Sweatpants at Tiffanie’s: The funniest and most feel-good romantic comedy of 2018!

Suddenly the thought of sleeping at Shelby’s or not sleeping rather, (because Shelby was wall-defyingly LOUD) was more than Tiff could handle.

‘Actually, Shelb, I was about to call. About tonight.’

‘’S’up?’

‘Well, Gav won’t be home tonight after all.’ Tiff felt awful lying to her best friend, honestly she did, but there were times in life where you had to poo on your moral compass.

‘I thought he was on a course.’

‘He is. It got extended.’

‘So how does a course get extended?’

‘Hmm, I guess they have a bonus day for the brilliant ones,’ Tiff supplied. ‘So, I’ll stay here tonight,’ she moved the conversation on, ‘you know, pack the last things.’ Tiff looked at her bags and boxes lined up by the door. A full week’s laundry sat damp from a last-second wash-cycle in an Ikea bag. Her instinct for clean knickers was the only functioning survival skill she still had faith in.

‘You can spend the evening sowing cress in cock shapes on the carpet and selling his stuff on eBay for 99p,’ Shelby suggested. Tiff looked at the sofa and was tempted.

‘He hasn’t cheated on me, Shelbs. I don’t need revenge for anything. It just petered out. We wanted different things…’

‘Give me strength,’ Shelby muttered at the other end. ‘Don’t make out like this was some well-considered mutual decision. He decided to ditch you after ten years, on your anniversary, Tiff. His Facebook status was Single by the next day. He doesn’t need anyone else lined up, he’s still the supernova of all arseholes. What’s worse is he doesn’t even think he’s behaved badly, or else he’d never have dared leave you alone in the flat.’

‘See, Shelb, that’s where you’ve failed to appreciate the relationship we had,’ Tiff said tightly, needing to claw a modicum of dignity, deliberately expunging the Facebook thing from her brain, lest it break her completely. She wasn’t a Facebooker; social media had never been her friend. ‘Gav and I can come out of this as two adults, peacefully, respectfully and without my cutting the crotches out of his suits.’ Shelby had once peed on a guy’s doorstep every Friday night for a full three months, for not calling her. She was sensitive like that. Conversely, it was important to Tiff to vacate the flat in a dignified manner, despite wanting to fling herself wailing across the floor and chain herself to some furniture. Gavin had to think highly of her if she wanted any chance of getting him back. Gavin valued decorum. ‘Look, I’ll call you tomorrow for the lowdown on the hottie,’ Tiff diverted. ‘Night Shelbs.’

‘Night babes.’

Hanging up, Tiff experienced simultaneous relief and panic. Not staying at Shelby’s had felt vital, but it left her in a quandary of where to go. Gavin was due home at ten and she had to be gone by then. He’d made his position clear, she didn’t want to appear needy nor, for that matter, squatting. As her middle-of-the-night sex offensive – oh god, the shame – had failed so miserably, the only way she’d win Gavin back would be to show him what he was missing in different ways. Who knew, maybe simply not having her around might do it? That could happen, right? He hadn’t called her during the week, and no texts had appeared; obviously he was busy, so coming back to an empty flat, tired without her to fetch him a cold beer and a sandwich might bring home how entwined their paths actually were.

Her keys lay on the table by the door. It wasn’t a big bunch; there was the key to the flat, which she’d have to leave; Shelby’s key and the keys to the gym and her car. She could sleep in the car she supposed, although once her bags, boxes and double duvet were in it, she’d be driving with her knees up around her ears. There was only so much you could get into a Tiffany-blue Mini, four doors or not. That’s what happened when your buying criteria was ‘adorable’.

Out of sleeping options and time, Tiff decided she’d try the Premier Lodge around the corner from the gym for a couple of nights. In the meantime, she’d reconsider the rental availabilities. Tiff saw her status had shifted from chooser to beggar.

