Click here to Download The Flatshare PDF Book by Beth O’Leary English having PDF Size 2.9 MB and No of Pages 478.
You’ve got to say this for desperation: it makes you much more open-minded. I really can see some positives in this at. The technicolour mould on the kitchen wall will scrub o, at least in the short term. The lthy mattress can be replaced fairly cheaply. And you could denitely make the argument that the mushrooms growing behind the toilet are introducing a fresh, outdoorsy feel to the place.
The Flatshare PDF Book by Beth O’Leary
| Name of Book | The Flatshare |
| Author | Beth O’Leary |
| PDF Size | 2.9 MB |
| No of Pages | 478 |
| Language | English |
| Buy Book From Amazon | |
About Book – The Flatshare PDF Book
Gerty and Mo, however, are not desperate, and they are not trying to be positive. I would describe their expressions as ‘aghast’. ‘You can’t live here.’ That’s Gerty. She’s standing with her heeled boots together and her elbows tucked in tightly, as though occupying as little space as possible in protest at being here at all.
Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, already pinned so she can easily slip on the barrister’s wig she wears for court. Her expression would be comical if it weren’t my actual life we are discussing here. ‘There must be somewhere else within budget, Ti,’ Mo says worriedly, bobbing up from where he was examining the boiler cupboard.
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He looks even more dishevelled than usual, helped by the cobweb now hanging from his beard. ‘This is even worse than the one we viewed last night.’ I look around for the estate agent; he’s thankfully well out of earshot, smoking on the ‘balcony’ (the sagging roof of the neighbour’s garage, denitely not designed for walking on.
‘I’m not looking around another one of these hellholes,’ Gerty says, glancing at her watch. It’s 8 a.m. – she’ll need to be at Southwark Crown Court for nine. ‘There must be another option.’ ‘Surely we can t her in at ours?’ Mo suggests, for about the fth time since Saturday. ‘Honestly, would you stop with that?’ Gerty snaps.
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‘That is not a long-term solution. And she’d have to sleep standing up to even t anywhere.’ She gives me an exasperated look. ‘Couldn’t you have been shorter? We could have put you under the dining table if you were less than ve nine.’ I make an apologetic face, but really I’d prefer to stay here than on the oor of the tiny, eye-wateringly expensive at Mo and Gerty jointly invested in last month.
They’ve never lived together before, even when we were at university. I’m concerned that it may well be the death of their friendship. Mo is messy, absent-minded and has this uncanny ability to take up an enormous amount of room despite being relatively small. Gerty, on the other hand, has spent the last three years living in a preternaturally clean at, so perfect that it looked computer-generated.
It’s a bit overly formal for discussing who sleeps on the left or right, but I sense Kay would prefer that we don’t all get too friendly. I type out a few queries about the at – where’s the light switch for the outside hall, can I plug in the TV, that sort of thing. Then, jam on toast in hand, I head back to the bedroom and contemplate whether it will look too passive-aggressive to remake the bed with my own sheets. The Flatshare PDF Book
Surely Leon would have put freshly laundered ones on in the circumstances. But . . . what if he hasn’t? Oh, God, now the thought is there – I’m going to have to change them. I yank up his mattress cover with my eyes screwed shut like I’m afraid of seeing something I don’t want to. Right.
The probably-already-clean sheets are in the washing machine, my lovely denitely-clean ones are on the bed, and I’m slightly breathless with all the activity. On second look, the room does feel more me than it did when I got here. Yes, the duvet cover is still wrong (I felt changing that would look a little bit pointed) and there are weird books on the shelves (none about making your own clothes! I’ll soon x that.
but with my bits and bobs around the place, and my dresses in the wardrobe, and . . . yes, I’ll just pull the blanket all the way up to cover the duvet, just for now. Much better. As I’m rearranging the blanket I notice a black plastic sack sticking out from under the bed, with something woollen opping out of it on to the poor. The Flatshare PDF Book
I must have left one bin bag unpacked; I drag it out to check the contents. It’s full of scarves. Amazing woollen scarves. They’re not mine, but the craftsmanship is beautiful – it takes real talent to knit and crochet like this. They should be mine. I’d pay money that I do not have for these scarves.
