Weak Teeth E-Book

Lynsey May

• Herausgeber: Polygon
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 377

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

'[A] warm and witty exploration of our hidden vulnerabilities' - Catherine Simpson Ellis's life has crumbled without warning. Her boyfriend has fallen in love with someone else, her job's insecure, her bank account's empty and she has a mouthful of unreliable teeth. Forced back to her childhood home, there is little in the way of comfort. Her mum is dating a younger man (a dentist, no less) and is talking of selling the house, her sister, Lana, is furious all the time, and a distant cousin has now arrived from the States to stay with them. During a long, hot Edinburgh summer, Ellis's world spins out of control. She's dogged by toothache, her ex won't compensate her for the flat and somehow she's found herself stalking his new lover on Facebook. Will Ellis realise before it's too late that the bite she was born with is worth preserving? 'There's a huge emotional punch packed into this deceptively light novel' - Sally Morris, Daily Mail For fans of Sally Rooney, Meg Mason and Marian Keyes.

Leseprobe

WEAK TEETH

A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR

Lynsey May lives, loves and works in Edinburgh. She won first place in the Fresh Ink novel contest in 2020, a Robert Louis Stevenson Fellowship in 2015, a spot as Cove Park’s Emerging Scottish Writer in 2016 and a Scottish Book Trust New Writers Award in 2013. Weak Teeth is her first novel.

Weak Teeth

Lynsey May

First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Polygon,an imprint of Birlinn Ltd.

Birlinn LtdWest Newington House10 Newington RoadEdinburghEH9 1QS

www.polygonbooks.co.uk

1

Copyright © Lynsey May 2023

The right of Lynsey May to be identified as the author of thiswork has been asserted in accordance with theCopyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978 1 84697 630 8eBook ISBN 978 1 78885 585 3

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication DataA catalogue record for this book is available on requestfrom the British Library.

The publisher gratefully acknowledges investment fromCreative Scotland towards the publication of this book.

Typeset by 3btype.com

For Alison Thirkell and her magnificent bedtime stories

‘To be born with teeth is to be born with either a curse or a blessing to mankind’

—Jeri Tanner, The Teeth in Folklore

1

Ellis is home first. She considers a shower. Maybe a bath. Instead, she sits at the kitchen counter in her work clothes and mindlessly scrolls through the headlines, waiting for Adrian to reply to her text. He’s not much of a texter, but he’s normally punctual.

She’s in the mood for a quick and comforting dinner, pasta with capers and olive oil. Adrian prefers something more substantial. There are beef strips in the fridge. She’s been avoiding them to spare a tooth recently turned tender. The meat is about to pass its sell-by date and she has the dentist tomorrow. Ellis takes the packet out so it can come up to room temperature. Blood swirls into the tray’s plastic corners.

She reaches for the rice. At the team meeting she’s just come from, no one commented on her spreadsheet. That could be a good thing. Or not. She’s still so new at TravelOn she spends every day trying to be bright and helpful. It’s exhausting. The work itself isn’t demanding: Ellis is practised in the filling in and organising of things. There’d been plenty of that at Tee Zone and she’d been happy there, especially when they let her try her hand at the odd bit of copy. Redundancy hit her hard.

It was one of those things, obviously. Nothing personal. Except they only let go of her and Geoffrey, and nobody liked Geoffrey. Just because she’s capable of everything TravelOn has for her doesn’t mean she can relax.

Her phone buzzes. It’s Lana, messaging about the weekend for the third time already. Adrian will not want to go. He finds her family tiresome. Ellis doesn’t completely disagree, but spending time with Mum, her sister and the twins is the right thing to do. After dinner, she’ll try to persuade him to come with her.

Lana would immediately have identified and befriended the office alpha. She’s always been the more outgoing one, which is unfair, seeing as Ellis is the eldest.

She’s choosing an emoji when the front door opens. She ditches her phone and starts preparing the rice for washing.

‘In the kitchen,’ she calls. Adrian doesn’t reply. The regular, gentle thud of his shoes being removed and pushed into the rack is absent. She stands, listening. Nothing. She puts down the rice to investigate.

It’s him, of course it’s him, but he doesn’t look right. He’s facing the front door. Ellis stops, alert to his posture and the bad tidings it brings.

‘Hey,’ he says, watering down the worry trickling through her. People don’t say ‘hey’ when there’s an emergency.

‘You gave me a fright. You okay?’

‘Yes, well . . . not really. I need to talk to you.’

She nods, a fresh spurt of adrenaline cutting off her reply. He’s been fired. He’s got a gambling problem. He’s been told one of the mean things she’s jokingly said about him to Becca or Zoe.

She follows him into the living room. He takes the chair, leaving her the sofa they normally share.

‘I didn’t mean for it to happen,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘But it has, and you need to know. I’ve met someone else.’

