerously charming arse who is there to make money, and I start to…like him.’

Rhi took a deep breath, and seemed to be accumulating the energy to deal with this. ‘Do you think you have a thing for men in positions of power over you? Because I’ve got this really good book on dominants and submissives – ’

‘No! I mean, not really. He just…I don’t know what he’s going to do. I keep thinking I have him figured out and then he surprises me. It’s Chandra’s fault. She put the sex thing in my head.’ Tabby pulled off the marigolds and surveyed her nails.

‘Which is where it’s going to stay. In your head,’ Rhi said firmly. ‘You’ve done the editor thing before, remember? Doesn’t end well.’ Rhi cast a disapproving eye over Tabby’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Now, seriously, will you go shower and get ready for this meeting? If you fancy him, you might as well look fabulous, right?’

Tabby grinned, and kissed Rhi’s cheek on the way out. ‘You said fabulous.’

‘What’s wrong with that? Gay men don’t own the word!’ Rhi shouted as Tabby raced up the stairs.

She was going to be fine. Really. So, OK, thinking about Harry that way was kind of awkward, but she’d convinced herself out of bigger things in the past. Convincing your drunk self that your future self would really regret ordering a cheese feast pizza at four in the morning had to be a meaner feat and she’d done that occasionally. Much more difficult than telling herself that Harry was not only not that interesting or even nice, but that even if he was interested in her, she wouldn’t want him. Easy. Done.

And then, of course, he texted her: Let’s meet at ‘our’ pub for the meeting. Less confusing menus, more stale beer. Harry.

Bloody irritating man, being all responsive to her needs.

When she got to The Black Cat, there was Harry, chatting with the old barman, keenly nodding like he was really enjoying himself.

‘Hey there,’ Tabby sidled up, smiling automatically at the interaction.

‘Hey Tabs.’ Harry kissed her cheek, and she felt herself holding her breath until it was over. ‘This is Nigel,’ he nodded at the barman, ‘he’s owned this pub for twenty-five years. Can you believe it?’

‘That’s a long time.’ Tabby smiled inanely, watching how Harry manipulated the conversation, made the older man feel interesting and worthy of a story.

‘A big deal in a central London location, I can tell you.’ Nigel smiled. ‘Anyway, what can I get your beautiful lady friend?’

Tabby smiled, and watched as Harry looked to her for confirmation. ‘Red wine?’

‘As long as you don’t harp on about vintages, that’ll be lovely.’ Tabby raised an eyebrow.

‘A bottle of whatever red you think is best, Nigel, cheers.’

Harry’s voice had changed, she noticed. His sharp London accent had faded away to something softer, not quiet cockney, not quite northern, but something. He had a light blue shirt on, rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual smart trousers. She looked down at his shoes.

‘What?’

‘I was kind of hoping to see the pink Converse again.’ She grinned.

‘You making fun of me?’

‘No, Harry, I’m honestly expressing appreciation for the first thing about you that seemed genuine. Is that all right?’

He paused. ‘Is that a pretentious way of saying you liked my trainers?’

‘Yes.’ She grabbed her glass of wine and clinked it against his one sitting on the bar. ‘Cheers to that. Shall we get a table?’

He shrugged and smiled, gesturing for her to go ahead. ‘Lead the way.’

They ended up sitting back at the same table as last time, but as soon as they sat down, things seemed to get awkward. Tabby wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t her, she knew that. She’d realised being around Harry and having to deal with the exhausting banter all the time meant she had no time to focus on how pretty his eyes were. Which was a relief. But somehow, the meeting wasn’t working.

‘So, I really liked this idea of People Within Places, if you wanted to explore that further. I – ’

‘Yes, that’s – ’

‘I was – ’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘No, you go ahead.’

Silence.

It kept happening. Harry would try to be accommodating, overly friendly, make a big deal over the smallest idea. And it wasn’t just patronising, but it made her feel like the idea was worthless and he was just trying to be kind. Which meant, clearly, none of her ideas were very good, and he was just trying to get whatever he could out of her.

‘Listen, darling, I was hoping we could go back to the uni fees concept. I love it, I think it’s brilliant.’

‘It’s not,’ Tabby said flatly.

‘What?’

‘It’s not brilliant. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but it’s weird.’

Harry sighed. ‘I’m trying to be a supportive editor.’

‘By holding my hand like a child? I’m not a moron.’

‘Look, your friend said I’d been tearing you down, so now I’m trying not to. But apparently I’m an arsehole either way. I’m making an effort here, so could you stop making me feel like I’m being a shitty human being?’

Watching Harry lose his cool was way too much fun. A delicious vein in his neck seemed to twitch, his cheeks went a little red and his eyes seemed to turn a darker green. Tabby was enjoying him being off-balance way too much. But maybe now it was time to apologise. After all, she’d won, right?

‘I’m sorry, Harry, honestly.’ She smiled and patted his hand.

‘You don’t look sorry,’ he grunted, and then looked at her closely. ‘You look smug.’

She widened her eyes. ‘That’s just my face. Why would I be smug? Look, we’re trying to get used to each other, it’ll take some work. I appreciate you making the effort.’

‘Don’t have this problem with my other writers,’ Harry sighed. ‘I just chat away and they take it or leave it. None of them tell me to my face that I’m talking bollocks.’

‘I’ve never done that!’

‘No, but you would, wouldn’t you?’ This time it was Harry’s turn to grin, as Tabby looked a little abashed.

‘Maybe. But I’d find a more creative way of saying it. And I’d only do it because you seem to bring out the worst in me.’

‘I seem to do that with most women.’ Harry winked, and she rolled her eyes and suddenly things seemed OK again.

‘All right, how about we decide you won’t babysit me. If you really don’t like it, tell me. But maybe throw in a compliment now and then to take the sting out. You know, constructive criticism.’

They clinked glasses once again, and Harry poured the last dregs of the bottle into Tabby’s glass.

‘So tell me, what’s the deal with getting to know the pub owner’s life story?’ Tabby leaned in, watching as Harry’s lips quirked.

‘I like people. I know you think I’m just some pretentious twat who talks about Pinot Noir and drives a sports car and wears designer suits – ’ Tabby opened her mouth to interject and he held up a hand ‘ – no, I know I give off that impression. And it has its uses. But most people, present company excluded, tend to think I’m all right.’

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