Belatedly I realise I’m rummaging through what must be Leon’s stu – and something he’s keeping under the bed, too, so probably doesn’t want everyone looking at. I let myself linger over the weave for a second or two longer before I push the bag back to where it came from, careful to leave it how it was. I wonder what the signicance of all those scarves is.
You don’t keep that many handmade scarves for no reason. Good-mood glow resulting from Holly’s bloods buoys me all the way home. Teens smoking joint on street corner seem positively cherubic. Smelly man on bus removing socks to scratch his feet evokes only genuine sympathy. Even a Londoner’s true enemy, the slow-moving tourist, just makes me smile indulgently. The Flatshare PDF Book
Already planning excellent 9 a.m. dinner as I let myself into the at. The rst thing I notice is the smell. It smells . . . womanly. Like spicy incense and ower stalls. The next thing I notice is the sheer quantity of crap in my living room. Enormous heap of books up against breakfast bar. Cow- shaped cushion on sofa. Lava lamp – lava lamp! – on coee table.
What is this? Is Essex woman holding a jumble sale in our at? In a slight daze, I go to drop my keys in their usual spot (when not opting for bottom of laundry basket) and nd it has been occupied by a moneybox shaped like Spot the Dog. This is unbelievable. It’s like a terrible episode of Changing Rooms. Flat has been redecorated to look immeasurably worse.
Can only conclude that she was doing it on purpose – nobody could be this tasteless accidentally. Wrack brains to remember what Kay actually told me about this woman. She’s a . . . book editor? Sounds like profession of reasonable person with taste? Feel fairly certain that Kay made no mention of Essex woman being a bizarre-object collector. And yet. The Flatshare PDF Book Download
I sink into a nearby beanbag and sit for a while. Think of the three hundred and fty pounds I would otherwise not have been able to give to Sal this month. Decide this is not so bad – beanbag is excellent, for instance: it’s patterned with paisley and remarkably comfortable. And lava lamp has comedic value. Who has a lava lamp these days?
Notice my sheets hanging o the clothes horse in the corner of the room – she’s washed them. Irritating, as I went to great lengths to wash those and was late for shift as a result. But must remember that annoying Essex woman does not actually know me. Would not know that I would obviously clean sheets before inviting stranger to sleep in them.
Blink. Haven’t given Tiy’s appearance much thought, aside from wondering whether she wears ve dresses at once (would explain sheer quantity hanging in our wardrobe). Am briey tempted to ask if she has red hair, but think better of it. June: Lovely girl. Really lovely. I’m so glad you’ve found such a lovely girl to live with. The Flatshare PDF Book Download
I stare suspiciously at June. She beams back at me. Wonder who she’s been talking to – Holly? That girl has become obsessed with Tiy. Do odd jobs on Kelp Ward. Take unprecedented coee break. Can’t put this o any longer. Not even any seriously unwell patients to keep me busy – I’ve got nothing to do but read this letter. Unfold it.
Look away, heart twisting. This is ridiculous. Why does it even matter? Right. Looking at letter. Confronting letter, like adult faced with opinion of another adult who has asked them to read something and whose opinion shouldn’t even matter. Does matter, though. Should be honest with myself: I like having Tiy’s notes to come home to, and I’ll be sad to lose her if she is cruel to Richie.
Not that she will be. But . . . that’s what I’ve thought before. Never know how people will react until you see it. Dear Richie, Thanks so much for your letter. It made me cry, which puts you in the same category as Me Before You, my ex-boyfriend, and onions. So that’s kind of impressive. The Flatshare PDF Book Download
What I’m saying is, I’m not a willy-nilly crier – it takes some serious emotional turmoil or weird vegetable enzymes to get me weepy.) I can’t believe how shit this is. I mean, you know things like this happen, but I guess it’s hard to relate to until you hear the full story from someone’s own mouth/pen.