The world shifts; Ellis shrinks inwards.

‘No,’ she says.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You . . . what? Who?’

‘You don’t know her. She’s called Sally. We work together and, honestly, Ellis, we didn’t set out to hurt you. We didn’t even mean it to happen.’

‘You’ve slept with her?’ Ellis is gripping the back of her neck, fingers working against the muscle like she could tear the thought away. It won’t go. ‘You have, haven’t you?’

‘Ellis.’ He shakes his head, but in a way that means he’s sorry.

The room crumples around her.

‘But I love you.’ Pathetic.

‘Don’t do this.’

‘We can work it out. Whatever you did, you didn’t mean it.’

‘It’s over.’ His voice crimps in the middle as if he might cry. Instinctively, Ellis steps towards him. He recoils. Her heart cramps, and she stands wringing her hands and saying he can’t be telling the truth as he walks out the room.

He returns before she can catch hold of a single thought, a bag in his hand. He must’ve packed it already. A tiny part of her brain wonders when. The rest is a cacophony of panic. She can barely hear him speak over it.

Leaving. He’s leaving and saying she’ll be fine.

‘You can’t. Where? Hers? Oh God.’

‘Don’t be . . . Sally would never. I’ve got a room at the Premier Inn.’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

She’s desperate to rewrite what’s happening. Her shoulders ache to be hugged, her ribs need to be pressed to his. It can’t be true.

He won’t even look at her.

‘How could you?’ she says.

‘You must’ve known something like this was coming.’

‘When was the last time we even had a fight? We went and bought cushions last weekend. Cushions!’

‘There’s more to life than cushions, no matter how much you pretend otherwise.’

‘What are you even talking about?’

‘You know how secretive you are. How hard it is to get through to you.’

‘Me? Secretive? You’re the one who’s been cheating.’ Her voice rises to a pitch she barely recognises.

‘I’ve got the room booked till the weekend, so if you could send me a message when you’re–’

‘You’re throwing me out.’

‘That’s not fair. It’s my place.’

Anger sweeps over her, cold and disorientating. It is his place, but it’s her home. They’ve shared it for almost ten years. It’s filled with things she chose for them both.

‘But you’re the one that–’

‘Look, I’m not talking to you when you’re like this.’

‘You can’t go.’

But he can. He does. Ellis stands alone in the living room, hyperventilating. The anger is gone, leaving a mudflat of desolation. Behind her is the bookcase she filled, under her feet the rug she chose to hide the worn carpet they kept talking about replacing. The very air is scented with candles only Ellis ever buys. She can’t stay here. She won’t.

Becca’s? No, Scotty has an ear infection. Zoe or Charmaine? A meeting in London and a family holiday, respectively. Lana? Never.

There is only her mum.

Adrian doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of thinking he’s giving her a ‘few days’. Ellis is going now. She grabs the ratty spare rucksack. He’s taken the good one. She barely knows what she packs. The door slams behind her. The twinge in her tooth has turned into a howl.

Ellis rings the bell. It takes ages for her mum to answer the door, and when she does, her muzzy hair and crumpled jumper makes it look like she’s been dragged from halfway through a film. Except she’s still holding her phone and the screen only darkens as she says hello.

‘Sweetheart.’ Her expression switches from bemused to concerned. ‘What’s wrong? Come in.’

Curled into one end of the couch, Ellis stutters through the events of the last few hours. Her mum’s hand flies from her mouth to Ellis’s knee and back again.

‘Oh God, I can’t believe it. Are you sure? Of course you’re staying here. I’ll make up the bed. Have you told your sister?’

Ellis shakes her head. They go through the disaster again. Finally convinced it’s true, her mum moves into coping mode, pushing wine on her, fetching sheets, offering to order food. Ellis lets her bustle.

Devastation circles her and she’s too weak to do anything more than let tears fall down her face. She’s back where she started and her mum’s trying to make space for her where there is none. Ellis’s room was relegated to the spare as soon as she moved out. Lana’s is still Lana’s. She even sleeps over occasionally, saying it does Grant good to manage without her.

Ellis can hear her mum calling for a takeaway. The gesture brings about a fresh round of tears. Even in her gratitude, she longs for her dad. He was the sort who read stories and pulled pigtails. He bestowed nicknames that none of them have uttered since. Even just being near him made Ellis feel settled. His death plunged everything into cold, dark chaos. It was Lana, tiny and ferocious, who turned on all the lights and forced their mum to switch on the boiler.

The house is hot now, and cramped. Ellis doesn’t want to be at her mum’s, but the place she’s put so much effort into making her own is gone.

2

It’s inevitable she’s here, digging nails into soft belly, now that everything is falling apart. She should’ve paid heed to the warning squealed with each bite.

