I smile.

I have some good news for you xx

Perfect timing – on coffee break. Hit me. x

He doesn’t get it – he thinks this is small good news, like I cooked a crumble or something. I pause, fingers hovering over the keys. This is the perfect thing to cheer me up – and what’s more important, the ins and outs of my old relationship, or the reality of Richie’s case right now?

Can I call you? As in, if I call you, can you pick up? xx

The reply comes more slowly this time.

Sure. x

I’m hit with a very abrupt and intense wave of nerves, and a flashback to Leon, naked, dripping wet, his hair pushed back from his face. I press the call button because there is now no other option but to do it, or to come up with a very weird and elaborate excuse.

‘Hey,’ he says, his voice a little low, as if he’s somewhere he has to be quiet.

‘Hi,’ I say. We wait. I think about him naked, and then try very hard not to. ‘How’s the shift?’

‘Quiet. Hence the coffee break.’

His accent is almost exactly like Richie’s, and completely unlike anyone else’s. It’s like South London had a fling with Irish. I sit back on the sofa, pulling my knees up and hugging them close.

‘So, uh . . .’ he begins.

‘Sorry,’ I say, almost at the same time. We wait again, and then I find myself doing a stupid little awkward laugh I’m sure I’ve never done before. What an excellent time to wheel out a brand-new awkward laugh.

‘You go,’ he says.

‘Let’s just . . . I didn’t call to talk about the other day,’ I begin, ‘so let’s just pretend that whole shower situation was a strange shared dream for the duration of this conversation so I can tell you my good news without us both feeling incredibly awkward?’

I think I hear him smile. ‘Deal.’

‘Gerty took Richie’s case.’

All I hear is a sharp intake of breath, and then silence. I wait until it has been a painfully long time, but I have a feeling Leon is the kind of person who needs time to absorb stuff the same way Mo does, so I resist the urge to say anything else until he’s ready.

‘Gerty took Richie’s case,’ Leon repeats, in a wondering sort of way.

‘Yeah. She took it. And that’s not even the good news!’ I find I’m bouncing slightly on the sofa cushions.

‘What’s . . . the good news?’ he asks, sounding slightly faint.

‘She’s got his appeal moved forward by three months. You were looking at January next year, right? So now we’re talking, what . . .’

‘October. October. That’s . . .’

‘Soon! Really soon!’

‘That’s two months away! We’re not ready!’ Leon says, suddenly sounding panicked. ‘What if— Does she—’

‘Leon. Breathe.’

More silence. I can hear the distant sound of Leon taking deep, slow breaths. My cheeks are starting to hurt from supressing an enormous grin.

‘She’s an amazing lawyer,’ I tell him. ‘And she wouldn’t take the case if she didn’t think Richie stood a chance. Really.’

‘Don’t do this to me if she’s going to – to pull out, or . . .’ His voice comes out strangled, and my stomach twists in sympathy.

‘I’m not telling you she’s definitely going to get him out of there, but I think there’s reason to hope again. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.’

He lets out a long, slow breath, half-laughing. ‘Does Richie know?’

‘Not yet, I don’t think. She wrote to him yesterday – how long do letters take to get there?’

‘Depends – they tend to get held up at prison before they get to him. It means I get to tell him myself, though, when he next calls.’

‘Gerty will want to talk to you about the case soon too,’ I say.

‘A lawyer who wants to talk about Richie’s case,’ Leon says. ‘Lawyer. Who. Wants. To . . .’

‘Yeah,’ I interrupt, laughing.

‘Tiffy,’ he says, suddenly serious. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’

‘No, shh,’ I begin.

‘Really. It’s . . . I cannot tell you how much this means to – to Richie. And to me.’

‘I just passed on Richie’s letter.’

‘That was more than anyone else has done off their own back for my brother.’

I fidget. ‘Well, you tell Richie he owes me a letter.’

‘He’ll write. I should go. But – thank you. Tiffy. I’m so glad it was you, and not the drug-dealer or the man with the hedgehog.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he says quickly. ‘See you later.’

32

   Leon

New string of notes (Tiffy always uses several. Never has enough room):

Leon, can I ask . . . What’s the deal with the neighbours?! I’ve only ever seen the strange man in Flat 5 (do you think he knows about the hole in those trackies, by the way? He lives alone, maybe nobody has told him!). I think Flat 1 is those two old ladies who hang out at the bus stop on the corner reading gory true crime novels. But what about Flat 4 and 2? xx

*

Flat 4 is nice middle-aged man with unfortunate crack habit. Always assumed Flat 2 belongs to the foxes. x

Written on back of draft manuscript on coffee table:

Ah, yes! The foxes. Well, I hope they’re paying rent. Did you notice Fatima Fox has had three little cubs?!

Below:

. . . Fatima Fox?

And, speaking of rent. Have an alert in my phone saying we’ve hit six months since you moved in. Technically end of your lease I think? You want to stay?

Then, added that evening, post-sleep:

As in, hope you want to stay. Don’t need the money so badly any more what with scarf sales and new, unbelievably excellent free lawyer. But not sure what flat would look like without you in it now. Could not survive without beanbag, for starters. x

Beneath this, Tiffy has sketched a group of foxes on a sofa, with heading Flat 2. Each fox is carefully labelled.

Fatima Fox! She’s the mama fox. The chief vixen, if you will.

Florentina Fox. The cheeky second-in-command. Her usual haunt is the smelly corner by the bins.