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Ollie winced. ‘Really?’
‘Isn’t that what fake boyfriends do? Or should I buy myself a gigolo?’ Tig snapped.
‘And now I’m getting the reason for the kick-boxing,’ Ollie said to himself. ‘Okay. I think it’s a bad idea. But okay. It’s two days before I leave. If you still want to go in November, I’ll take you.’
Tig pouted. ‘Shake on it.’
‘You think I’m a liar?’
‘I think we should have a contract written up and a lawyer present, but to be honest all I’m thinking about now is cheese on toast.’ Tig whined a little at the thought of it. Bed and food, and none of this craziness.
Ollie reached across the table to her, and held her hand in his. ‘I promise to show you the dating world, I promise never to sleep with you, and I promise to take you to your ex’s wedding even though it’s the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.’ They shook, but Ollie kept hold of her. ‘Now you.’
‘I promise to pretend to be your girlfriend to keep your crazy neighbour away and I promise not to hit her … well, I can’t say that, I haven’t met her yet, but I shall try to keep all drama to a minimum.’ They shook again.
‘Okay,’ Ollie said. ‘All official, pookie.’
Tig groaned. ‘Should have put that in the bloody contract.’
‘Also, there’s an escape clause. You change your mind at any time, that’s cool.’
‘And if you change your mind …?’ Tig panicked.
‘I will still take you to the wedding. I mean, I’m going to try to persuade you it’s the worst idea ever, but if you still want to go by the time it comes around, I’ll take you.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll walk you out.’
It made sense, she thought. This was a good idea. She reached for her phone and called a cab, sure it would probably be Sergei, who had often taken her home after a few too many in Kings Cross. Comforting, routine. Even in the city, she could rely on things staying the same. She looked at Ollie, blond hair gleaming in the lamplight, looking strong and impossibly gorgeous. They leaned against the railings, waiting for her cab.
‘So, what’s the deal with the neighbour? Couldn’t tell a pretty girl no? You had to create an elaborate scheme?’
‘You haven’t met her.’ He held up his hands. ‘She’s been waiting for me to get home every night. I’ve only been there four days! She’s nuts! She baked me a cake with her hair in!’
Tig frowned. ‘It happens … wait, are you trying to say she purposefully moulted in your pudding? Because you sound a little paranoid.’
Ollie raised his eyebrows and grinned. ‘You’ll see! I don’t usually accost young women on my first night of a new job because I’m scared of my twenty-two-year-old neighbour!’
‘Twenty-two!’
‘I’m glad you agreed, because I told her I was seeing someone.’
‘What exactly did you say?’ Tig asked, worried she’d have to adopt a false identity and pretend to be a doctor. Actually, that sounded like a lot of fun, being someone else for a few months.
‘I said my girlfriend’s really hot and her name’s Tigerlily. It was really lucky I met you tonight.’ Ollie winked and she pinched his arm.
A car horn beeped and Tig saw a hand waving out of a black cab across the road. Sure enough, Sergei stuck his head out. ‘Bit early tonight, Lily, you’re getting old!’
‘And boring!’ she waved back.
‘Party girl, are we?’ Ollie grinned.
‘You have much to discover,’ she smiled back. ‘Well, I’m going to get going, it was nice …’
‘… entering a completely inappropriate verbal contract with you,’ he finished.
She put out a hand to shake, and instead he moved in close to drop a kiss on her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Tigerlily.’
‘Um, fake boyfriend … perhaps you would like my actual phone number? So we could schedule those fake dates you were talking about?’ Tig laughed as he looked a little embarrassed and put her number in his phone. Think you’re so smooth, you’re not, she thought solidly, walking over to the cab, and waving back at him when she got in. She knew, suddenly, she was going to wake up and have dreamed all this. Or she’d go back to Entangled tomorrow and there would be a barman called Ollie, but instead of looking like a blond Adonis, he’d be a weedy seventeen-year-old with acne. No doubt.
‘Who’s that?’ Sergei asked as they started their usual journey.
‘My boyfriend, apparently.’ Tig grinned, and wondered what the hell she’d got herself into.
