The following Saturday, Rosie sat on a stool at Niamh’s vast, marble-topped kitchen island. Brendan had taken the babies for a walk in the park with one of the other neighbourhood dads, and conversation had rapidly turned to Rosie’s living situation.
This was the first time she’d seen Niamh alone since the weekend Aled moved in – and Rosie was determined not to give her any cause to cry I told you so.
‘He’s very neat,’ she informed her best friend over a cup of steaming hot tea. ‘And very considerate. He always cleans the cooker after he’s used it and never fails to replace the toilet roll when it’s run out … All of which is to say, he functions like a responsible adult and meets basic flatmate expectations.’
‘Wow,’ Niamh said, smirking over her own mug. ‘You’re doing a great job of pretending to be underwhelmed.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you can’t fool me. After living with James for so long, cohabiting with a man who’ll wipe his own scrambled egg remnants off the hob must be bliss.’
‘Fine,’ Rosie conceded with a small smile. ‘It is. It’s made me realise how much time I used to spend sorting out messes that weren’t mine. He cleaned the bathroom the other day – properly, with bleach, and without being asked.’
‘I am so jealous,’ Niamh groaned. ‘Seriously – if you carry on I’m going to develop a crush on him. Men who don’t want to be mothered are like gold dust. I’m convinced that if I offered Brendan a grand to locate our mop and bucket, he wouldn’t be able to do it.’
‘Who said anything about a crush?’ Rosie squeaked.
‘You did. Well, your face did anyway. You look all gooey every time he’s mentioned. Also, you’re zooming in on the fact he’s not a total slob to distract from the big picture – which is he’s gorgeous, and it’s clearly affecting you.’
‘Rubbish!’ Rosie protested.
Niamh rolled her eyes, signalling that this pathetic attempt at a rebuttal wasn’t worth a response. ‘You know,’ she said after a minute, arching an eyebrow and looking altogether too pleased with herself, ‘you get this faraway look in your eyes whenever you talk about him. I don’t have my contacts in but I’m ninety-nine per cent sure your pupils re-form into cute little hearts.’
‘Shut uuup,’ Rosie complained. ‘I do not. They do not.’
‘I thought you might melt when you told me about the cat,’ Niamh went on, enjoying herself. ‘So much for ships that pass on the way in and out of the building and no relationship. He’s been in the spare room a month and you’ve already become co-pawrents.’
‘Co-pawrents?’ Rosie said, with a horrified laugh. ‘Wash your mouth out.’
‘I read it in a book,’ Niamh huffed. ‘An excellent love story about two people who share a dog and end up shagging. A tale that feels VERY PERTINENT to this situation.’
‘OK, all right, yes. We’ve become friends,’ Rosie interjected. ‘I said we wouldn’t, and we have. Happy?’
‘Not especially,’ Niamh said. ‘You’re still in denial, and still celibate – which seems an awful waste, what with you fancying him rotten.’
‘For god’s sake,’ Rosie moaned. ‘Did I hit my head and wake up in 2006? Are we back in Year Twelve?’
‘Nope, we’re in a brave new world. One where you are single, free to mingle and – rather conveniently – have an incredibly fit flatmate.’
‘A flatmate who, as mentioned, is my friend,’ Rosie said. ‘And a flatmate you told me was a really bad idea.’
‘That was when I thought him moving in was a ploy to get James back! You remember James? He’s the ex-boyfriend whose very existence has become a distant memory because you’re obsessed with a brooding Welshman.’
‘I am not obsessed,’ Rosie insisted, feeling heat begin to creep up her neck.
‘But you do fancy him,’ Niamh crowed. ‘And frankly, after meeting him properly the other day, I can’t blame you. That voice …’ she sighed. ‘It adds a whole new dimension to the loveliness. It’s so deep. So rich. He could make a killing narrating erotica on Audible.’
Rosie put her tea down on the countertop and buried her head in her hands. She knew it had been a mistake to introduce them at the deli the other night … Not least because he’d visibly steeled himself – swallowed the urge to shrink away and head home, instead sticking around to chat with her as they all shared an after-work drink.
Rosie’s stomach flipped at the memory of how warm and welcoming he’d been. He wasn’t naturally garrulous, but he’d clearly understood that Niamh was someone important – that it mattered to Rosie that they got along. This effortful friendliness had made Rosie feel like she mattered, too.
‘Come on!’ Niamh cried, prising Rosie’s fingers away from her face. ‘Why are you being so glum about this?’
