Page 76 of The Mismatch

‘Erm, what?’

He moved over to the stallholder, cash in hand. ‘Everyone is so bloody posh in publishing, it had to be done!’

She began to laugh and grabbed his arm. ‘Wait, Oliver, you can’t be serious?’

‘Honest to God – or should I say Allah? – I am. You would laugh in my face if you heard it. It’s the only way, firstly forpeople to understand me, and secondly for me to be taken a bit more seriously. This is what graduate life is, Soraya, hiding your Brummie accent from posh white people in the workplace.’

‘Right, I need to hear it!’

‘Yeah, I’m afraid that’s happening never.’

CHAPTER 35

Soraya

London, 2014

It was a misconception, Soraya mused, that the baring of one’s soul brings relief. In her case, it unravelled further issues, further destructive thoughts.

Despite knowing it was futile, she couldn’t help but compare her relationship with Magnus to those of other couples on social media. On Instagram couples proclaimed their love for each other, with shots of their picturesque dates and selfies that showed them to be an aesthetically pleasing couple.

Since the incident with her dad, Soraya and Magnus had not been on any outdoor dates, unless you counted popping to the supermarket. She could see this was getting to Magnus – the extrovert who loved nothing more than going to the pub – that and the fact that they still had not had sex fully. She didn’t want him to grow to resent her; didn’t want even to be thinking such thoughts herself.

Magnus’s living room was cut in half by a wooden divider; on the other side of this was a bedroom. Tonight all his housemates were out, which was why Soraya had no qualms about sitting in their communal space. She always found conversations with them painfully awkward.

The room was furnished with items most likely found in the street, along with a large television. The sofa was covered in faded blue velvet and it sagged. But despite this, in some respects the room was cosier than her and Oliver’s living room. It was more lived in, with stacks of DVDs, and photos on the walls – of them on nights out, during rugby practice, and a picture of Magnus’s bare bottom, with a middle finger obstructing the full view.

She got up to look at the pictures in more detail. Her eyes gravitated towards a picture of a few of them, indoors somewhere but clearly drunk, and her eyes scanned the group to find Magnus. And when she did her heart stopped momentarily. His gaze followed hers.

‘Anyway, I didn’t tell you about the editor I met, did I?’ he said, trying to distract Soraya.

‘Is that her?’ she found herself saying, not aware the words were even coming out of her mouth. She wished she could put them back in, swallow them, digest them and bring them out at a later date, or maybe never.

In the picture, Magnus held a blonde girl close, his arm around her waist as she kissed his cheek. All that could really be gauged about the girl was that she was everything Soraya wasn’t. She wasn’t slim, but she had large breasts, which seemed ridiculously perky, and her golden hair was styled into curls.

‘Who?’ he asked.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Silence.

Soraya sat back down on the sofa, picked up a slice of the pizza they had ordered from an independent restaurantnearby. Magnus had originally suggested they go out for dinner but she’d felt too uneasy, her palms perspiring at just the thought of it. Images of her dad finding out she was still seeing Magnus, him taking it out on her mum, flashed before her eyes. She’d already told Magnus how she felt about them going out, but either he had forgotten or he didn’t understand the severity of her anxieties.

On the TV was a documentary about killer whales. Magnus looked like he was concentrating on it now. She wished she could be like him sometimes, worry less, see the world through different eyes.

She scrolled through Instagram, not looking at anything, taking nothing in. Moments later, he sighed heavily and switched the television off.

‘What are you annoyed about?’

‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter. What were you saying about the editor anyway?’

Another deep sigh from Magnus. She felt like sighing back. Surely she had more to sigh about?

‘I totally forgot about that picture. I’ll take it down.’ His voice was cold. He walked over to the wall, ripped the photograph of him and the blonde girl away, crumpled it into a ball and threw it on the floor.

‘You didn’t need to do that.’ Her hand tightened around her phone. She wondered why he wouldn’t answer her original question. Why he wouldn’t just say who the girl was. Was it because the girl in the picture wasn’t Lucy? Was it someone else? How many had there been? They were just so different, Soraya couldn’t help but compare herself to everyother girl he had been with. She bet their parents didn’t hit them when they found out they were dating him, she bet they didn’t have issues with not wanting to be seen outside with him. She knew these comparisons were futile, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Magnus returned to sit next to her, his expression glum. She ruined everything.