The Flatshare

by Beth O'Leary

She was a real rebel once. She refuses to wear a bra even to this day, when bras have become quite comfortable and women have mostly given up on fighting the power because Beyoncé is doing it for us.

Two a.m. is terrible time for dwelling on legal issues. Worst of all the times. If midnight is witching hour, two a.m. is dwelling hour.

It’s weird how easily you can get to know someone from the traces they leave behind when they go.

BAD THINGS REALLY DID HAPPEN. (Mo asked me to remind you.) But you got through said bad things, and now you are stronger for it. (Gerty told me to pass on … though her version had more swearwords.) You’re lovely, and I will never hurt you how he hurt you. (That part was me.) Leon xx

Think of the months of notes and leftover dinners, the never knowing her. Feels so different now I’ve met her. Can’t believe I wasted all that time—not just those months, but the time before that, the years of dawdling, settling, waiting.

Remind myself that there is no saving of people—people can only save themselves. The best you can do is help when they’re ready.

“You smell like home,” I tell him after a moment. “You are home,” he says simply. “The bed, the flat…” He pauses, the way he always does when he’s looking for enough words for something big. “It was never home until you were there, Tiffy.”