Chapter Two
When Tigerlily awoke that morning, she was sure that the evening before had just been another drink-fuelled hallucination. She’d had enough of those. But as she brushed her teeth and listened to the usual sound of Ame – ‘Sod sodding arsehole!’ – as she rushed out of the door, already late for work, she realised that her hallucinations were not usually about anything other than destroying Darren. Or occasionally tequila-induced nightmares about her boobs getting bigger and bigger until she suffocated, while he stood over her telling her that, actually, he loved her again.
Tig shook her head, and decided to just get on with her day. She didn’t have to go to Entangled today anyway, so why not forget the whole debacle? Sure, in her head she’d entered a mutually beneficial arrangement with a seemingly nice and definitely gorgeous barman. But in reality, by the state of her headache this morning, for all she knew she could have drunkenly mumbled something and then drooled on him. Who knew?
She walked back into her bedroom, previously Ame’s guest room, all smooth lines and neutral decor, filled to the brim with her tacky, multicoloured belongings. A small portion of her photography equipment, metaphorically gathering dust in the corner, sat piled neatly. Her clothes were mostly in piles on the floor, and a box of art supplies stopped the door from opening too far. She’d at least put her own bedsheets on – or rather, after standing frustrated and being given the option of Ame’s expensive guest sheets or the ones she’d taken from her flat in a rage, only to realise she didn’t want to have the same sheets she’d shared with Darren, Dana had dragged her out to the shops. It was a bit of an existential crisis, one that she didn’t want to deal with. Which was why everything she owned, after years of wearing slimming black, seemed to be tie-dye. She was turning into her parents, but hey, at least they were happy. Kind of dopey hippie types, but happy, in a lasting relationship, with a home and all that stuff.
She went to her bedside table and looked at the invitation again. So classy, so royal, all that fancy calligraphy and expensive paper. She wondered if Darren was actually putting any of his own money towards this wedding. Whether this girl had a ring picked out from a jeweller’s and a proper proposal; whether he’d done all that stuff because he actually wanted to, because he loved her in that proper way. Tig honestly didn’t know why Darren had even proposed in the first place. She’d never been bothered about marriage. Her parents still weren’t married and they’d been together almost thirty years now. He was the one who wanted it, and when she’d agreed, she’d somehow become the fool. Not fair at all.
She placed the invitation in the drawer, underneath a bunch of papers, and tried to ignore the RSVP note. She absolutely should not go to that wedding. But if Ollie wasn’t a figment of her imagination, but actually a real, absolutely gorgeous guy with the sort of hair Darren dyed for, and muscles that he’d never burn his beer belly off for, well … didn’t she sort of owe it to him to turn up? Just to show she had no hard feelings? Or that other men did – for her?
Tig shook her head, irritated at herself for caring, and got herself ready for the gym. A few hours beating the crap out of a punching bag would solve the problem to everyone’s satisfaction. She cycled back a couple of hours later, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Tig rested her bike in the hallway, safe in the knowledge that Ame wouldn’t be home for hours, and would never know, and jumped into the shower.
When she got out, she dried herself, dropped the towel, and looked at herself in the mirror. It never seemed to get any easier, even though these days she was kind to herself. She turned this way and that, checking the curves and lines of herself. She liked to see where the exercises she’d done that morning changed her. She was creating herself, carving herself out of stone. She was kind to herself now, no pinching or pulling. Her body was better than that. And so was she. She swallowed and nodded at herself.
She’d never really hated herself when she was bigger. Sure, there were days when she’d cry after trying on clothes, or tried to smooth down the bumps when she bought a new dress, but she’d never hated herself. Never tried fad diets. She’d always liked herself too much for that. She was just Tig. She was a little chubby, and had a kind round face, and people liked her because she was nice. Darren used to pat her on the bum and say she was perfect. And her other mates used to get asked out as she sat on the sidelines, but that was fine because she had Darren. And those boys usually ended up being her mates anyway.
Now … people seemed to look at her more. The comments about how she had such a pretty face seemed to have been replaced with judgements on why she wanted to lift heavy things, did she want to look like a man, did she want to be a body builder? Why did everyone have to have an opinion on her body? It had taken so many years to find a way to change herself without admitting that meant she was less. That you could like who you were and still want to change.