‘Why are you being so jolly about it?’ Rosie demanded, suddenly aware that her temper was starting to fray. ‘You were entirely against me having anything to do with him a few weeks ago. Now you’re all in favour of me swooning like a schoolgirl while we live under the same roof.’
‘All right, I’ll stop,’ Niamh said, her dark eyes wide with concern. ‘I was just messing. But, you know … it’s OK to feel attracted to someone else, if you do. You don’t need to feel bad about it – you’re not being unfaithful to anyone, which is probably more than we can say for James. And given that this living arrangement isn’t going to last very long, a fling might even be fun …?’
‘I thought you said you were going to stop,’ Rosie said, trying hard to smile and realising too late that she was grimacing.
‘Yes,’ Niamh said seriously, ‘I will.’ She mimed zipping her mouth shut, then immediately opened it again to slurp the last of her tea.
Rosie sighed and concentrated on her own drink, her insides writhing with discomfort. She felt rattled. Annoyed. With Niamh, but also with herself.
‘Rose …? What is it?’ Niamh asked, her tone gentle now.
‘It’s just … well. Even if I did have a thing for him – which I absolutely don’t – what would be the point? It’s not as if someone that good-looking would ever be interested in me.’ To her dismay, Rosie felt tears beginning to pool in her eyes.
‘Oh love,’ Niamh said. ‘What are you talking about? You’re amazing. Beautiful. The best person I know.’
‘James literally dumped me for not being fit enough – in any sense of the word,’ Rosie said, trying to stem the urgent flow of liquid from her eyes. ‘He didn’t find me attractive anymore. Just … didn’t like me in the way you’re supposed to like someone you live with. Sleep with.’
Niamh took a deep breath, then exhaled so forcefully that Rosie was almost surprised she wasn’t breathing fire. ‘I hate that man,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘But let’s get one thing straight: he didn’t leave because there is anything wrong with you. He didn’t leave because he didn’t like you, or didn’t fancy you. He fucked off because, deep down, he doesn’t really like himself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that he was dissatisfied with himself, not with you. He bought into all the gym and diet stuff because it promised a fix – and because it made him feel superior, which we both know he enjoys. Think about it: how many times over the years did he make you feel deficient because he had a degree and you didn’t? How much did he love it that he earned more money than you?’
Rosie sniffed. ‘He did run me down sometimes. He’d talk about wasted potential but then list all the reasons why there was no point in me ever trying to go back to uni.’
‘Lording it over you made him feel better,’ Niamh said. ‘I sometimes suspected it, but I never felt like I could say anything because you seemed so happy with him.’
‘I was,’ Rosie mumbled. ‘Or at least I thought I was. It all seemed normal to me.’
‘I’ve no doubt it did,’ Niamh said, her eyes communicating what she wouldn’t say out loud: that Rosie’s own family treated her in a similarly selfish, thoughtless fashion. ‘But listen to me,’ she went on. ‘There is no reason why that flatmate of yours wouldn’t find you irresistible. You are incredible. You’re allowed to want things, and you’re allowed to go after them. You don’t have to hide your light under a bushel because it makes other people more comfortable.’
Rosie took a deep breath and nodded. Not for the first time, she found herself thinking about Rhianne’s bone-deep self-assurance – a fundamental personality trait that came with a shiny, protective carapace she couldn’t help but envy. Now, though, she found herself wondering how hard won the other woman’s boundless self-confidence had been. Had Rhianne faced childhood teasing for being a redhead? For being bigger than other girls? Based on Rosie’s experience, she must have – yet she hadn’t let other people’s small-mindedness convince her to shrink herself.
Rhianne took up space, proudly and unapologetically. It hadn’t occurred to Rosie until now that this might take work – that it required a commitment to loving herself that, while it might occasionally bend, was never broken.
‘Do you know what I think you need?’ Niamh asked, handing Rosie a tissue and pulling a packet of dark-chocolate digestives out of a cupboard.
‘What?’ Rosie asked, wiping her eyes.
‘A biscuit, a shopping trip and a cocktail. Not necessarily in that order. I’m going to phone Brendan and tell him to gird his loins for a full afternoon of solo parenting. You and I are going out.’
‘We are?’
‘Yes. No arguments.’
‘I’m not sure I’m up for a makeover, if that’s what you’re planning,’ Rosie said weakly. She gestured at her jeans, trainers and tunic top. ‘We’re working with questionable raw material here – She Isn’t All That.’
‘This isn’t a makeover,’ Niamh said, ‘it’s an intervention. It’s about getting you to see yourself as worthy, not dressing you up for other people. But I can see I’m going to need reinforcements.’
She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, swiped the screen a few times and then put it to her ear.