Her eyes are protected from the overhead light and – God forbid – flying speckles of tooth by a pair of scuffed goggles. Her tears pool within them.

Ellis could’ve cancelled, should’ve cancelled, except the sudden disintegration of her relationship isn’t enough to override her obedience. So she submits to the scraping, the picking, the bloody suck and gorge. Finally, it’s time for the gritty, minty buzz. The hygienist says she can sit up now and belatedly asks if she’s all right. Ellis nods and receives a coral-lipsticked smile.

Released into the purgatory between hygienist and dentist, Ellis sways to the waiting room. It has filled in the ten minutes she’s been away. Gums raw and cheeks salt-stung, she takes a seat near the door. The sweat under her collar begins to dry. She is already due back at the office. She should’ve accounted for the fact the dentist always runs late.

Someone is staring. She lifts her chin to look at a young girl with a thick fringe and a panicked gaze. Ellis ought to reassure her. She tries to smile and tastes the sharp tang of blood. The girl shifts a tad closer to her mother.

It’s for the best. The dark-haired child may also have baby teeth that refuse to fall out, clinging to the bone even as the next set grows in behind them. She may also develop a shark’s smile until those unwanted teeth are extracted so enthusiastically that they fly across the room with a sharp flick of the dentist’s excavator. She too may spend her teens in braces so tight she begins to doubt the shape of her face. She too may find herself in a waiting room, miserably attending to yet another sore tooth the day after her partner leaves her.

Ellis looks away. All she can do is get through this appointment without falling apart.

The dentist is a locum; Dr Niall is off sick. An unexpected change of dentist is normally enough to send Ellis into a panic but this disaster pales in comparison to everything else. The new guy is whistling along to the radio when she walks in and awkwardly solicitous by the time she sits down. He introduces himself as Dr Conor.

‘Just a check-up, is it? Anything bothering you?’ he says, glancing at the notes on his screen.

‘I think I need a filling replaced. Upper left, near the back.’

‘I see we’ve got you booked in for a double.’ There is mild disapproval in his tone. Dentists are meant to call the shots. Dr Niall always lets nervous patients book a double. ‘Let’s see what’s going on in there.’

She closes her eyes as he heads straight in with his probe. Metal against enamel, a bark of pain as it hits dentine.

‘Found it,’ he says and moves on to checking the rest of her teeth. There is only the gurgle of his stomach and the chinking of his tools. It could be worse. It can always be worse. There is no point feeling sorry for herself. It doesn’t matter who drives you, or sits in the waiting room, or cossets you with questions, or circles the appointment on the calendar, you are always alone in the dentist’s chair.

‘Right enough, a bit of discolouration around the old filling. Best to replace it. Everything else is looking nice and clean. We’ll do it now, if you’re up to it?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘If you’re sure? We could always reschedule? No? All right then.’ He holds out his hand; the nurse places a syringe in it. ‘A little pinch. Open as wide as you can . . . wider. Okay, hold it, hold it. There.’

The burn is cold and chemical and welcome.

‘We’ll just give that a minute.’ He pushes his wheelie chair away to chatter quietly with the nurse. Ellis stares up at the ceiling tiles. She shouldn’t be here. She should be back at the flat, destroying things. At Adrian’s work, making a scene. She should be drunk, at the very least.

No. She has to maintain.

The dentist scoots back. His breath has a coffee fug but there’s no cup in the room. He must drink in secret, between patients.

The filling is taking longer than it should.

‘Bit more complicated than we thought.’ He leans back, drill still in hand and light reflecting on his glasses. Ellis can’t see his eyes. She blinks to signal her understanding.

The ache is in the hook of her jaw, which isn’t supposed to stay hinged open this way. The nurse is fierce with the sucker, and still Ellis is desperate to swallow. She tries to catch the woman’s attention but she’s staring across the room, thinking about her dinner or her kids or how much she likes or doesn’t like this dentist’s radio station and the way he sings under his breath as he works.

Ellis needs it to be over. She thinks it might be now. Now. Now. She almost raises a hand, keeps the nails sunk into her abdomen instead. Dr Conor leans back. Relief infuses her muscles. He asks for more air and swoops in again. She’s going to snap.

The drill is back on the tray, at last, but when she numbly presses down on the strip he holds between her teeth, he’s not happy.

The whine is part of her; it’s shaking her mooring loose, eroding her structure. It’s taking too long. There is tension in the room. Is it only hers? Surely it’s not only hers? Just as she knows she can’t keep the pain inside any longer, he stops.

‘One last bite. Yes, good. That’ll do. Deeper than it looked. Got quite close to the nerve there. Might be a bit nippy the next few days.’ He pulls his gloves off and tosses them in the bin. Ellis sits, spits, hands back the goggles, gathers her coat and says thank you. The dentist stops typing long enough to wave. The nurse tells her to have a good day and reminds her to speak to the receptionist on the way out.

