The Last Word (25 page)

Rhi trundled in, less than pleased at having tea spilled on her and then being beckoned, but it was the first time in days Tabby had been anything other than depressed, so she acquiesced.

‘What?’

‘“Listen: An article by The Type’s own writer, Tabitha Riley, went viral yesterday. Riley’s work, loved by twenty-somethings for its biting humour and ranting style, was adapted yesterday, as she revealed her love for a co-worker. In the article she called herself a ‘mad bitch’ and declared that she was unable to express her feelings sincerely in person. The overwhelming response to this lead to the creation of the website crazyloveletters.com, where hundreds of people have written their own versions of Riley’s article, declaring their love for co-workers, friends, or even existing partners. It appears Riley’s fear of expressing herself is yet another quirk that makes her universally understood by her readers, and more loved than ever.”’

Tabby turned to Rhi, tears in her eyes. ‘People love me?’

‘Well, duh.’ Rhi sat next to her on the sofa, and stroked her hair. ‘We knew that.’

‘But strangers love me, my readers, for being honest.’

Her heart felt like it was expanding, and she spent the next three hours with Rhi, reading every single love letter there was, celebrating in the responses, commiserating with those who knew it was hopeless. But it was out there, in the world. And that was the point.

‘I’m going to stay at The Type. I’m good there. This is a brilliant job. And the rest of it, I’ll work it out. Maybe that was the point of all of this,’ Tabby said firmly to Rhi before they headed upstairs.

‘I think that’s very wise, Tabby Cat. Now go to bed,’ Rhi said sternly.

‘I’m so glad you’re a bossy cow.’ Tabby kissed her cheek, and crawled into her bed, smiling.

It was about three in the morning when Tabby was woken by her phone flashing. There was a text from Harry: I’ll see you tomorrow.

No kisses, no question mark. In control. Absolutely no way of telling what he was feeling, what he was going to say. Would he be in the meeting? Would he be fighting for her to stay or go? Had he forgiven her or was he acting as an outraged editor? Tabby gave up worrying, and went to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tabby was not wearing a power outfit. She did not feel cute or smart or anything else vaguely worthy of a meeting with David and Harry. But she didn’t care. Mainly because, even if she didn’t feel worthy, she knew that she was. So, reapplying her lipstick, and squaring her shoulders, she walked into David Crane’s office.

‘Tabitha,’ he smiled warmly. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

Tabby looked around: Harry was nowhere to be seen. His office door across the hall was closed. Her wandering gaze did not go unnoticed. ‘Harry couldn’t be here. But I’d like to officially offer you a contract with us and an up in salary. A bonus based on the amount of revenue bought in by the founded website, and your own desk here, if you’d like one.’

‘But I’m a freelancer,’ Tabby protested.

‘That’s it, you won’t be any more. Obviously, you’re welcome to write other articles, as long as they don’t cross over with the work you do for us, but that’s the point. You’d be here, part of our family. One of the team. It is rather a long-term commitment.’ David shrugged.

‘Can I talk to Harry about it first?’ Tabby asked warily.

‘Harry has specifically said he didn’t want to be a part of this decision. It’s completely up to you. He doesn’t want you to base this on him at all. It should be a decision concerning your career, Tabitha. A career you’ve clung to and worked very, very hard for. This is the pay-off, and I sincerely hope you take it.’

Tabby sat, stunned. Wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? What she’d decided on? She’d proven herself in a competitive arena. She was good at what she did and she got there on her own. She had earned this.

But could she really deal with seeing Harry every day? Was she strong and independent or weak and needy? Maybe she was neither or all of those things. Maybe none of it mattered, because you shouldn’t spend all your time worrying about how your actions define you and just do what you bloody well want. Maybe that was the key.

‘I’m in.’ Tabby grinned.

‘Oh, I really am so pleased.’ David smiled, clasping her hand, and she honestly believed him. ‘And now that’s out of the way, Harry says you should meet him in “your” place. I’m sure you know what he means.’

Tabby smiled and took a deep breath. ‘I think I do.’

With that, she raced from the room, down the hall to the lift, tapped her foot impatiently, pinched her cheeks so she at least looked marginally alive, and ran to The Black Cat. It was only outside the door that she paused, unsure of how she should act, how he would be.