She started loading the car with all her earthly belongings. There was no way she’d be able to truck all of this into a hotel room. Shelby’s place was too small for anything more than a spare pair of knickers and her toiletries bag. Jangling the keyring in her hand the answer came to her; storing it all at the gym was the only solution. Thankfully Leonards hadn’t seen fit to take her key back. So surely, until the new owners decided what to do with the place, and repossessed the keys, it was – technically speaking – business as usual. It was purely a matter of temporary storage; it wasn’t like she was moving in or anything. It’d all be out of the way in the back storeroom and gone by Monday night. No harm done. The plan was set. Tiff functioned best when she had a plan.

With only ten minutes to spare, a sweating Tiff had successfully vacated the flat, although the final locking of the door had broken her dam of sobs and a wet-patch on the paintwork was testament to her face being propped against it for a while. She was officially homeless. But Gavin was a stickler for time keeping –‘Time is everything, Tiff. Five minutes make the difference between victory and defeat, Horatio Nelson’ – so she’d forced herself off. The last bags were heaved, rammed, then frenziedly kicked into the car, before she was off down the road, keenly aware of her new fall from grace as the streets became increasingly more shabby as she went.

The gym was closed out of respect. Walking in with the first bags, being met by a wall of darkness and silence, Tiff freaked on a minor scale. She was used to the squeaking sounds of trainers on the varnished floor, the oof of men being punched in the belt and the grunts as they tried to plant a revenge throw to the face. And, generally, Blackie had been in the building. It would never be the same; no more ‘Morning love,’ no more ‘Ta love’ for the tea.

The building wasn’t particularly cold, but it gave her a shiver. With it came a wave of exhaustion so depleting she was tempted to drop and curl up on the spot. Her plan to neatly stash all her things upstairs was back-burnered as she slung them haphazardly inside the door. The gym opened the next morning at 8 a.m. for the Earlybirds, or ‘Clinically Insane’ as Tiff referred to them. She just had to make sure she was up before then to cover her tracks.

Tiff should have known this wasn’t a week where plans had meaning or jurisdiction. Firstly the rain upped its game from drizzle to hoying-down. The sprint to the car wasn’t a dry one. Tiff held onto the dream of a steaming bath at the hotel. She’d grab a brandy from the bar on the way up too. Surely it would count as medicinal, all things considered? Only she hadn’t accounted for the Friday wedding in the Bothroyd suite which had guests staying in all the rooms. Every last one.

Which was how Tiff found herself back at the gym, curled up on the ancient office sofa, knickers and greying bras drying on the radiator. Heating and toilet access had won the Car versus Gym debate. She’d kept Blackie’s desk light on, moved his chair away from her line of sight then wept over every rubbish thing that had happened in the last five days.

Chapter 5 (#ue4f00a25-5f47-57f2-8688-cb447ead8811)

Lying there, wrapped so tightly in the duvet it was tantamount to a defensive shield, Tiff remembered the first night she’d stayed at Gavin’s flat. It hadn’t been a whirlwind couldn’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other night, but one where she’d cried and he’d held her, as she grieved for the family she’d lost. He’d been the perfect gentleman. Whenever Shelby dissed him, those were the memories Tiff replayed.

That night had been very different from this. Then, she’d slipped from one home to the next, now, she lay in limbo. She was sensitive to every creak from the old building, she twitched at cars racing past and doors slamming out on the street. But sleep must have come eventually as she was woken with a start, by a crashing sound from downstairs.

There was no alarm. Blackie had never bothered, said it wasn’t worth the cost. Not that he was a stingy man, frugal as necessitated by the divorce perhaps, but on this he insisted he couldn’t see the point. There wasn’t really much to steal, unless someone was in the market for an ancient ring and old-school PE equipment. Blackie had stubbornly not succumbed to Tiff’s teasing suggestion of filling the building with state of the art kit, and heaven forbid make it something which at least gave a nod towards a modern facility. God (and Tiff) knew the space was there, the place just needed an enormous overhaul and the business would have a new lease of life.