She has to pass the waiting room. The girl with the fringe is looking, waiting. There is no point in trying to reassure her: Ellis will bring no comfort.

The woman at the front desk has blonde hair like the short-bristled brush Ellis’s grandmother kept hanging with a dustpan on the back of the cupboard door. They silently wait for Dr Conor to send through his notes. The computer chimes. The woman fusses over the printer then hands over the bill. Ellis holds out her bank card without looking at the total. They’ll be in touch when her next appointment is due.

Ellis dribbles onto the street, unable to feel half her face. Her steps are uncertain, she is defenceless, unable to rely on a smile to save her. She takes out her phone, switches to the camera and flips the image to stare at herself. Red marks on either side of her mouth, dark pits under her eyes. Back to the home screen. No one has messaged.

She wants to report back. Her thumb trails the names of her friends. No one needs to hear about her teeth. It was a long time in the chair, too long, and the meat of her mouth is ragged. It was only a replacement though. No big deal.

The next bus is eleven minutes away, and two older women crowd the stop, chatting loudly about a boy who came off his bike. Ellis calls the office. Fabian picks up. He reminds her that Richard is on holiday so she asks him to pass a message on to HR for her.

‘Course. You’re sounding rough as. It’s doing the rounds. My Mike was knocked out with it just last week. Get yourself a hot toddy on the go.’

‘Thanks,’ she says and hangs up as quickly as possible, her hands still shaking. She can’t have slept for more than an hour or two, and her insides feel like they’re walking at several paces removed from the rest of her. She can’t face her colleagues. Ellis texts her mum, hoping to hear that she’s out and the house will be empty.

3

Alukewarm glass of water with two drops of clove oil is waiting for her on the hall table. This dilution is her mum’s favoured treatment for any dental ailment. The Patricks all have their own notions. They are a family of strong bones and weak teeth.

Dad used to be the one who dealt with their appointments. Mum didn’t, couldn’t, take them to the dentist. It was one thing to miss him in the waiting room, another to want his hug for every other disaster and triumph.

Voices drift in from the back garden. Lana is here with the twins. They’ll be waiting for her to join them so that they can offer comfort (Mum) and gouge for gruesome details (Lana). Ellis tiptoes upstairs and sits on the edge of the bed to drink her medicinal water. She’s always liked the taste of cloves.

One toddler begins to cry and then the other. Ellis sympathises with their fury. Their eyes will be pressed to mere folds, noses blanched white. Such hatred contained in such tiny bodies, it’s amazing they function at all. Ellis loves Oscar and Mia. They are just so angry. Angrier than most, surely. Perhaps their rage is doubled by the mere fact of their twinship. Twice the grievances, half the attention. Or maybe they’re just their mother’s children.

Lana’s voice cuts through their yowls. Enough . . . ignore them . . . where is she? Time passes. Ellis’s face tingles and she thinks about lying down. Adrian may be kissing another mouth this second. He’ll be at work, but then so is Sally.

It’s a long time since Adrian’s kisses made her feel more than satisfaction at fulfilling her duty. It had been different, at the start. She tongues the bruised memories until the hurt is so consuming she barely registers the feet on the stairs.

Lana pushes the door open without knocking. ‘Fuck’s sake, thought so.’ She turns back to the stair to shout, ‘She’s here.’

Ellis puts the empty glass down.

‘Are you okay? Did you get it out?’ Lana says.

‘Just a filling.’

‘And Adrian?’

Ellis shrugs. Lana moves Ellis’s bag from the wicker chair and makes herself comfortable. Her hair is pulled back, her lips glossy. She always has glossy lips. She makes time. Lana is a master at making time.

‘He’s a cunt.’

‘Don’t.’

‘He is though. Total fucking arse. Want me to go round?’

‘No. God, no.’

‘You going to tell me about it?’

‘Maybe later.’

‘Don’t think you’re getting away with–’ The wailing returns before Lana can say more. She pauses to see if it stops. It intensifies instead. ‘Damn it. Later, then.’

Ellis catches her top lip between her teeth. Feeling is beginning to return and she wishes it wouldn’t.

The door opens again a little while later. It’s Mum’s turn.

‘Are you coming down for lunch? I made soup.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You have to eat. And your sister will be taking the twins home soon. At least say hello before they go.’

Ellis follows her mum downstairs with a heavy tread. Lana and her children are spread over the living-room floor. Aside from a deconstructed train track in yellow and blue cluttering the carpet, the room is the same as always. It is still, from the bookcase to the armchairs, the space their father always loved best.

The twins are smeared with orange gloop. Lana has her phone in one hand, a wet wipe in the other.

