The Chocolate Run by Dorothy Koomson Page A

London clung to each other, two dysfunctional lifebuoys in a sea of normality.
    ‘You do like Matt, don’t you?’ Jen asked.
    She was now lying on the patch of thick red carpet where, hours earlier, Greg’s body had been stretched out while he read the papers. Jen rested the wine glass on her flat stomach, her eyes closed, her knees pulled up so the flats of her feet rested on the ground. Her hair was like a golden glow that fanned out around her head. Jen could make a casual pose seem so effortless. Yes, a casual pose was always meant to be effortless, but I had trouble with it. Say I was doing the same thing: I’d invariably get an itch in my lower back but wouldn’t want to sit up to scratch it, so I’d jiggle and shift about on the floor, like a snake trying to move through shagpile. Then I’d spill some wine so I’d leap up and trip over takeaway cartons on my way to get a cloth. Or I’d be lying on the sofa under my duvet, watching telly, but couldn’t relax because I was fidgeting about searching for the remote. Jen, on the other hand, could be yoga-still in anything she did.
    ‘Mmm-hmm,’ I replied, concurring that I did like Matt without actually saying yes.’ (I loved the mmm-hmm, it was so generic that you could lie without technically lying.)
    I was reclining on the sofa, resting my wine glass on my stomach but holding onto it while desperately seeking the TV remote.
    Me and Matt. It wasn’t a simple case of us not liking each other. Matt had problems smiling at me or, sometimes, even speaking to me because he thought Jen and I were too close. I knew her before him. I was a part of Jen’s life that he could never be a part of and that bugged him; stopped him sleeping sometimes. If we started to laugh about stuff we did in the past, a cloud would pass across his face and he’d slide into a sulk. He gave her a hard time if she told me something before him. And heaven forbid she be on the phone to me for more than ten minutes while he was there. Matt and I loved the same person and he wanted to guarantee she loved him more than she did me.
    ‘I do worry that you and he don’t get on as well as you and Greg,’ Jen continued.
    You really don’t want me to get on with him as well as I do with Greg , I thought. ‘We’re different people,’ I explained.
    ‘You and Greg are different people!’ she screeched. ‘He’s a complete whore and you’re practically a nun, but you and him get on. He’s always round here or meeting you for lunch. Greg sees you more than I do sometimes.’
    The mention of his name, talking about him, made stardust dance around my stomach like moonlight danced on water. ‘I’ll see more of Matt now that you’re going to live together. Jeez, you’re going to live with Matt. You’re going to become a cohabitee. Again.’
    ‘Funny, isn’t it? You’ve never lived with a bloke, whereas Matt will be my third one.’
    ‘I have lived with a bloke,’ I protested.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Eric. And you don’t get more blokey than him.’
    ‘Brothers do not count. You could have lived wi—’
    ‘Book your cab home before you finish that sentence, OK, Jenna,’ I cut in.
    She scrunched up her lips and pulled a face at the ceiling. ‘Do you think it’ll last with me and Matt?’ she asked. ‘I lived with Karl and Tommy and I thought it’d last. I really did, but it didn’t.’ She swivelled her head to survey me. ‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’
    Why did everyone think I had the answers to everything today? First Greg was asking what was going on between us, then Jen was asking if she was doing the right thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Indiana Jones showed up any moment asking if I knew where he’d left the Holy Grail.
    ‘You moved in too soon with Karl and Tommy. They were nice blokes,’ I added quickly, ‘but everything was rushed. Maybe it’s good that Matt’s been so reticent about settling down, because now you both know you’re ready. He does