“Feeling better?” asked Patrick when Tula turned up for work on Sunday evening.
“Yes, thanks.” She patted her stomach and looked brave. “Sorry about yesterday. Won’t be having any prawns again for a while.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” He peered at her face. “Looking a bit pale.”
This was because she’d covered up the slight sunburn with a hefty coat of ivory foundation. But it was nice of Patrick to be asking, even if it probably just meant he didn’t want her keeling over in front of the customers. “Really,” Tula reassured him, touched by the unexpected concern. “I’m fine.”
***
By eleven thirty, she was hot and tired and her legs ached. Between Saturday’s dancing and this evening’s relentless work, it had been a strenuous weekend for her feet.
Once the cleaning up had been done, Patrick beckoned her into the office. Without preamble he announced, “Don’t bother asking for a reference, as a refusal often offends.”
Tula’s heart began to thud. “Sorry?”
“And spare me the wide-eyed orphan look too. It’s game over, okay? You’re out of here.”
He knew. Shit. How did he know? But even as the question was racing through her brain, Patrick was holding up his phone to show her.
And there it was, the evidence: the two photos she’d posted on Facebook last night. Like an idiot.
“Bit of a giveaway,” said Patrick, clearly relishing every second. “Not very clever of you, was it? Boasting about the great time you were having down in Cornwall.”
“But…” Tula felt sick. Her privacy settings were friends only. Patrick was about as far removed from a friend as it was physically possible to be. How could he have seen the private photos she’d posted on her private account, purely to show off to Danny the fact that…
Oh God. Realization flooded through her. What an idiot. The other day at work, Danny’s brother had wanted to see the pictures she’d taken at last weekend’s party, and she’d switched the settings to friends of friends, meaning to change them back again afterward.
Except she hadn’t, had she? It had slipped her mind. Talk about bad timing. And Patrick, already suspicious, had typed in her name and struck lucky.
Bastard.
***
On the way home, Tula made the connection. Putting Patrick’s name into the search box brought up the name of the friend they had in common, a girl who had briefly worked at Bailey’s Bar over Christmas. What she was doing being friends with him on Facebook was anybody’s guess. But there it was, the link that had unwittingly connected them and enabled Patrick to catch her out.
And why did he have a Facebook account anyway? The man was in his fifties, for God’s sake. He was too old.
***
Arriving home twenty minutes later, she found the sofa occupied, a sci-fi movie playing on the TV, and flatmate Coral curled up with her boyfriend, Evan. Twisting around to greet Tula, Coral said, “Hiya, good night?”
“Not so you’d notice.” She may as well come straight out and say it. “I’ve been sacked. Patrick found out where I was yesterday. We were short staffed, so he made me work the whole shift before telling me.” Tula threw herself down in the uncomfortable chair. “So that’s it, no more job. My life just got even crappier. Go me.”
Coral said, “Oh no, what a pain.” Then she looked at Evan and gave him a shall-we-tell-her-now eyebrow raise.
Evan nodded and Coral smiled before turning back to face Tula. “Actually, we’ve got some news too. I checked with the landlord today and asked if it was all right, and he said it’s fine by him if Evan wants to live here too. So he’s moving in next week!”
Tula froze. Oh God, hadn’t she been punished enough for one night? Not this, not now, not Evan.
“And it’ll help you out too,” Evan chimed in with enthusiasm, “because your share of the rent will come down. So that’s good, isn’t it?” His moon face grew moonier. “Can’t say I don’t have my uses!”
What could she do? What could she say? The two of them had been so certain she’d be happy about this thrilling newsflash, it hadn’t even occurred to them to ask first. And the awful thing was the fact that the prospect filled her with horror was all her own fault.
Because Coral was wonderful, the best flatmate anyone could ask for. And Evan was lovely too, a genuinely nice person. He was kind and clever, thoughtful and sweet-natured, and not afraid of a bit of washing up. He was even happy to carry perilously overfilled trash bags down the narrow, rickety stairs. In so many ways he was everything you could possibly want in a flatmate.
If only he didn’t have some of the most annoying habits known to man. For some reason they didn’t bother Coral at all, but these irritating traits drove Tula to distraction. When he ate, he made the kind of sloshing, chomping noises a pig might make. When he wasn’t eating, he repeatedly cleared his throat and sniffed. He also breathed really noisily. All the time. And finally, he had a habit of chewing the skin around his fingernails and making tiny wet sucky-bitey noises that meant Tula spent every minute in his company wanting to scream at him to STOP IT, STOP IT, JUST BLOODY STOP IT.
And failing that, to drive a sharpened stake through his heart.
She’d tried discreetly raising the matter in the early days when Coral had first started seeing Evan, but Coral had been genuinely mystified by the idea that anything like that could bother anyone, or indeed be annoying in any way.
And the thing was, Evan was just so nice. Concluding that her hypersensitivity and low irritation thresholds were her own problem, Tula had gritted her teeth and forced herself to tolerate the various tics and noises, for all their sakes.
But that had been only just about bearable when he was at the flat every now and again. Having him here full time would be more than she could stand.
Snort…breathe…cough…chomp…slosh…
“Isn’t it great news?” Coral was lovingly stroking Evan’s arm.
“Yes…great,” Tula said faintly, her skin already crawling at the thought.
Help.