‘Look who’s come to see you,’ Mum croons. The twins swivel at the sound of her voice, stare for a moment, then return to their own incomprehensible conversation.

‘What have you got there?’ Ellis tries. Oscar looks at her blankly. Mia bangs a train carriage firmly against the track. They couldn’t be less fussed about seeing her.

Lana’s bowl is already empty, Mum is off fetching one for Ellis.

Adrian doesn’t like soup. He always had a king rib supper on dentist days; Ellis preferred to stick to cream of chicken as a precaution. The vinegary smell would drive her wild. Most times, she’d take a single chip. Any more and he’d complain she should’ve ordered her own. It was ridiculous; he hardly ever finished a full portion. She should buy a can on the way home. The thought drops cold in her stomach – she is home.

‘We’re going in a minute,’ Lana says.

‘Mum said.’

‘Here you are. There’s pepper on the side there.’

Ellis takes what she is given. How many times has she held this particular spoon, which has three siblings, each slightly different and yet so alike, edges softened by decades of washing and jostling?

‘Don’t let it go cold.’

It swells in her mouth, gelatinous. She almost retches at the thought of blood and mucous although she knows it’s nothing but sweet potatoes, onions and two fresh chillies (she shared the recipe with her mum in the first place).

‘Is it not warm enough? Too bland? I only used half a chilli, for the twins.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘God, she looks like a right skank.’ Lana waves her phone.

‘Lana,’ Mum says.

‘She is though. Look.’

Ellis knows what Sally looks like. She’d spent half the night on that particular torment.

‘She’s had her boobs done, bet you. Botox and all.’

Ellis’s grip tightens on the spoon. Her mum looks at her sister’s phone, why wouldn’t she?

‘Nothing on our Ellis.’

‘I’ll message her,’ Lana says.

‘Don’t.’ It’s the loudest Ellis has been all day.

‘Just a wee warning.’

‘Please.’

‘God, fine.’ She locks the screen. ‘You’re not letting them away with it though. Should I send Grant round to have a word? Mia, come here.’ Lana grasps her daughter’s fingers within the wet wipe and swoops them clean. ‘Or if you want a chum from me to get your things? Don’t just sit on it.’

Ellis says she won’t, and, to her relief, Lana looks at the time and decides to get moving. It takes almost fifteen minutes to clean the twins enough to squash them into jackets. Ellis uses the hubbub as an opportunity to quietly take her soup to the kitchen and pour it down the sink.

Mia decides she wants a hug after all, and Ellis has to push her face into her niece’s fleecy hood to hide a spurt of tears. Mia wriggles away before she is done. Lana reminds her what a bastard Adrian is and tells her she could’ve done better. She hasn’t done better though. She hasn’t.

The house is calm for a couple of moments, until Mum starts in.

‘You’re looking awful pale. Can I get you anything? You know your sister just wants to help. What can we do?’

There’s nothing they can do. Ellis brushes her mum off and retreats upstairs. She needs to be alone.

For such a diminutive number, the Patricks are stifling. All the grandparents and the only great-aunt died before Ellis was ten. They toppled one after another, each a tragedy overshadowed by the felling of her father. The only other living relatives are Charlie and his daughter, Kenzie, and they are relations so distant it barely counts. Especially seeing as Charlie disappeared to America for success and glory the year Ellis got her first period.

There is only Lana, Grant, Mum and the twins, yet somehow they take up all the space.

Ellis is in bed. She’s barely moved for hours and wants nothing more than to sleep. It feels wrong to be in her mum’s tall, narrow house. She doesn’t like the way the radiators tick or the feel of the spare duvet. Even the things she has always loved, like the stained-glass window in the room that was hers until it was Lana’s, bring her no pleasure.

She’d been usurped when Lana was too big for her bassinet and too small to be a corridor away. Ellis can’t remember minding at the time, but she minded plenty later. Resentment arrived sharp-beaked and fully fledged in her teens. She told anyone who cared to listen that she was happy to be at the other side of the house, where she could sneak boys in if she wanted to. Lana said she’d never have to worry about boys if she didn’t do something about her hair. Ellis remembers trying to scrape up a decent ponytail in front of the bathroom mirror and wondering if any boy would ever fancy her.

She wants to lie with a stained-glass circle above her bed and to be back in a time where everything was safe. She doesn’t want the second-best room, with no stained-glass window to soften the light and make her feel safe. But this is all she has.

Her thoughts begin to blur and grow heavy in focus. The relief spreads like egg yolk. She’s jerked back by a quiet creak. Her mum is heading downstairs, and the tiptoeing quality of her steps takes Ellis back to when Lana was such a light sleeper the rest of the household was reduced to whispers. The twins are benefiting from that lightning trigger now. Lana is no doubt at their cot with a tit out before they’ve even opened an eye.

