Page 75 of The Mismatch

‘Soraya?’ Magnus pressed her. His expression was concerned, eyebrows furrowed. She settled her gaze on the small mole at the centre of his neck.

‘My mum always told me to keep it secret. I have schoolfriends I’ve known nearly all my life and they still don’t know. Oliver is my only friend who does. My dad became addicted to opium originally, I think. And now his doctor prescribes him methadone, which he takes every day.My parents always told me to hide it, hide his secret. As though his shame is ours too. And I guess, in a way, it is.’

Magnus looked intently at her. Now all she could focus on were his brown eyes, and the flecks of gold in them. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ he breathed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He rested his forehead against hers, holding her like she was precious.

She had never been held this way before.

CHAPTER 34

Soraya

London, 2014

On one of the rare weekends that Soraya wasn’t working a Saturday shift, she spent the day with Oliver. It was the first time they had hung out during the day in months; their schedules constantly clashed now. They could go days without seeing each other despite living in the same house. Oliver worked nine to five Monday to Friday and her shifts varied each week. Sometimes she would work lates and by the time she returned home he would be getting ready for bed.

She had missed him, missed his energy and the way that she felt completely comfortable around him. Unlike any romantic interest, their friendship would never end, and unlike family, he had no unrealistic expectations about her and how she should act – he accepted her for who she was.

They had begun the day at Deptford Market, a short walk away from their flat. The market sold an array of bric-à-brac, furniture, brand-new, second-hand and vintage clothing. As usual, it was the vintage jeans section that Oliver immediately headed over to. On the huge fold-out table were piles and piles of denim, all £5 a piece – Lee Jeans, Levi’s and Wranglerwere the brands they both particularly kept an eye out for. Then once they had collected a variety of jeans, they assessed whether they would actually fit them, whether they were high-waisted enough and whether alterations could be made.

The air was sharp and cold, making the rummaging not quite pleasant, but it was their tradition and for that reason Soraya was content to be rifling through the stiff fabric for a potential treasure.

‘How are you finding your job anyway? We’ve literally not had a chance to speak about it in person until now,’ she asked.

Since their first year at university Oliver had known he wanted to work in book publishing, and every summer he would do unpaid work experience at the big publishing houses, returning at the end of each two-week stint with a pile of books and a huge smile on his face, motivated to make his dream a reality. It was inspiring seeing someone know exactly what they wanted and running after it. Inspiring but still not enough to push her into action.

‘It’s good,’ Oliver said, but his voice was pitched a little too high on the last word, discrediting him entirely. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

‘You sure?’ she asked, undecided how hard to push.

‘Yeah, it’s fine.’ He sighed. ‘My love life on the other hand …’ He let out a low whistle. ‘That is wretched. Every so often Charlie texts me – always on a weekend at like three a.m., mind – and I just wish he would fuck off. Can you find me a Magnus, please?’ He smiled but she knew he didn’t really find it funny.

‘Do you reply to Charlie?’

‘Sometimes, but I always feel dirty afterwards, like I’m doing myself a disservice.’

Oliver’s honesty was refreshing; he didn’t sugar-coat things and often said what everyone else was thinking.

‘It’s whatever,’ he said quickly.

She knew not to prod too hard with him. Unlike her, Oliver didn’t word-vomit his feelings, but processed them internally in a possibly more healthy way.

He fished out a dark-wash denim that almost looked like a winner, until he realised it was dangerously low-rise. He sighed, throwing it on the top of the pile, before asking, ‘How are you feeling about everything with Magnus now?’

She had of course told Oliver about her dad immediately after it had happened, but hadn’t really explained how she was feeling about Magnus and their relationship following the incident.

‘In some ways I feel relieved that he knows everything. Well, not everything …’ But did he ever need to know about her intentions when she first messaged him? People began relationships for stranger reasons every day, but now that things were irrevocably different between them, now she really knew who he was, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. ‘It’s a bit weird between us now – I can’t tell if I’m being paranoid but it feels like he’s acting a bit colder towards me.’

Oliver folded a pair of jeans over his arm and looked at her for a moment. ‘How so?’

They shuffled a little to the side, so other shoppers could access the table.

‘I could be totally imagining it, but I don’t know … he looks at me a little different, seems to think a lot more before he speaks. I guess that’s inevitable after everything he’s learnt about my family, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be the case. It kind of feels like he thinks I’m made of glass now, like I’m super-sensitive.’

‘I don’t want to tell you not to trust your instincts, but youarevery paranoid a lot of the time.’ Oliver smiled before adding, ‘You’re right though – if anything, it would be weirder if he acted like everything was perfectly fine. Like it was before. It shows he’s trying, at least. You’ll find your groove, trust me.’

She gave him a faint smile back, not sure she believed his words, but not wanting to continue this conversation further. This was her worst fear coming true: when she told people about her dad, about her often dysfunctional family, they would see her differently.

It was clear Oliver could feel her need to change the subject because he said, ‘If it makes you feel any better, I’ve resorted to putting on a posh accent in the office.’