She knew she was lighter, she felt lighter. She could run without pounding. Some days she worried that, as her face thinned out, she became more pointed, more drawn. But she hadn’t worried about that until Darren left. She’d liked how her body became streamlined, like an expensive car, revealing curves and smooth lines. She fluffed up her hair, and it framed her. She was too pale, and her red hair seemed to have dulled a little over the last few months. She looked herself straight in the eyes, and nodded. ‘You are doing fine,’ she said firmly. ‘You are enough.’ The same words she’d said every day since he left. She looked down to her boobs, still hefty enough, and her face shifted into an expression of pity. ‘You are, really,’ she told them, and pulled on her robe.
Tig’s process had been the same, every day. She was aware that her body had changed, and in her opinion for the better, and yet she didn’t really feel like herself anymore. She was the same outgoing, cheery girl she’d been at size sixteen (or at least until Darren went), but people seemed to respond to her differently. Men who’d joke and drink with her now made inane conversation, alternately uptight and flirtatious, playing some sort of game that she didn’t know the rules to. When she chatted with them, women thought she was competition. There was a whole world of different signals and rules that no one had ever told her about. She missed her extra weight sometimes, that shield that kept her safe, kept her away from those men that didn’t listen and the women who didn’t care.
The thought that if she’d stayed the same Darren wouldn’t have left crept in every now and then, but she pushed it back in the box, sure that her health and confidence were more important … but still. It hurt. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, and even the comments that she looked so much better now still felt like insults. It was her body, bigger or smaller, stronger or weaker, and she loved it. She was just still trying to figure out how to live in it.
She leaned closer, pulled at the dark circles under her eyes, prodded her cheeks to move some life into them. She looked washed out. She really had to relax more. She must have looked a state last night. How could Ollie have possibly … well, he wasn’t asking her out because he fancied her, he was doing it out of pity. And because he needed something. Tig appreciated that; it was safe. Here are his motives, here’s what I get out of it, it’s all clear-cut, she nodded, ignoring the dull thud in her stomach that told her she was excited.
Her phone beeped from the bedroom, and she felt her heart race a little, but dulled it down. Probably work, shut up, Tig growled at herself.
‘No chickening out now, girlfriend. Ollie (The Barman) x’
Oh, damn.
*****
Tig went about her day as usual. After the gym she cycled over to Hampstead, to The Cottage. Every time she rang on that doorbell, she felt like a failure. Perhaps because The Cottage was clearly not a cottage, but a four-million-pound mansion opposite Hampstead Heath, but mostly because this was not what she was meant to be doing with her life.
‘Lily! Come on in!’ Mariella, the housekeeper, always treated her like a friend, probably because they were both staff. Maybe this wasn’t what Mariella was meant to be doing with her life, either. ‘The kids are in the den.’
The ‘den’ being equal to the size of her and Ame’s house. She didn’t know when she’d become so bitter. Sure, the money she’d been making doing photography was good, but it wasn’t going to make her a millionaire. This house and this lifestyle had always been out of her reach, and she didn’t want it. So why was she angry?
Petunia and Theo sat quietly at the table in the middle of the room, smiling widely when they saw her. Okay, so that part was nice. They were good kids, it was easy work, and she enjoyed it. It was just that she felt like a fraud, somehow. She really needed to pick her camera up again, just to start it off. Ease into it gently. She thought about Ollie, about easing into this new part of her life gently. That was what he’d promised her, right? She shook him from her mind, his image becoming fuzzy – all she held on to were those green eyes winking at her.
‘All right, dear ones,’ she announced, plonking down her bicycle bag, ‘today, we’re going to get messy.’ Tig grinned, holding up an image of Jackson Pollock to show them. Their mum wanted them to be the next great artists at five and seven, so here she was, educating. Not quite what the art degree had been meant for, but among Petunia and Theo’s friends, who were meant to be the next Dali, Picasso and Monet, Tig was making a nice wage from the Future Hampstead Artists. Besides, maybe she wanted to fingerpaint, too.
A couple of hours later, with paint in her hair, but a smile on her face, and significantly more cash in her purse, she checked her phone as she got on her bike. Most days she’d go to Entangled, but she couldn’t, now, could she? He’d messed everything up. She couldn’t go until he called her. Or until he didn’t call her, for long enough that it became obvious that he wasn’t going to call her, and then she could go in there and purposefully ignore him. Besides, he was only here until November … she could always find another coffee shop for a few months. Tig frowned. She was not a fan of change.