Tabby tried not to tremble as she entered the pub. Tried not to walk too fast to their normal corner, or stand shaking in the doorway. She tried not to build it up into this big life-changing thing if he was there, or dismiss it if he wasn’t. In short, she tried not to be herself.

He was sitting in their corner, nursing a bottle of beer. A glass of red wine sat waiting opposite him. She tried to slow her breathing. The wine could be for Jenna. She might just be in the bathroom.

Harry looked up and he smiled, and in that moment Tabby knew Jenna wasn’t there. Harry nodded his head, as if to say, ‘Get over here.’

‘So look, I know I probably embarrassed you, and I’m really sorry and I’m not the sanest of people at the best of times, but it was – ’

‘Tabby. Shut up! I love you.’

She slumped back in the chair, and took a healthy glug of wine.

‘You love me?’ she squeaked. Harry was looking her with look number six: amused that he’d made her speechless. ‘But I worry and get needy and insecure and piss you off to make myself feel something, and always say the wrong thing…’

‘And I’m a charming, emptily affectionate, womanising boy whore. According to certain journalists.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But if you can love someone like me, I can love someone like you.’

‘Oi!’ Tabby pinched his hand.

‘And I really don’t have much of a choice in the matter.’ Harry grinned, and she felt her heartbeat quicken, and started scanning his face to remember all the things she’d missed: the sparkling eyes, the cheeky grin, the strong cheekbones, and those glasses sitting on the table.

‘But I’m warning you, every time we get into an argument, we’re going to have it out in real time before we resort to writing notes. And I’m going to start demanding face-to-face apologies.’

‘I tried! You wouldn’t let me!’

‘Well, you can start demanding that I pay attention. That’s a girlfriend-type thing, right.’

Tabby grinned to herself, and wrinkled her nose. ‘You want me to be your girlfriend, Harry?’

‘Yes. I want to watch movies, and go on dates, and be ridiculously, excitingly monogamous with you. What do you say?’ Harry had the look that suggested he knew he’d won a bet. She loved that look. She loved all of them. But she paused, and that little inner bitch started sowing the seeds of doubt.

‘What…what if you suddenly miss sleeping around, and go back to your boy whore ways?’ she asked quietly, and sighed as he seemed to seriously consider it.

‘Hmm.’ He twitched his mouth in thought. ‘You wanna marry me?’

‘What? No! I’ve known you three months!’

‘OK, Miss Spontaneity. My point is, I’m so sure I want you, only you, for ever and ever, amen, that I would be willing to marry you right now. That counts for something, right?’

‘Yes,’ Tabby exhaled, ‘yes it does. But I don’t even know if I believe in marriage.’

‘No, I remember that article. You believe in small parties and honking great pieces of jewellery. I’ll bear it in mind. Plus, you’re just saying that because of your mother’s monster wedding.’

‘You know, it wasn’t so bad. I have some pretty good memories.’ Tabby reached across the table to stroke his cheek.

‘We could go make some more memories right now, if that’s not too spontaneous for you?’

‘Hey, Harry?’ Tabby leaned forward. ‘Shut up. I love you.’

‘Good,’ he said, and kissed her.

Epilogue

One year later…

Chandra looked beautiful, and more than that, she looked happy. She shone with happiness and complete serenity. Her red sari twinkled in the light, and Danny stood there, looking at her with wonder, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Tabby took a moment to kick herself for doubting this. She looked up at Harry, smiling by her side, his arm around her waist, and kicked herself for a lot of things. He looked down at her and winked.

Tabby reached out to her other side and squeezed Rhi’s hand. Rhi – ice queen, strong woman – was tearing up, watching their friend get married. Chandra’s parents were happy, Chandra was happy, everyone seemed to be high on the wedding vibes. Because everyone knew it was right.

It went on for hours, though. Tabby adjusted her sari, her bracelets jangling as she tried to disentangle her earring from her hair. Some things, she noted, never changed. Regardless of the excellent job, disarming boyfriend and joyful friends, Tabby was always going to be a bit of a mess.

‘Hot mess,’ Harry would whisper in her ear and kiss her cheek every time she looked frazzled at her own incompetence. It was almost worth it. He reached an arm around her neck, and disentangled the earring with ease.