‘Who are you calling?’ Rosie asked. ‘Brendan?’
‘No,’ Niamh said, ‘he’ll keep.’
A moment later, she spoke into her phone: ‘Rhianne, it’s Niamh – Rosie’s Niamh. Are you free?’
‘This is going to be fun,’ Rhianne announced as she ushered Rosie and Niamh through a door with ‘Cleo’s Closet’ written directly above it in hot pink. ‘Well worth the effort it took me to browbeat Marcus into pulling an extra shift.’
‘Oh god, did he mind?’ Rosie moaned.
‘No, I think he was secretly grateful,’ Rhianne said. ‘Becky’s on all day, so he’ll get to moon after her for seven hours more than he was expecting this week – and get paid for it.’
‘This place is heaven,’ Niamh said, waving a hand to indicate the shop’s array of brightly populated clothing rails, freestanding mirrors and shelves overflowing with accessories.
‘It’s a favourite,’ Rhianne nodded. ‘Rosie, your mission in here is to find items that make your heart happy. You are not to worry about what will “suit you”, “hide a multitude of sins” or cover your arse.’
Rosie squirmed.
‘I’m serious,’ Rhianne insisted. ‘Find things you like – stuff that brings you joy. This is dopamine dressing. It’s about expressing yourself, flaunting your individuality – not putting on god-awful rags that claim they’ll cover your belly or “balance out” your hips.’
‘A-men,’ Niamh said, turning to Rhianne for a high five.
‘I’m still not clear on why you two have each other’s numbers,’ Rosie grumbled.
‘I never meet anyone interesting without asking for their digits,’ Niamh shrugged. ‘I work on the assumption that they might come in handy. In this case, I thought about the deli potentially catering client events.’
‘I didn’t even know we did that,’ Rosie said.
‘Sometimes,’ Rhianne explained, ‘we do the odd bit of special occasion work. In fact, we have an after-hours party coming up in a few weeks – our first foray into hiring the deli out as a venue. I’ll roster you on if you fancy the overtime.’
‘Sign me up,’ Rosie sighed. ‘I have a feeling you two are going to make sure this afternoon bankrupts me.’
‘We’ll do nothing of the kind,’ Niamh snorted. ‘Anyway, your birthday’s coming up – I’ll get the first exciting item you find.’
‘My birthday was two months ago,’ Rosie protested.
‘Whatever. I’m going to pretend it wasn’t. Just stop stalling and start searching.’
‘Seconded,’ Rhianne said, pointing at a selection of brightly coloured dungarees. ‘Let’s crack on.’
‘You two are a terrifying alliance,’ Rosie said some hours later, as she, Niamh and Rhianne sat surrounded by shopping bags in the corner of a tiny north London cocktail bar.
She sipped her drink – a Bramble – through a shiny metal straw that sat between thick shards of ice. The combination of gin, lemon juice, blackberry and syrup was sharp but sweet. Opposite her, Niamh sipped an espresso martini and Rhianne nursed a negroni.
‘We’re the retail therapy equivalent of NATO,’ Niamh said, crossing her arms. ‘Nobody fucks with us.’ Rosie rolled her eyes fondly but didn’t disagree.
After her first few tentative selections, she’d given herself over to being handed random garments by her two friends, most of which were wildly different from anything in her current wardrobe. When she got over the shock of seeing her own cleavage in low-cut tops, her waist cinched in by colourful shirred dresses and her legs displayed in loud, patterned overalls, she began to enjoy herself.
She had even consented to visiting several cosmetics counters in the Westfield branch of John Lewis. Courtesy of Rhianne, Rosie had walked away with a red lipstick bolder than any she’d ever worn in her life. She’d also purchased an eyeshadow palette, highlighting powder and cream blush so she could recreate the look she was currently sporting at home. Carmel at the Bobbi Brown concession had cooed over her ‘feline’ green eyes, ‘perfect pout’ and ‘flawlessly creamy skin’ as she blended various powders and potions and applied them to Rosie’s face. ‘You remind me of the wee lesbian from Derry Girls,’ she’d said. ‘You know, the lass who’s super glam in real life and best pals with the hairdresser from Queer Eye.’
Rosie sank back against the blue velvet banquette of their booth and felt almost euphoric – elated in a way that her half-drunk beverage alone couldn’t account for. Bossy though they were, her friends had given up their Saturdays to boost her confidence. Their affection for her was palpable, and their sincere regard raised her opinion of herself.
It hit Rosie that years spent feeling unseen and unappreciated, often in ways she hadn’t been consciously aware of, had blinded her to a simple fact. Being around people who loved her made liking, respecting and expressing herself that much easier. It was a truth she intended to hold onto.
