Page 47 of People Change

He turned on the lights as he walked deeper into the house and they walked up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. His room was a large loft space, with its own en-suite. Most of his belongings looked like they were from his teen years, with tickets from bands that he’d seen live collaged over one wall. He had pictures of himself as a teenager, with people she recognised and some she didn’t.

She sat on the end of his bed, folding one foot underneath herself, while he went to the bathroom. She heard his electric toothbrush’s vibrations. It wasn’t clear in what capacity she was there. During the taxi ride they’d sat close to each other, his hand on the top of her thigh, though he’d looked absent-minded as he’d done this. Whereas she’d been acutely conscious of his hand there.

When Kian came out of the bathroom and sat down next to her, the first thing she could smell was his minty breath. She liked it very much.

‘Do you need anything?’ he asked. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry about how the night ended.’

‘Let’s not talk,’ she whispered.

His hand caressed her face then. She removed his top, and he attempted to unlace her corset. The front laces were decorative, and she reached over to her side to unzip it. His hands were on her chest, her stomach, her cheek. Her nerves were hypersensitive to his touch. They kissed slowly, tenderly. It felt both like she had finally sighed, after holding her breath for so long, and like it wasn’t enough, that she needed more. His grasp on her tightened and she shifted even closer to him. He kissed her sides, and she focused on her breathing, trying to steady it, and failing. He hovered over her, the weight of his body on his biceps. He asked her if she was sure she wanted this, and she said yes, thinking there was nothing she wanted more than this with Kian.

Afterwards, they lay in bed together. His hand lightly on her stomach, the other arm around her shoulders. He nuzzled her neck, planting a soft, supple kiss there.

She played with his hands, and he took her thin hair-bobble from around her wrist and put it around his. Even his wrist was handsome, so she let him keep it there.

‘I like you,’ she said.

‘I like you too,’ he replied, smiling.

‘No, I mean, it’s quite rare that I like someone.’

‘I mean, I’ve always liked you, Shirin.’

Now, with Phoebe, in the cold light of day, her stomach turns at the sight of the café food; she’s definitely not ready to eat. She places both hands on the table and spreads them out, thinking over her words, before blurting out, ‘Are we not going to talk about last night then?’

Phoebe’s chewing slows and she swallows audibly. ‘What is there to say?’

‘I feel like you gaslit me with Tom. I can’t believe you called him over to us after everything he did. That you’re even friends with him—’

Phoebe frowns, then her whole face crumples. ‘Gaslit?’

‘You know, made out something didn’t happen when it did.’

‘But, Shirin, you’re annoyed at Tom for something that happened so long ago. It’s not healthy to hold on to it all. People change. And the way you spoke to him was so rude. You should really apologise. You’re an adult now.’ She speaks with authority, her face the picture of composure again. Her words shock Shirin into almost giving in. But she needs to do this. She regrets not backing up Mariam all those weeks ago. It’s impossible to change the past, but she can do things differently now.

‘No, I don’t believe any of that. He and his friends were awful to me. Don’t you remember?Theynever apologised to me – why the hell should I apologise to them?’

‘They were mean to everyone then, weren’t they? It was school, we were kids then; it’s different now, Shirin.’ Phoebe has moved on to the pancakes, eating a stray blueberry on the side of the plate, while Shirin’s heart is hammering in her chest.

There are only a few other people in the café. It’s relatively quiet for a bank holiday, though that doesn’t stop Shirin leaning forward to Phoebe, speaking in hushed tones so they don’t hear. ‘They got Kian and me suspended – don’t you remember that? How can all of that not be something you’re bothered about?’

Phoebe gives Shirin a sharp look, like she is seeing her for the first time and it is an ugly sight. ‘I thought we’d have a nice brunch, and that, I don’t know, you’d maybe comfort me about everything I told you yesterday. I thought maybe you’d ask how things were between me and George, seeing as you snapped at me while you were drunk and left without saying goodbye. It’s always about you, Shirin. I’m sorry I tried to patch things up between you and Tom, but it’s in the past now. I have real-life problemsright nowand you don’t give a shit.’

What few people there are at the other tables are now looking over at them.

‘I do give a shit.’ Shirin’s voice wobbles. ‘I just wanted you to know how you made me feel is all.’

‘Yeah, but that’s the problem – you have major main-character syndrome. You act like you’re this big deal living in London, that your feelings are the only thing that matter. Whenever you call me, you bang on about work, when your job sounds cushty to me – or it’s about Kian and how you’re obsessed with him. You only ask about me as an afterthought.’

‘That’s not true—’

‘It is, Shirin.’

Shirin looks down at the food, focuses on it because it’s the only thing that seems real and makes sense right now. The conversation is not going how she envisaged at all. She thought Phoebe might defend herself, but would eventually apologise. While the things she’s saying don’t make sense, they’re also things Shirin has thought about herself. That she is a shit friend, that she uses people to offload her own anxieties, that she’s sad for clinging on to the past so tightly.

‘Well, I’m sorry if I’ve been doing that,’ Shirin eventually says.

‘Okay, let’s forget about it. Alright?’