The pillow is bumfled beneath her cheek. She can hear her mum’s voice. Her mum never talks to people this late. Ellis holds her breath and tries to identify the timbre of the conversation. There is too much space between them to tell. She rolls from the bed and makes her way to the door, opening it carefully, but her mum’s voice is still too quiet.

She pads to the top of the stairs, a flurry of potential emergencies disrupting the drone of her heart. It could be Adrian. He’s been in an accident, he’s hurt and unconscious, and all they could find was her old number. Never mind that she didn’t hear the landline. Never mind that he’s chosen someone else to look after him.

Images of disasters are blown away by a giggle from the front room. Ellis turns back; it’s not a sound she associates with her mum. Further from sleep than ever, she lies back down and tries to slow her breathing. Her tooth twangs, her heart aches and a swell of foreboding darkens the night.

4

Reading in the sleepless wee hours is a torture and a comfort. She discovers that teeth were once considered totems of protection. A handful can be sprinkled, like salt, to create a protective circle. A single tooth can be burned to ward off a witch’s curse. Scandinavian warriors of yore rode into battle with a string of baby teeth tied around their thick necks. Teeth are something to fear. Adrian always said she made too much of a fuss about her various fillings and chippings. He thinks teeth are just teeth. The more she reads, the more Ellis feels vindicated, but there’s nothing to help her there, and it takes a long time to fall asleep, with teeth on her phone screen and sadness coiled around her insides.

She wakes to the chirp of her alarm and wishes she hadn’t. Today, she has to get back to work. As TravelOn’s second-newest employee, Ellis can’t risk another sick day. She hadn’t wanted to leave Tee Zone and she can’t afford to leave TravelOn now, even if she wanted to.

She’d spent years tinkering with euphemisms for sweat, happily taking activewear samples home for Adrian and contributing to the tea kitty, thinking she was a valuable member of the team. Not valuable enough, obviously. She’d been so comfortable there, never would’ve thought they’d choose her as one of the first to go. Stop taking it personally, Adrian said. Or if you really think you’re the problem, fix it. Shame to lose the staff discount on thermal T-shirts though.

No wonder Adrian had been so relaxed about it. He was probably already screwing Sally.

She’s dreading the office. When she’d first started, redundancyraw and determined to be quietly likeable and efficient, Adrian was one of the few topics of conversation she’d been happy to indulge in. She’d wanted them to know she came verified by another human being. She’s not ready to tell them he’s withdrawn his vote.

Ellis arrives just before nine, slings her coat on the back of her chair and switches her computer on. Before she has time to fetch herself a coffee, an email from HR pings into her inbox. Richard is still on holiday so Gabrielle from HR will conduct her back-to-work interview. After every sick day, there’s an interview. This will be her first.

She puts off heading to the kitchen for as long as she can, hoping to avoid small talk, but her body cries out for liquid. She waits until it looks like everyone else is at their desks.

The only mugs left in the cupboard are the oversized monstrosities with an old TravelOn logo emblazoned on the side. The filter coffee shimmers like oil. Ellis is at the fridge when Alison clacks in.

‘How long has that been sitting?’

‘I don’t know. A while.’

‘Euchh, no, no, no. Don’t go drinking that sludge, pet.’ She deftly twists the plastic filter free with one hand and opens the bin with the other. The room fills with a hot fug of decomposing fruit skins, tea bags and coffee grounds.

‘Grab us some milk, will you? Normal. Can’t be doing with the oat stuff. Although they’re saying it’s the almond one that’s the real problem now. Cutting down forests to plant them, or planting forests where they shouldn’t, or something. Don’t know why they can’t just be nicer to cows in the first place and save us all the bother. Let’s see. Oh, that’s no good. We’ll be needing more milk than that to get through the Corfu catch-up. You’re coming to that, right?’

Ellis nods. She can’t remember if she’s meant to be at the meeting but Alison tends to know. In-between her statement earrings is an encyclopaedic knowledge of TravelOn’s comings and goings. When they first met, Ellis mistakenly assumed Alison had been there for decades. There’s something of Lana about her. Not in looks: Alison is in her fifties, dyes her hair a defiant copper and wears clothes that cling and crinkle while Lana is all honey highlights and a wardrobe in heather, oatmeal and the occasional swirl of peach yogurt. Still, Alison’s insistence on switching to a new filing system reminds Ellis of the time Lana decided they should give up meat (her vegetarianism lasted a fortnight – packets of soy mince lingered in the freezer for years after). What they shared was an assumption that everyone else would see the superiority of their point of view, eventually.

‘Fancy nipping to the shops on your lunch? I’ll be printing the agendas or I’d go. Actually, you’re looking a bit wabbit. I’ll get Naila to do it. You shouldn’t be in if you’re ill. Last thing we need is a bug going round, not with the October week planning.’

