The Last Word

by A. L. Michael

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like I’m a particularly difficult Rubik’s cube, but you’re a master puzzle player.’

  ‘That was a terrible analogy.’ All Harry seemed to do was grin. He patted the sofa. ‘Come tell me all about your problems, Tabitha.’

  ‘Oh good, therapy. Wonderful. I feel particularly safe telling you all my secrets,’ Tabby bit out, but sat down anyway, keeping a safe distance from Harry, and tucking her feet up under her. Which was no help, as he had his arm stretched along the back of the sofa, and gently tugged at a strand of her hair.

  ‘Come on, Mystery Girl. What’s the deal with the charming flatmate? Is your life always so dramatic?’

  ‘No, usually my life bores me to tears. It’s Rhi’s life that’s dramatic, what with the slogans and the chanting and the being outraged at The Man.’

  Tabby suddenly felt like she’d betrayed her friend. ‘Not that it’s not important. It is. Rhi cares about a lot of issues…’

  ‘And you. That was clear.’ He turned his body to face her and once again she was struck by the fact that he was just too pretty to be sitting on her second-hand sofa, drinking from her mismatched wine glasses and listening to her problems. ‘Someone hurt you, Tabs?’

  She supposed it was fair to tell him. He was working with her and dealing with her alternating surges in confidence and crashes into self-doubt. Plus, it was better to tell him now, when he was being all sweet and quiet, instead of saying stupid things that made her alternately want to kiss him or take a pick axe to his head.

  ‘I…My fall from grace at the paper, three years ago…’ she started, not really sure how much he knew.

  ‘The injunction thing…’ He grabbed the bottle from by his feet to top up her glass.

  ‘Thanks. Yeah, that.’ She sighed. ‘We heard an injunction was coming in so I told my editor, Richard, that we should hold on the story. He said I was being weak, that we could fight it, it was important news. Yadda yadda, blah blah. He convinced me to publish it, I got fired. End of.’

  Harry’s eyes looked mournful and yet also a little inquisitive. He seemed to know there was more to the story. He had a knack for it. Not that Tabby had searched for his articles on Google or anything. But if she had, the articles she’d have found would have been honest stories, understanding the real point of what was happening and who mattered. Which made holding up under his scrutiny pretty damn tough.

  ‘The editor’s the last line of defence though. Shouldn’t it have been his arse on the line? It was his choice, right?’

  Tabby could feel shame creeping up her neck in a flush. She kept her eyes on her wine really didn’t want to be talking about this. Harry already thought she was an irrational moron. To know that she’d thrown her career away…

  ‘He convinced me it was best for both of us. I…I thought I was in love with him. He spun a whole bunch of bullshit about how we’d get though it together. How I should publish it on my personal page, so the paper wasn’t to blame. How if his reputation remained untarnished he could help me get a job elsewhere…’

  Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to explode. ‘And you believed him? You’re a reporter! You’re basically a human lie detector!’ He was incredulous. He may as well have called her an idiot.

  ‘I was twenty-three! I thought he loved me!’ Tabby argued. ‘Don’t you think I’ve spent the last three years lying awake at night berating myself? I was a fucking excellent reporter, OK? I was outstanding. And then it was gone.’

  She felt herself deflate a little after her outburst, and worried that she might be on the verge of tears. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. Harry was a little too close for comfort, staring straight back at her with something in his eyes that looked like admiration.

  He smiled at her, and gently pulled at that curl of her hair again, briefly brushing her cheek. ‘You are. Outstanding.’

  Had he shifted closer to her? Because he suddenly seemed to be taking over all of her space, his hand still hovering near her cheek, and he thought she was outstanding. Her breathing went shallow and all she could think was, ‘Kiss me, please, just fucking kiss me.’ Except that would be bad. She’d already screwed one editor.

  She met his eyes warily once again. It would almost be worth it. At least this time she’d know she was throwing away her career for a pointless fling. And like Chandra said, Harry looked like he knew how to show a girl a good time.

  And then of course, she came to her senses, and tore her eyes away from him, fighting whatever magnetic force he seemed to possess. Tabby stood up in a final sort of way, and raised her voice back to its normal volume.