I’m far too old to handle all those shenanigans, was his persistent final word on that conversation. The alarm came under the same heading. And besides, he’d pointed out, who’d be daft enough to break into a club frequented by half a town’s worth of fighters? Even kids looking for larks would steer clear.

And yet, tonight, it appeared someone was exactly that daft.

‘Crap,’ she whimpered. The sounds hadn’t stopped at the initial crash; there was further stumbling and some pretty ripe swearing.

‘Choices?’ she asked herself, scrabbling for a plan. She could stay there, cocooned in the bedding, hoping not to be spotted, but the lamp was on, drying knickers were on display and the duvet cover was scarlet. Hiding behind the sofa was out too, it being backed against the wall and heavier than a heavy thing.

She was contemplating crawling under it, when there was an almighty thump from downstairs followed by eerie silence. What if the intruder had been hurt? Didn’t she have a moral obligation to help someone in need? No, she reasoned, not if they were breaking in and about to harm her, though she’d read about homeowners being sued by injured burglars. But what if it was a kid? Scally or not, if they were hurt, she couldn’t lie there doing nothing. Yes, your Honour, I appreciate the teenager slowly bled out one floor below me, but weighing up the options, I thought it best practice to go back to sleep…

Peeling herself from her duvetpod, Tiff assumed her night-wee ninja guise as she slid across the floor in her bed-socked feet, pausing only to grab her electric toothbrush. True, she’d have preferred a crowbar, but the Oral-B without the toothbrush head on its spike would have to do. Holding it like a dagger boosted her courage. Something was stirring with a groan as she stepped carefully down each of the stairs, trying not to think how this scene –her murder – would be reconstructed on Crimewatch. Hopefully they’d dress the actress in better pyjamas.

Reaching the bottom she could make out a human shape heaped on the floor. Should she launch herself at them while they were down, or should she hang back and watch their next move? Which would the wise Crimewatch viewers judge as the most foolhardy – beyond having ventured down the stairs in the first place? Given the clear size difference, Tiff decided against the launching. On the spur of the moment, she flipped the light-switch.

‘You!’ she accused, with an angry hiss. Pulling himself up to his knees, surrounded by the disarray of her bags was a dazed Mike Fellner. By the looks of it, he’d been felled by a Quavers box of Mills & Boon.

‘You!’ he accused right back.

‘How did you get in here?’ She looked around for any damage, but found none.

‘I used the key,’ he hissed, indignantly.

‘What key?’ Only she and Ron had keys. Leonards had Blackie’s.

‘The hidden key.’

‘What hidden key?’ she said in an insistent whisper.

‘Why are we whispering and hissing?’

‘What hidden key!?’ she screeched. The adrenaline was mixing with relief now. Recognising him made her feel better, but owning countless true crime books she was well aware seventy per cent of murder victims knew their assailant. That was printed fact. Ink on paper.

Mike sat back and looked at her.

‘The key Blackie obviously had hidden in the same place for the last fifteen years, but chose never to tell you about.’ To illustrate his point, he held up a key.

‘Where?’

A grin spread across his face. Now, for the first time, she recognised him properly. That grin had bewitched her once. It gave her exactly the same thought then as it did now. Cocky beggar. Only this time she wasn’t charmed.

‘Not telling,’ he said, blithely. ‘I can’t betray Blackie’s trust.’ His tone was rich with mock piety, as he shook his head regretfully.

‘Blackie is dead,’ Tiff hissed.

‘He is,’ Mike nodded solemnly, ‘and he took his secret from you to the grave, so who am I to cross him? By the way, you’re hissing again.’

Tiff remembered the teasing. He’d loved teasing her, and apparently he hadn’t grown up at all. Once she’d have laughed, but right now, in the middle of the night, after a crappy day in a crappy week, having been scared witless, her appetite for being teased was scant. And then she remembered how angry she was with him, how deeply furious she was that he’d brought his face into her eye line again.