You didn’t tell me anything about what it felt like being in that courtroom, what prison has been like for you . . . so I can imagine the parts you’ve left out would make me cry even more. But it’s no use me just telling you how shit this is (you already know that) and how sorry I am (you probably get that a lot from people). I was thinking that before I wrote this letter, and feeling pretty useless.
I can’t just write to you and say ‘sorry, this is shit for you’, I thought. So I rang my best friend Gerty. Gerty is a superb human being in the least obvious way. She’s mean to pretty much everyone, totally obsessive about her work, and if you cross her she’ll cut you out of her life completely. The Flatshare PDF Book Download
But she is deeply principled in her way, and very good to her friends, and values honesty above all else. She also happens to be a barrister. And, if her ridiculously successful career is anything to go by, a bloody good one. What has happened to me? Should have written see you there. Instead, I said it’s a date. Which it’s not. Probably. Also, am not a person who says things like it’s a date, even when it is.
Rub eyes and dget on the spot. I’m under the departure boards at London Victoria station, along with a hundred or so other people, but while they’re all staring up at the boards, I’m keeping my eyes on the exit from the underground. Wonder if Tiny will recognise me when I’ve got clothes on. On that point: it’s a freakishly warm day for September. Should not have worn jeans.
Check directions from Brighton station are loaded up on my phone. Check time. Check train platform. Fidget some more. When she finally appears, there’s no danger of missing her. She’s in a canary yellow jacket and tight trousers; her orange-red hair is thrown over her shoulders and bounces as she walks. The Flatshare PDF Book Free
She’s also taller than most of the people streaming all around her, and is wearing yellow sandals with a heel, giving her an extra few inches on the general population. She seems entirely oblivious of how many eyes she catches as she walks by, which only makes the whole effect more attractive. Smile and wave as she spots me.
Proceed to stand awkwardly smiling as she approaches, then, at this extremely late moment, am struck by question of whether we should hug hello. Could have spent last ten minutes of waiting time debating this. Instead, have left it until she is right in front of me, eye to eye, her cheeks ushed from the stuy heat hanging in the station air.
Radley turns out to be man with multi-coloured turban running old-school Punch and Judy stand. Tiy shoots me a delighted look as we introduce ourselves and dump our bags. Isn’t this brilliant? she mouths at me. Can’t help smiling. This Johnny White is fast becoming my favourite, I have to admit. The Flatshare PDF Book Free
I follow Tiy and Johnny as they weave their way between sunbathers and deckchairs on their way to the shoreline. Stop for a moment to kick o my shoes, the pebbles cool beneath my feet. Sun blazes low across the water and wet shingle shines silver. Tiy’s hair burns red. Johnny White is wrestling o his shirt as he goes.
I shriek and swallow a gulp of seawater so salty it burns the back of my throat; my hands ail, and for a moment my good foot connects with the ground, but then my other foot tries to nd purchase too, and the pain sends me falling again. I’m twisted, spinning; everything is ashes of water and sky.
I must have twisted my ankle, some distant corner of my brain registers. Don’t panic, it tries to tell me, but it’s too late, I’m coughing up water and my eyes and throat are burning, I can’t turn, I can’t nd my footing, my ankle roars with pain every time I move it as I try to swim— Someone’s trying to grab me. The Flatshare PDF Book Free
I can feel strong hands scrabbling to get a grip on my body; something knocks my bad ankle and I try to cry out, but it’s as if my throat’s closed up. It’s Leon, and he’s hauling me up out of the water, pulling me close; I reach for him and he stumbles, almost tumbling in with me, but he kicks out until he’s swimming, arms tight around my waist, and drags me closer to shore until he can nd his footing.