  ‘So, now you know about that. Which is why Rhiannon gets protective. She wants me to stop writing “vapid shit” and get back to the real issues.’

  Harry’s body had relaxed once again, and it seemed like the moment had passed. Tabby was safely across the room, leaning on the table, watching him. He frowned into his wine glass and looked at her strangely. She tried not to marvel at the sight of Harry Shulman, editor, wearer of designer jeans and drinker of expensive wines, sitting on a sofa covered in Primark blankets. She also tried not to think about how natural and comfortable it seemed, having Harry at her flat. That maybe he could fit. The pink Converse were a beacon of hope, screaming out, ‘Hey look, I’m a normal person, just like you!’ Or maybe she was thinking too much.

  ‘It’s not vapid. It’s perspective. You, Tabby Riley, are a regular girl wonder. All those teenage girls on Twitter following you like you’re their goddess.’

  He stood up and took her wine glass from her, placing them both on the table. And once again he was back in her personal space, and she tilted her head up to face him. He took her hands.

  ‘Listen to me, Tabs, OK? You’re good at this. Fine, you were outstanding at the political stuff, but they don’t want that. Your fans want the witty, sarcastic, “Is a Jaffa Cake a biscuit?” thoughts of their personal princess, Tabby Riley. They want the real issues, but they want it from you. And that’s what makes you fucking spectacular, got it?’

  He really had to stop saying stuff that made her want to jump him. Earnest was a good look for him. Passionate wasn’t bad either.

  She squeezed his hands. ‘You’re going to have to stop with the pep talks or I’ll get the terrible impression that you’re a decent human being.’

  ‘Ouch.’ He let go of her hands. ‘I say all those lovely things about you, and I’m still sub-human?’

  ‘With excellent taste in shoes and wine,’ she offered with a shrug and a smile.

  ‘Oh, well then.’ He grinned, and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, looking at her with such frank affection that she couldn’t stand it.

  Tabby stepped back and took a few steadying breaths before plastering an unconvincing smile across her face.

  ‘So, we’re friends, or friendly colleagues, again. All settled, no hard feelings. So, I’ll see you on Monday for the brief.’

  Harry raised his eyebrows and took a step forward. ‘You kicking me out, Tabs?’ he said softly. ‘I thought we were making excellent progress.’

  As long as he didn’t touch her, she could keep a clear head.

  ‘And what progress would that be?’ Her voice was like a whisper and she hated herself for being drawn in.

  ‘Getting to know each other better.’

  Damn affectionate smile. Harry Shulman had a gift, no doubt about it. She’d seem him use it on waitresses who fought to bring his coffee, on the girls in the office who made sure to bend from the waist while looking through the filing cabinets or doing the photocopying. And now her. He’d zeroed in on her like the weak baby zebra she was, and he was going to get what he wanted. She was back to being that twenty-three-year-old sucker, sacrificing her career and self-respect for a guy with pretty eyes and a great smile. Because when Harry focused on you, it was like you were the most important thing in the world. Your own spotlight on stage where you were the funniest, wittiest
, most beautiful person and everyone adored you.

  And then you wake up and he’s smiling at someone else and you’ve got a massive headache and your reputation is in tatters.

  So actually, fuck that shit.

  Tabby felt herself still, felt the resolve harden. She was suddenly furious with all those men who wanted to use her to get somewhere: the one who’d succeeded, the one who was still trying. She would not make the same mistake again. Rhi was right. She was playing with fire. And she could either get burned or get out right now. Make it clear she was not some writing floozy, there for the sport of whatever editor was bored with his life at that moment. Her career was what she was there to focus on. She just wanted to write, and why wouldn’t people just leave her the hell alone so she could do that? Why did everyone want to play games all the time? Harry knew he could make people do whatever he wanted. But it was not going to work with her. No way.

  ‘We certainly got to know each other.’ Her voice was ice. ‘I think I’ve learnt all I need to know about you. Thanks for the wine. You can leave now.’ She crossed her arms and nodded towards the door.

  Harry’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

  ‘You can leave now.’

  ‘Why? What just happened?’

  ‘Because it’s my house and I get to say who stays and for how long, and I want you to go.’ Tabby almost felt her voice wobble, but she stayed cool. She hoped.

