But now, three hours post-police drama, we’re scattered around the living room just like I imagined it. If you squinted, you’d hardly even notice that the evening I’ve been looking forward to for the last year was briefly interrupted by an irate man attempting to break and enter. Tiffy and I have taken the beanbag. Gerty has pride of place on the sofa, leaning up against Mo. Richie is ruling the room from the armchair, which hasn’t quite returned to its usual place since it was used to blockade the door, so now just sits somewhere between the hall and the living room.

Richie: I called it. Just saying.

Gerty: When, though? Because I called it too, but I don’t believe you could have called it right from the—

Richie: From the moment Leon told me he was getting some woman in to sleep in his bed when he wasn’t there.

Gerty: Not possible.

Richie, expansively: Come on! You can’t share a bed and not share anything else, if you know what I’m saying.

Gerty: What about Kay?

Richie waves a hand dismissively.

Richie: Eh. Kay.

Tiffy: Come on now—

Richie: Oh, she was sweet enough, but she was never right for Leon.

Me, to Gerty and Mo: What did you think at the start?

Tiffy: Oh, God, don’t ask them that.

Gerty, promptly: We thought it was a dreadful idea.

Mo: Bear in mind you could have been anyone.

Gerty: You could have been a disgusting pervert, for instance.

Richie roars with laughter and reaches for another beer. He has not had a drink in eleven months. I consider telling him that his tolerance will not be what it once was, and then contemplate how Richie will react to this suggestion (almost certainly drinking more to prove me wrong) and decide not to bother.

Mo: We even tried to give Tiffy money so she wouldn’t do it—

Gerty: Which she said no to, obviously—

Mo: And then it became clear that this was part of getting away from Justin, and we just had to let her do it her own way.

Richie: And you didn’t see it coming? Tiffy and Leon?

Mo: No. To be honest, I didn’t think Tiffy would have been ready for a guy like Leon yet.

Me: What sort of guy is that?

Richie: Fiendishly handsome?

Me: Gangly? Big-eared?

Tiffy, wryly: He means a non-psychotic guy.

Mo: Well, yes. It takes a long time to escape from relationships like that—

Gerty, briskly: No Justin-talk.

Mo: Sorry. I was just trying to say how well Tiffy did. How hard it must have been for her to break out of that before it became a pattern.

Richie and I exchange glances. I think of Mam.

Gerty rolls her eyes.

Gerty: Honestly. Dating a counsellor is dreadful, by the way. This man has no concept of light-heartedness.

Tiffy: And you do?

Gerty pokes Tiffy with one foot in response.

Tiffy, grabbing the foot and pulling: Anyway, this is really what we want to hear about. You never did fill me in properly about you and Mo! How? When? Excluding penis-related details, as discussed.

Richie: Eh?

Me: Just go with it. It’s best to let the in-jokes wash over you. Eventually they start to make some sort of sense.

Tiffy: Just wait until you meet Rachel. Queen of the inappropriate in-joke.

Richie: Sounds like my kind of girl.

Tiffy looks thoughtful at this, and I raise my eyebrows warningly at her. Bad idea to match-make Richie. As much as I love my brother, he does tend to break hearts.

Me: Go on, Mo, Gerty?

Mo, to Gerty: You tell it.

Tiffy: No, no, Gerty’s version will sound like something she’d read out in court – Mo, give us the romantic version of events, please.

Mo gives a sidelong look at Gerty to see how cross that’s made her; thankfully she’s three glasses of wine in, and has just settled for glaring at Tiffy.

Mo: Well, it started when we moved in together.

Gerty: Although Mo was in love with me for ages before that, apparently.

Mo shoots her a mildly irritated look.

Mo: And Gerty has liked me for over a year, she said.

Gerty: In confidence!

Tiffy makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat.

Tiffy: And you’re all loved-up? Sleeping in the same bed and all that?

There is a shifty sort of silence; Mo looks at his feet, uncomfortable. Tiffy smiles up at Gerty, reaching to squeeze her hand.

Richie: Well. Looks like I need to find myself a flatmate, don’t I?

September

   Two years later

Epilogue

   Tiffy

There’s a note on the door of the flat when I get home from work. This isn’t unusual per se, but as a rule Leon and I try to confine our notes to the inside of our home. You know, so as not to advertise our peculiarities to the neighbours.

Warning: imminent romantic gesture.

(Be assured, it is very low-budget.)

I snort with laughter and turn the key in the door. The flat looks the same as ever: cluttered, multi-coloured, and just like home. It’s only when I go to chuck my bag down in the spot by the door that I see the next note on the wall there.

Step one: dress for adventure. Please assemble outfit from wardrobe.

I stare at the note, bemused. This is eccentric even by Leon’s standards. I shrug off my coat and scarf and leave them on the back of the sofa. (It’s a sofa-bed these days, which only just fits in our living room even once we sacrificed the telly, but no place will be home unless there’s a bed for Richie to stay in.)

On the inside of the wardrobe door, the note is folded over and stuck with Sellotape. On the outside, it reads:

Are you wearing something Tiffy-ish yet?

I mean, I am, but it’s a work outfit so there’s more of a nod to normality than usual (i.e. I’ve tried to make sure at least two items are not direct opposites on a colour wheel). I riffle through the wardrobe looking for something suitably ‘adventurous’, whatever that means.

I pause on the blue and white dress I bought a couple of years back. The one Leon calls my Famous Five dress. It’s a little impractical for a cold day, but with my thick grey tights and the yellow mac from Help the Aged . . .

Once dressed, I unstick the note from the wardrobe door and read the message inside.

Hello again. Bet you look beautiful.