‘I’m okay, nothing infectious.’

‘If I had a pound coin for every time I heard that, I’d be retired already. Instead I’ve frittered away a fortune on Lemsips and hankies.’

‘It was a thing. A family thing.’ The words are out before she has time to properly consider them.

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Bad news.’

‘Oh, you should’ve said. No wonder you’re peaky. I’ve got ten minutes if you need a chat. No? Well, look here, have a fresh coffee at least.’

She tosses the contents of Ellis’s mug in the sink, earrings swinging. Ellis takes the new pour with a quiet thank you.

It’s good. She sips as she checks her calendar. Alison is right: she is scheduled for the Corfu meeting. First, she’s on complaints, which is fine with her. Ellis prides herself on her ability to handle emails from people looking for a place to deposit their frustration. Noticing how they tended to make Naila cry and fill Alison with reciprocal rage, Ellis volunteered to take on extra.

Not long after she started, Ellis overheard Alison saying ‘not everyone likes sushi’ in such a pointed way that it was clearly about a person and not raw fish. Ellis looked over, and while Alison turned and caught her eye, red stippled Naila’s neck. They’d been talking about her. They were right: everyone knows Ellis is a cold fish. But that doesn’t mean she can’t be useful.

Her phone goes before she has a chance to get stuck in. Adrian. Ellis’s breath snags in her chest.

Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you yet. I need to pop by after work to get some stuff.

She almost doesn’t answer.

I’m not there. I’m at my mum’s. Could we talk?

He’s typing. Ellis glances around but no one’s looking.

I thought you’d want space. I’ll head home if you’re not at the flat.

Her thumb keys a response before the rest of her has a chance to vet it.

I want to know how you could do this.

I’m not arguing by text.

He won’t, Ellis knows that much. The bastard.

The office is open plan, and her desk faces the back wall. Everyone can see her screen. She puts her phone on her lap to open Adrian’s Facebook page. It’s a waste of time. He never updates his profile. It’s the same smiling photo she took at the garden centre the day they bought flowers for the communal back garden.

Adrian is average-shaped. He’s into cycling, especially daylong treks that necessitate a packed lunch. He doesn’t enjoy reading. He likes to talk to people in pubs. He strikes up meandering conversations with all sorts, the kind that leave Ellis bored and resentful, waiting for him to stop exchanging titbits about cycle paths and craft beer. He is average, and his absence is a wound.

She taps through to Sally’s page. There is one new update, attached to a photo. Only the best cardamon buns for our team!!! #hardworkers #wedeserveit. Hashtags on Facebook. This is the woman Adrian loves now. Who gives him what he needs. Who is as transparent as a glass of water. Who must be as boring as he is. How is Ellis going to contain all this hatred? What is there to protect her from it now?

5

Six days since Adrian spat her out, and Ellis is on her way to the flat to fetch some essentials. Lana was meant to drive her, but Grant was volunteered and re-routed from a Thursday evening pottering around his nice and sensible three-bedroom home at the last minute. He doesn’t seem to mind. Ellis does.

There is dark hair curling up from the neck of his T-shirt. It’s indecent. Ellis doesn’t want Lana’s husband with her, even though he’s older and steadier and a much safer option than her sister. She doesn’t want anyone with her. She’d rather not do it at all, but she can’t keep rotating the same two tops.

Her stomach is folding in on itself. Ellis tried to call Adrian about picking up her things. It rang out, and she was forced to make the arrangement by text.

‘You think you’ve got enough or shall I stop at Lidl?’ Grant asks, as if mid-discussion.

‘What?’

‘Boxes, you got enough? We could pick up some more.’

‘It’s fine. I brought bin bags.’

‘Let’s just grab a few on the way.’

‘I don’t think I’ll need them.’

‘There’s always more than you think when you’re moving. And it’ll be better if we do it all in one go, right? It’s not like you’ll want to be going back for a second round.’ She doesn’t reply. He taps her on the knee. ‘It’s no bother.’

Ellis stays in the passenger seat as he nips into the supermarket. It might’ve been better with Becca or even Zoe, but they’ll be falling over themselves to say horrible things about Adrian, and she’s not ready for it.

She wills her eyes to stay dry and massages the tender gum through her cheek. Two cars over, a family packs their boot. The children poke each other’s ribs in jest and are yelled into their seats. The car drives off, and for just a moment, Ellis wishes for the sort of life she’s never particularly wanted.

Lana knew what she was aiming for right from the start. Every relationship was a practice run until she met, married and subsumed Grant in the same amount of time it’d taken Ellis and Adrian to make up their minds about a new sofa. The speed of it had scared everyone but the couple. They show no signs of regret. In fact, they’ve achieved in four years what other people hope for in ten. The house, the marriage, the twins, the in-jokes and stability that made people envious. Lana was ruthlessly efficient. Grant – straightforward, steady and as happy chilling with family as he was with a group of pals in the pub – was the perfect match.