  Harry looked around, incredulous, but shrugged and headed towards the door. He paused. ‘You’re a bloody crazy person, you know that, right?’

  And you’re a manipulative bastard, Tabby thought viciously. ‘Bye now!’ She waved cheerfully, and didn’t let her smile drop until he’d slammed the front door.

  Well, she felt a lot better. No pesky gorgeous editor making her feel out of control with his pretty words and perfect cheekbones.

  She went to the table, poured the remainder of Harry’s glass of wine into her own, then curled up on the sofa and turned on the television. She hadn’t missed too much Buffy. Perfect.

  She actually felt quite cheerful. Making Harry mad had that effect on her. The way his muscles tensed, his jaw clenched and one sly vein in his neck seemed to pulse alarmingly. Delicious. Now he would go find an anger-shag in the local pub and she would focus on her writing and getting back on top. Everything would be perfect.

  Her phone beeped and she moaned, getting up to grab it from the table. It was from Harry. Her stomach clenched a little at what he’d say. She steeled herself, focused on how manipulative he was and prepared herself to combat the awkwardness with anger: Don’t forget we’ve got the research for the Brighton piece tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 8 a.m. I hope you’re OK. H.

  Oh great. Two hours with Harry in a car and then a whole day following her around her old haunts in Brighton and interviewing students. Just what she needed. And why was he being nice? Perhaps because she’d acted like someone in need of a straight jacket.

  She collapsed back on the sofa and called Rhi. ‘Bring cookies.’

  Chapter Ten

  Tabby was up and dressed and ready to go by eight a.m. That did not mean she was happy about it. After a night spent drinking cheap red wine with Rhi and moaning about men, Tabby was feeling marginally guilty and massively hung over.

  Maybe she had been irrational, she thought, sitting on her front step with an oversized cardigan and a large pair of sunglasses that weren’t helping at all. She couldn’t even get excited about being in Brighton when the sun was shining, which was a sure sign things weren’t right. The sun shining off the sea was Tabby’s favourite thing in the world. And Harry was ruining it. Well, the three bottles of wine consumed the night before were ruining it, but Harry wasn’t helping.

  Especially when he pulled up in front of her door and beeped the horn loudly, even though he could see her sitting there. And, of course, he had a Porsche. He was leaning out of the window, his shades on, not exactly looking like his chipper self either.

  ‘You getting in, or what?’ he called out.

  ‘Jeez, I’m coming,’ Tabby muttered to herself, grabbing her bag and standing up, dusting herself off. She then silently grumbled about why men insisted on buying cars that you had to be a contortionist to get into. And then they were off.

  Tabby pulled her big scarf around her, and looked out of the window, finally finding the automatic button to slide it down. The breeze helped the hangover, but she started to suspect the queasy feeling in her stomach had a different source.

  ‘Yes, I’m having a wonderful morning, Tabby, thanks for asking. And yes, you’re very welcome for driving you down to Brighton on my weekend off, not a problem at all,’ Harry chattered away sarcastically, not even looking away from the road. She could see his fists clench on the steering wheel though.

  ‘You carry on like this for two hours, I’m throwing myself out of the car, moving or not,’ Tabby spat.

  ‘Oh, don’t make promises, you’ll get a guy’s hopes up.’ He screwed up his face as he spoke, and although he looked like a petulant child, Tabby didn’t feel like this argument was particularly fun.

  She took a minute to truly look at Harry, who was aggressively shifting the gear stick, adjusting the radio and generally doing anything except looking at her. Which was an advantage as she was studying him properly for the first time, without feeling nervous. Maybe it was the fact that they were both wearing sunglasses. Sunglasses always made her feel safe, like she could hide away.

  He looked slightly more worn, and even though she’d seen him yesterday, the stubble was more apparent. She peered down and saw he was wearing Converse, but they were blue, and disappointed her. He was wearing one of his ‘casual’ shirts, which meant it wasn’t so expensive that he freaked out about rolling the sleeves up. She wanted to tell him he’d be cold by the seafront if he hadn’t brought a jumper, even if it was sunny.

  She preferred Harry in sunglasses too, his magical eye contact power was gone.