When they somehow squeezed into Harry’s sporty car to head to the reception, Rhi and her new girlfriend Simone in the backseat, they discussed what kind of party it was going to shape up to be.

‘Do you think we need to limit our drinking? Is Chandra’s mum going to be watching?’ Simone asked seriously, ruffling her short blonde hair. Rhi looked at her with such complete affection, and nudged her.

‘Like that makes a difference to you, lightweight.’

‘Hey, you’ve never seen me at my best!’

Rhi grinned. ‘I assure you, babe, I have.’

They curled in on each other, all whispers and sunlight, their own private world. Tabby propped her feet up on the dashboard and leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder. ‘Do you miss being like that?’

He patted her thigh, and put his sunglasses on. ‘Aw, Tabs, are you getting nostalgic for fighting and flirting? I’m all too happy to go back to that if you want.’

‘Nah.’ She shuffled in her chair. ‘I quite like you finally letting me have the last word.’

Harry stuck his tongue out, and she twined her fingers in with his. She was happy, really happy. And for the first time, she wasn’t sitting around waiting for it to end. Tabitha Riley, outstanding reporter, Girl Friday and hot mess, got exactly what she wanted. Sometimes, it just happened that way.

Loved
The Last Word
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Then turn the page for an exclusive extract from another fantastic novel,

The Vintage Summer Wedding

by Jenny Oliver

Chapter One

They arrived in the dark in a heatwave. As Anna stepped out of the car, all she could smell was roses. An omen of thick, heavy scent. She remembered being knocked off-kilter by a huge vase of them at the Opera House once – big, luxurious, peach cabbage roses – and shaking her head at her assistant, trying to hide her agitation by saying scathingly,
‘Terrible flower. So clichéd. Swap them for stargazers or, if you must, hydrangeas.’

‘Wondered whether you two would ever turn up.’ Jeff Mallory, the landlord of the new property, a man with a moustache and a belly that sagged over his dark-green cords, heaved himself out of the cab of a white van.

‘Sorry, mate.’ Seb strode forward, arm outstretched for a vigorous handshake. ‘We would have been here earlier but—’

He left the reason hanging in the air. They both knew it was Anna’s fault. Stalling the packing at every conceivable opportunity. Dithering over how clothes had been folded and obsessively wrapping everything in tissue paper, then bubble-wrap until tea-cups were the size of footballs.

‘Not a problem.’ Jeff shook his head. ‘Just been reading the paper, nice to have a bit of time to myself if I’m honest. Nice little cottage this ‒ you’ll love it, just right for a young couple.’

Anna turned her head slowly from the view of the field opposite, the pungent smell of cowpats and hay and something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on that had mingled with the sweet roses and was drawing her back in time like a whiff of an old perfume. She let her eyes trail up from the white front gate, the wild over-grown garden, the twee little porch and the carved wooden sign that she knew would spell out something hideous like Wild Rose Cottage and held in a grimace.

You have to try, Anna
.

Seb did all the chatting while she opened the car door and grabbed her handbag.

‘It’s good to be back.’ She heard him say, taking a deep breath of country air. ‘Really feels good.’

‘Well I never thought I’d see the day.’ Jeff ran a hand along the waistband of his trousers, hitching them into a more comfortable position. ‘Anna Whitehall back in Nettleton.’

She scratched her neck, feeling the heat prickle against her skin, wondering if by some miracle someone had thought to install air-conditioning in this hell-hole. ‘Me neither, Mr Mallory,’ she said. ‘Me neither.’ She attempted a smile, felt Seb’s eyes on her.

‘You know I played you at the village Christmas play the other year.’ He nodded like he’d only just remembered. ‘Best laugh in the house I got. Dressed in a pink tutu I had to shout, “I’m never coming back, you fuckers. Up your bum.”’ He snorted with laughter. ‘Brought the house down.’

Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades as she huffed a fake laugh, ‘I’m so pleased I left a legacy.’

‘Too right you did.’ He moved round to the boot of the car to help Seb with the other cases, hauling them out as his trousers slipped lower. Seb was smiling along, trying to smooth out the creases of tension in the air. ‘Whole village has been waiting for you to come back.’ Mr Mallory went on, regardless.

Seb wheeled a case past her over the uneven road and let his hand rest for a moment on her shoulder. She wanted to shake it off, not good with public shows of sympathy, trying to keep her poise.