He strides back, a black and red toolbox with the tags still attached in one hand, a greasy paper package in the other, and several flattened boxes under one armpit. He nods for Ellis to open the door.

He thanks her, drops the package in his seat and dumps the rest in the back.

‘Pastry?’ he offers, pulling on his seatbelt. Ellis shakes her head. Grant fishes a maple and pecan plait out of the bag and demolishes it in four bites. Crumbs cascade down his front and settle in the folds of his jeans. Ellis waits.

‘I’m addicted.’ He sounds pleased about it. He balances the bag on the dashboard. ‘Lana says they may as well be laced with crack, I love them that much.’ He starts the car.

Grant takes a sharp corner, sending the bag of pastries skidding. Her hand flies out to catch them. The smell is thick in the back of her throat. Pancakes, French toast, Sunday mornings. Indulgence. Maple syrup shouldn’t be associated with this day, this trip.

The scent clings to them both. It’s still there as she unlocks the front door and turns to let Grant past. The flat is empty, as promised. It feels familiar and alien at once.

Grant has visited only a couple of times but seems entirely comfortable. He heads to the living room and immediately starts taping boxes together. Ellis forces herself to look around. There are tiny differences already. The TV is a few inches closer to the wall, and the blanket from the end of the bed is stowed along the back of the sofa like a fat crêpe. It clashes with the new cushions.

‘I want all the plates and bowls with an orange pattern round the edge. Do you mind?’

‘Grand.’

It took a whole year of watching and waiting for the right sale to scoop those up. It will be a long time until she unpacks and discovers Grant didn’t think to check the dishwasher, leaving her without two cereal bowls and one side plate.

The real priority is her clothes. She half expects to find them already bagged, but everything is where it’s supposed to be. Where it’s no longer welcome. She pulls the dresses she never gets round to wearing from hangers and bundles reliable woolly jumpers and long-sleeved tops into her bin bags, muddling the fabrics and letting memories blur. She empties the bedside cabinet by pulling out the drawers and upending them into one of Grant’s boxes. Moisturisers and jewellery tumble together. She sweeps the novel she was reading, her sunglasses and a keepsake tin in with them.

The oversized merino-mix jumper she likes to cuddle into when she’s miserable is nowhere to be seen. It’s only as she twirls the ends of a filled bag together that she thinks of the washing basket. Ellis baulks.

She digs through several layers of Adrian’s boxers, stiffened socks and wilted jeans. The smell is unpleasant and accompanied by a note of comfort. She’s been so stupid, mistaking proximity for intimacy all this time. A soft fold peeks out between two of his work shirts; she snatches it up.

The kitchen is quiet. Grant has run out of things to do. Ellis dries her eyes before speaking to him. She knows he won’t clipe on purpose; Lana is just good at extracting the information she wants.

‘What about the coffee machine? The toaster?’ He is leaning in the same spot by the sink Adrian favours whenever he slips from helping to supervising.

‘No. There’s a bunch of books in the front room though.’

Grant stands with an open box as she plucks novels from the bookcase.

‘Lana mentioned furniture,’ he says with the air of a man determined to do everything asked of him.

‘Don’t want it.’

‘None of it?’

‘The hall table, maybe. Everything else can stay.’

She drops the last book in the box. He fetches his roll of brown tape and screeches off great strips to thoroughly seal the flaps, as if they have to survive a much longer trip than the few miles to her mum’s house.

‘I’ll start taking these down. You give the place a last once-over,’ he says.

Ellis waits until he’s out the door, then grabs her razor, moisturiser and the silk dressing gown Becca gave her from the bathroom. She stops in the doorway, turns back. A new bottle of perfume sits on the shelf above the bath. The glass is pale pink and iridescent. It looks expensive and cheap at the same time. Sally all over.

By the time she emerges into the hall, the carved table is already gone and the landline that hasn’t been used in years sits between four dents in the carpet. She unties a bag for her last armful of possessions and shoves them in. The rustle of plastic disguises the sound of footsteps in the stairs until they’re right by the door. Ellis stands abruptly, her heart stumbling in a ragged hop-skip. Adrian’s back after all.

The door opens. It’s Grant. There are new pastry crumbs clinging to his shirt, and he’s already bending to pick up the just-tied bags. Ellis grabs one for herself and pulls the door behind them. She doesn’t want Grant to notice the thick stench of peonies, the wet tiles in the bathroom, the shattered glass neatly tidied into the bin by the sink.

Back in the car, she starts to type. Blood smears her thumbprint. She sucks it away, then sends Adrian a message saying that she’s done and that she’s sorry, there was a minor accident, nothing important.