Had it always been like this? Worrying about who called whom, and what it meant, and who said what, and when? Was that how people connected now? Tig felt old, and tired. She tried to remember if she’d ever felt that with Darren, but it had been easy then. Her friend told his friend, and they kissed at the school dance, and then after that they held hands, until eventually it was snogging behind the bike sheds and being the first ones to ‘do it’. It had just felt such a natural transition. If they wanted to communicate, they had to call the home phones and she had to speak to his mum about how glad she was he’d found a nice girl, and he had to hear her dad trying to connect with him through music. Which never worked, because her dad loved Bob Dylan, and Darren liked things with names like Squeakstep and Psybeats. But that made it love.
Had there been this panic? This worry about what it meant? Or had it been clear, as so many things were when you were a kid? He’s holding my hand and kissing my neck and putting his hand down my top, and he calls me his girlfriend. Obviously he likes me. He asks me to be his fake girlfriend because I’m depressed and he’s got a stalker – not so clear.
Her phone rang. Ame.
‘Hey, you wanna get dinner tonight?’ Ame sounded too perky.
‘Is Clint in the room?’
‘Uhuh! Oh, baby, you say the sweetest things!’
‘Did I tell you this is pathetic, baby, because it is! Stop pretending to date someone and just date someone.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’ Ame cooed, as if Tig had just said something depraved, but slightly alluring.
‘I am really tired of this. Do you want me to get dim sum on the way home?’ Tig asked pointedly.
‘Yeah! I’ll meet you at mine tonight. Can’t wait to see you!’ Ame hung up and Tig just stared at her phone.
‘I’m surrounded by insane people!’ she exclaimed as she put her phone in her bag and got on her bike, ‘and it’s making me talk to myself!’
On a bad day, Tig would go to the studio. It was a small space her parents had bought her as a graduation present, part of a converted factory owned by a friend of theirs, in a back street of Kentish Town. It was hers to ‘build her creative life’, according to her parents, and, to be honest, it was the only place that was hers. When Darren dumped her, and she left the flat, she’d slept at the studio on the sofa for days, too embarrassed to tell anyone. Ame and Dana had been sweet, if unsurprised, and Ame asked as a favour if Tig would stay with her for a bit, as living in the house by herself was freaking her out. Even then, Ame had been Ame. Now, it was like they were all these drones, walking around making moaning noises. Zombies, they were zombies. Out for blood and moaning about it.
Anyway, since the photography business fell through, the studio had ceased to be a haven anymore. It was more of a tomb, where all her hopes, dreams and previous talent resided, and was painful to visit. But each time she went, she handled the equipment, looked through a few more portfolios. And each time she left the studio, she missed it a little more. Some days it was the only place to get away from Ame and the flat and the realisation that things weren’t going to go back to how they were.
She didn’t want to do that now. Instead she rode up to Hampstead Heath and skidded down the slopes, untying her hair so it billowed out behind her, fiery and flamed, like a warning to all who saw her. The sun shone down on the lake, and as she curved around paths she realised that there was so much to be happy about. She jumped off, pulling a pashmina out of her bag, bunching it up into a pillow, and putting it beneath her head as she got comfy on the grass, pulling down her shades and closing her eyes. North London was home, and there was comfort in that. Her parents had been kind, her sister had been amazing, and her friends were trying their best to deal with their shit. Even if that meant Ame making lewd phone calls to her in the middle of the day, and Dana considering an implant that allowed her to make phone calls when her battery died.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket – Ollie.
‘Hello?’
‘Well, hello there, girlfriend of mine,’ he drawled. ‘How’s it going?’
‘The sun’s shining and I’m in the park – can’t get much better,’ she smiled. ‘So about last night …’
‘I told you, no chickening out. And it’s fine about the kissing thing, really, we’re both adults –’
‘Kissing?’ she squeaked.
She heard him laugh down the phone.
‘Just checking I didn’t make a binding agreement with a half-cut person.’
She grinned, eyes closed. ‘Well, you did, but who am I to judge? How’s your crazy neighbour? Come by bearing any more hairy muffins?’