  ‘Hey Harry?’ She started tentatively.

  He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a huff. ‘Yes?’ He was still irritated.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  He sounded bored.

  ‘Thank you for driving me to Brighton on your day off.’ She made her voice a little smaller and more nervous than it actually was. Harry wasn’t the only one who knew how to play games. If she folded and seemed upset, he’d cave and check how she was. She knew that. Harry cared about her. If someone threatened her, he’d defend her; if someone upset her, he’d cheer her up. These things were as obvious as how much of a pain in the arse he was. She just didn’t know why.

  ‘That’s…it’s fine.’ He was struggling to stay mad.

  ‘Even though it was your idea,’ she added quickly, and when he looked over at her with irritation, she stuck her tongue out.

  ‘You’re trying to drive me crazy, right? You were sent here by some higher power as a punishment for something. That’s the only explanation.’ His voice was tinged with humour.

  ‘Or I’m just a headcase.’

  ‘I prefer that possibility.’

  ‘Much more likely than me being an instrument of fate. What are you being punished for?’ Tabby asked knowingly.

  ‘Oh…I dunno…’

  ‘All the hit and run relationships? The poor girls blinded by your ability to get them into bed and never call them again?’ Tabby wriggled in her seat, laughing to herself. ‘Yes, maybe I was sent here because you’re using your powers for evil.’

  ‘And what powers would those be?’ Harry’s voice had dipped, and she could tell he was entering flirtation mode.

  ‘You know what powers, Charm Boy.’

  ‘My wit? My never-ending source of interesting facts? My ability to flawlessly order in French restaurants?’ He grinned, still staring straight ahead.

  ‘I was going to say your cheekbones, but feel free to pretend your personality counts, if it makes you feel better.’

&nb
sp; They were quiet for a moment, but it seemed to be comfortable. Well, that was sorted then, really. They were going to forget about yesterday and be friendly again, and it was only for a few more weeks. Everything would be fine again.

  Except, really, she had been out of order. He was being a flirt, the way he always was, and she’d taken it as a chat up line. And, OK, so maybe she’d displaced a little of the anger about Dick the Prick onto Harry. And maybe she wasn’t really being fair, after he’d said all those nice things to her, and made her feel better. She was going to make it right.

  ‘Harry? I’m really sorry about yesterday. Honestly. I kinda went insane,’ she tried tentatively. Apologising had never really been her strong suit. Just admitting that she’d made a mistake somehow made her feel more shameful and embarrassed than ever.

  He was quiet for what felt like an eternity. Some shitty pop song was playing on the radio and it seemed like she was going to be stuck in this moment, aching for clarity and friendship for ever. Because Harry was a friend, really. A new friend, but as much as he made life complicated, she didn’t really want to let him go. He seemed so strangely familiar so quickly, like they’d been doing this weird back and forth for years. It was new and unsettling and was making her crazy.

  ‘OK. So, explain it to me. Because everything was fine, and then suddenly you’re re-enacting a scene from The Hulk. Did I do something?’ He briefly turned to face her, to show his sincerity.

  ‘No. I got inside my own head and…’ Tabby took a deep breath. ‘OK, look, if I talk about all this, you’ve got to promise not to look at me. You just keep driving, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Harry shrugged.

  ‘All right. So, I told you all about the affair with Dick the Prick. Well, it wasn’t an affair, he was divorced or separated or whatever. But that was my first big relationship and he was my editor and the lines got blurred. I just felt out of my depth all the time. I felt like a kid who couldn’t do anything right, and was just running around pretending to know what I was doing. And I was so ashamed, after all this happened. It made me look cheap, like my work was only ever published because I was sleeping with him.’ Tabby paused briefly to see if she felt like crying, but no, it all seemed to be in the past now. And Harry was sticking to his promise, looking straight ahead, and not doing anything but nodding to show he was listening. ‘And then there’s you. I know I play a good game, Harry, but you make me feel…on edge. Like I’m always one step behind. Like there’s some sort of test that I’ve got to prove myself in. I’m just…scared of being dependent on people. Men in general. Editors in particular. So then I got mad at myself, and mad at you. And had a momentary attack of insanity.’