‘Thank you for today,’ she said, lifting her glass to clink it against Niamh’s and then Rhianne’s. ‘It’s been … important. More so than I expected.’ While new clothes were only set-dressing for what Rosie knew would be an ongoing self-esteem improvement project, she now saw that saying goodbye to her collection of voluminous ‘don’t look at me’ t-shirts and ‘flattering’ cover-ups was a vital first step.
She fiddled with the hair tie at the nape of her neck, then fanned her mid-length blonde hair around her shoulders. It was a pretty colour but it lacked volume, and it spent most of its life pulled back into a ponytail. Rosie’s mum had sometimes said it was a ‘hair grow’ rather than a haircut, and – for once – she wasn’t wrong.
‘What are my chances of finding a hair salon that’ll take a walk-in?’ she said, to nobody in particular. Niamh and Rhianne exchanged excited glances.
‘Slim,’ Rhianne said, ‘but lucky for you I know a hairdresser who owes me a favour.’
‘Of course you do,’ smiled Niamh.
Two hours – and two glasses of hair salon wine – later, Rosie was the proud owner of a wavy chin-length bob with face-framing bangs. Jules – Rhianne’s own hairdresser and good friend – had convinced her it would look stunning, and supplied ice-cold Sauvignon Blanc for Dutch courage.
‘Our girl’s all grown up!’ Niamh cooed, clutching Rhianne and grinning at Rosie as Jules added shine spray to her new do. ‘You look exquisite.’
Turning her head from side to side in Jules’s Hollywood-style mirror, Rosie noted a lit-from-within glow that had little to do with the ‘pink quartz shimmer brick’ she’d purchased. She felt good about herself.
On the bus back to Walthamstow, Rosie felt her phone buzz from inside her bag.
Aled: You in for dinner?
Rosie smiled and started typing.
Rosie: Yep. On way back now. Do we need anything picked up?
She caught her reflection in the drizzle-spattered window, beyond which the sky was turning a deep, darkening blue. She did look gooey, in just the way Niamh had described this morning in her kitchen.
Rosie thanked god, the universe, or whatever else might be out there that she was heading home alone. That there were no witnesses to her daft expression beyond the sleepy-looking woman across the aisle.
Niamh had caught a cab back to Wanstead, while Rhianne had matched with someone on one of the many dating apps she dabbled in. On a whim, she’d decided to head to Soho for a no-notice date.
Rosie sighed and shook herself, determined to wipe the hazy look from her face. She nearly jumped when her phone vibrated again.
Aled: It’s Saturday night so I say we live a little. How about takeaway curry and a few beers? X
Rosie’s stomach immediately rumbled at the thought of chicken dhansak, Bombay aloo and golden fried parathas. The realisation that she was famished almost masked the involuntary jolt to the heart that accompanied Aled’s casual use of ‘we’ – not to mention the electronic kiss that followed it.
Stop it, she told herself. Put ‘sends nice texts’ on the list.
The problem was, the catalogue of things Rosie liked about her flatmate was rapidly swelling beyond the boundaries she’d set for it. She had no idea how to quantify the way he looked when he was bent over a pile of paperwork, painstakingly searching a student’s essay for ideas he could award marks for. It was impossible to categorise the electric thrill of feeling his hand graze hers as she passed him a frying pan or bowl that she’d washed up, and which he stood ready to dry.
How could she file away the stomach-dropping, breathtaking sensation of simply being near him? The feeling that the air around her was denser and heavier than it should be; the clean, soapy smell that wafted from his t-shirts and made her palms itch to find the bare skin beneath; the simultaneous softening and sense-sharpening that always came with meeting his dark gaze and being brave enough not to look away.
She took a deep breath and messaged him back.
Rosie: Amen to that! Will get the drinks on my way and we can order when I’m home? x
As the bus neared her stop, Rosie remembered what Niamh had said earlier: you’re zooming in to distract yourself from the big picture. Her best friend had no idea how right she was.
A little too late, Rosie was realising that, try as she might, the man she’d found herself sharing a flat with could not be broken down into individual components. The whole was greater than the sum of its parts, and she was losing control of how he made her feel.
Aled replied a moment after she alighted on the pavement.
Perfect 🙂 x
The word seemed to shimmer too brightly from her phone screen, imprinting itself on Rosie’s retinas. She knew she’d still be able to see it with her eyes closed.
Aled wasn’t perfect, she told herself. Nobody was. But increasingly, she suspected he came pretty close.