‘You’re disgusting.’ His chuckle was deep and delicious. ‘She appeared thirty seconds after I got in the door with ice cream and a DVD she thought we could watch together.’
‘Was she wearing itsy-bitsy pyjamas?’ Tig teased.
‘More like a dress worn for nightclubbing and six-inch heels.’
‘Oh, boy, you’re in trouble.’
‘Well, good thing I got me a girlfriend who can kick-box the shit out of a bitch, if I remember your words correctly.’
Tig winced and felt her cheeks redden. ‘Um … well, I can!’
‘I have no doubt.’ Ollie paused. ‘So are you stopping by Entangled today? I thought I could use my free tea privileges. If you drink tea …’
‘Maybe something a boyfriend should know.’ Tig grinned, and shook her head at herself. Why was this so easy? Chatting on the phone to a random man she’d talked rubbish at last night while drunk should have been more difficult, shouldn’t it?
‘Hey, I got a whole history of heartbreak. Apologies for not knowing your beverage choices. Beyond red wine and shots.’
‘And margaritas! Don’t forget the margaritas!’ Tig laughed. ‘I certainly haven’t.’
‘I will learn all your favourite things as part of my boyfriendly duties – so, Entangled today?’
‘I don’t know … hadn’t thought about it,’ she lied.
‘Come on. Ruby told me this is where you do most of your work, and I had this terrible feeling, like I might have stolen your work space from you by hitting on you.’
‘Huh. Really?’
‘Yeah. Look, come down, do your normal thing, and then maybe we could go for a drink, or dinner?’
‘You don’t waste time, do you?’ Tig said, a sense of panic rising from her stomach to her chest. Dinner. What did people do at dinner? Don’t order garlic, and dress nicely, and when was the last time she’d ironed anything, or had worn something that wasn’t yoga pants or tie-dye?
‘Only got four months, gotta move fast. What do you say?’
Tig gulped, feeling like she was agreeing to a dentist appointment. ‘Okay.’
‘You sure, Miss Tigerlily? You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.’
‘Well, I’m terrified, so I can only imagine that’s a good thing,’ Tig said frankly. ‘I’ll be there in a couple of hours, a few things to do first.’
‘Don’t be terrified, it’ll be great! Plus, you can feel safe with me. I’m not going to jump you or anything, remember? A promise is a promise.’
Great, Tig thought, because how awful would that be, a boyfriend who wanted to jump me?
‘Plus, messing with a kick-boxer, probably not a good idea,’ Ollie laughed, then trailed off as he heard her hesitance. ‘Honestly, Tig, I don’t want to force you into anything. And think of this as a pre-date, a mini date, if you will. We’ll do the proper pick-you-up, take-you-out thing, too, but I thought …’
‘It sounds great, Ollie, really.’ Tig felt exhausted. ‘I’ll see you at Entangled in a bit.’
They said their goodbyes, and Tig tried to recapture the calm she’d felt just moments before, but it was gone. All she could think about was what she’d wear, and how he’d think she was boring, and the pain of an awkward silence. Although she guessed Ollie had never had an awkward silence in his life.
She called Ame. ‘I have to cancel on dim sum tonight. Although your fake stud muffin could always pick it up for you.’
‘Aw, man, I was totally craving pork shumai. What’s more important than food?’
Tig screwed up her eyes. ‘Um, I’m going on a fake date. With Ollie. The barman. At Entangled.’
There was silence, and then a small hiccup. ‘I’m not sure how to respond to this,’ Ame said. ‘What exactly is a fake date?’
Tig tried to explain as simply as possible in a way that didn’t seem mental. ‘We’re going to hang out, in a platonic way. He’s been through the same situation I’ve been through, and he’s going to show me how to date.’
‘Riiight …’
‘But it’s not real,’ Tig said resolutely, ‘it’s fake.’
‘So you don’t really eat food?’
‘No, we just … you know, we’re not actually attracted to each other.’
‘There is no way anyone with eyes could not be attracted to that man.’
‘Well, I’m not!’ Liar, Tig thought.
‘Liar,’ said Ame. ‘So … what is the point of all of this?’
Tig sighed. ‘I don’t know. It’s just time, isn’t it? I don’t know how to do any of this. I haven’t ever been on a first date! I just fell into a relationship, and now I don’t know how to be an adult.’