Page 97 of The Mismatch

She was given odd looks by those around her. Perhaps it was because her hair was balled into a knot on top of her head, her fishnet tights now laddered, her eyeliner smudged. She knew she looked bad, but for the first time she didn’t care. What did caring about her appearance ever achieve? It never made her happy.

She grabbed a Diet Coke and a packet of crisps, and then ventured to the frozen food aisle for a pizza.

Her nerves were sensitive: the fluorescent lights too bright, her shoes too hard on her heels, her bag too heavy on her shoulder.

As she rounded the corner, the cold air of the freezers making her shiver, she saw a familiar back. She stood still like he was a snake and any sudden movement could be fatal.He hadn’t seen her so she turned away slowly, deciding she didn’t need the pizza after all.

Of course, at that exact moment, he turned and looked straight at her. His lips parted and then curled into a smile.

So, naturally, Soraya ran away.

She power-walked out of the aisle and moved two aisles away to the cleaning product section. She paused there and began looking at the washing detergents, not quite sure what she was doing. Part of her was irritated that he was in the way of the pizza, and part with herself for cowering away from him. Allowing herself to be inconvenienced by him.

She felt a presence and could smellhim. She let herself inhale the familiar aftershave before looking up. Magnus stood next to her.

‘Why’d you run away?’

‘I didn’t run away.’

‘You did, you literally ran away from me.’

He looked happier than usual, his cheeks flushed, his eyes animated. The break-up, it seemed, had done him good.

‘Well, I guess I didn’t want to see you.’

He sighed, his expression altering.

‘I don’t like the way we left things, Soraya,’ he said, softly.

‘Listen, it’s all fine, whatever.’ She shrugged.

He put his hand on the shelf, leaning against it, a position that suggested he wanted a proper chat.

‘If we’re going to see each other around, can’t we at least be friendly? Not that you will see much of me come January.’

‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

He scratched his head, his face bent sheepishly low. ‘I’m moving.’ The words came out in a whisper.

‘Where? Back home?’

‘Not quite … Paris.’

‘Paris?’ Her own voice sounded strangled, which embarrassed her.

‘I’ve been doing a TEFL course and I found out yesterday I got a job teaching English at a school there. And … it hasn’t been announced yet but I got a book deal! It’s a cliché, I know, but there’s something about being a writer in Paris …’ The rest of his words were lost as the same word echoed in her brain.

Paris.

Paris.

Paris.

She knew she needed to curb her emotions before she began crying in front of him.

‘Hello?’ he said, with a nervous laugh.

‘Sorry, yes, congrats! That’s amazing!’