Fliss Fox. The whimsical young chancer. Generally found attempting to enter the building via a window.

Fabio Fox. The resident dog fox. (This is actually what male foxes are called but I do also imagine he’s a bit of a dog.)

The new babies, as yet unnamed by me. Would you like to do the honours?

Below this:

Yes, please, the beanbag and I would love to stay a while longer. Shall we say another six months? xx

*

Another six months. Perfect. Done x

New note, beside empty tiffin tray:

I’m sorry, WHAT? Noggle, Stanley and Archibald?

They don’t even begin with F!

Same note, now left beside large plate of shepherd’s pie:

What can I say. Fabio Fox liked Noggle. The other two were Fatima’s idea.

Also, sorry, couldn’t help noticing recycling bin contents when putting it out today. Are you OK? x

Shepherd’s pie all gone. New note:

Yeah, don’t worry, I’m actually really good. A purge of ex-related memorabilia was long overdue, and it has also freed up a lot more under-bed space for storing scarves. (In case you were wondering, we’re really not Team Ex any more.) xx

*

Ah, no? Must say I’d become less keen on Ex anyway. Well, more scarf space is certainly welcome. Got my foot caught in one yesterday – it was lying on bedroom floor waiting to snag the unwary. x

*

Oops, sorry, sorry, I know I must stop leaving clothes on the bedroom floor! Also, apologies if this is way too personal but have you bought, like, ENTIRELY new boxers? Suddenly all the old ones with amusing cartoon characters are never on the clothes horses, and the flat has become an homage to Mr Klein whenever you do laundry.

And while we’re on the subject of exes . . . Have you heard anything from Kay? xx

New double Post-it. Very occasionally, I run out of room. Also, thought quite hard about what to say in this one.

Saw her last weekend, at an old friend’s wedding. Was weird. Nice. Chatted as friends, and felt good. Richie was right: relationship had ended long before it ended.

Eh. Yes, did a general clothes overhaul. Realised I hadn’t bought new clothes in approx. five years. Also, became suddenly aware that a woman lives in this flat and sees my laundry.

Seems you’ve been shopping too. I like the blue and white dress on the back of the door. Looks like the sort one of the Famous Five might wear for going on adventures. x

*

Thanks  It feels like the perfect time for an adventure dress. It’s summer, I’m single, the foxes are frolicking across the tarmac, the pigeons are singing from the drainpipes . . . Life. Is. Good. xx

33

   Tiffy

I’m sitting on the balcony crying like a toddler who’s dropped their ice cream. Full on, stuttering, mouth-pulled-wide crying.

The sudden rememberings are striking at entirely random times now, just bobbing up out of nowhere and sending me absolutely reeling. This one was particularly nasty: I was minding my own business heating up some soup, and then BAM, up it popped – the night Justin came around in February, before the Facebook message, and brought Patricia. He’d looked at me with total disgust, barely saying a word to me. Then, when Patricia was out in the hallway, he’d kissed me goodbye on the lips, one hand on the back of my neck. Like I was his. For a moment, as I was remembering it, I felt with absolute horror that I still was.

So. Despite me being technically much happier, this remembering thing keeps happening and ruining it. It is clear that I have some problems to confront here, and my diversionary tactics are no longer serving me. I have to think about this.

Thinking time means I need Mo and Gerty. They arrive together, an hour or so after I text them. As Gerty pours out glasses of white wine, I realise I’m nervous. I don’t want to talk. But then once I start I can’t really stop, and it all comes out in this big garbled mess: the memories, the old stuff from the very start, all of it right through to the flowers he sent me last week.

Eventually I trail off, exhausted. I down the rest of the glass of wine.

‘Let’s not beat around the bush,’ says Gerty, who has literally never beaten around a single bush in her whole life. ‘You’ve got a crazy ex-boyfriend, and he knows where you live.’

My pulse starts to quicken; it feels as if there’s something trapped in my chest.

Mo shoots Gerty the sort of look that usually only Gerty is allowed to give people. ‘I’ll talk,’ he says, ‘and you can be in charge of the wine. OK?’

Gerty looks as if someone’s just slapped her in the face. But then, curiously, she turns her head away from him, and from where I’m sitting I can see she’s smiling.

Weird.

‘I wish I hadn’t said I’d go for a drink with him in October,’ I say, faced with Mo’s listening face. ‘Why did I say that?’

‘I’m not sure you did say that, did you? I think he chose to take it that way,’ Mo says. ‘But you don’t have to see him. You don’t owe him anything.’

‘Do you two remember all of this?’ I ask abruptly. ‘I’m not imagining it?’

Mo pauses for a moment, but Gerty doesn’t miss a beat.

‘Of course we do. I remember every bloody minute of it. He was vile to you. He’d tell you where to be and how to get there, and then he’d walk you there because you wouldn’t be able to find your way on your own. He’d make every argument your fault, and he wouldn’t give up until you were sorry. He’d ditch you and then pick you up again at a moment’s notice. He told you you were overweight and weird and nobody else would want you, even though you are clearly a goddess of a woman and he ought to have felt lucky to have you. It was terrible. We hated him. And if you hadn’t banned me from talking about him, I would have told you that every bloody day.’

‘Oh,’ I say, in a small voice.

‘Is that how it felt to you?’ Mo asks, with the air of a handyman with limited tools trying to patch up the damage done by a bomb going off.

‘I . . . I remember being really happy with him,’ I say. ‘As well as being, you know, really bloody miserable.’

‘He wasn’t horrible to you all the time,’ Gerty begins.

‘He wouldn’t have been able to keep you with him if he was,’ Mo goes on. ‘He knew that. He’s a smart guy, Tiffy. He knew how to . . .’

‘. . . play you,’ Gerty finishes.

Mo winces at her choice of words.

‘But I think we were happy together once.’ I don’t know why this feels important. I don’t like the thought of everyone seeing me in that relationship and thinking I was an idiot for being with someone who treated me that way.