Practice Makes Perfect (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 7

So, since that initial disastrous flat viewing two months ago, I have been living under the same roof as my nemesis.

I have also replaced that dubious keyring with one that is far more in keeping with my own personality. I can't actually remember the exact wording on it, and my bag is on the other side of the room right now, but it's something like Follow Your Dreams or Live, Laugh, Love. Something inspirational. The most important thing though is that it looks pretty . . . Oh, and this one doesn't feature the word "dickhead" on it, of course. I mean, that's just bad karma.

When I removed that unwanted keyring from my bunch of keys, I laid it neatly on the kitchen counter in case Ric was particularly attached to it and wanted it back. It was still sitting there a month later; so eventually I just chucked it in the cutlery drawer, next to a bottle opener in the shape of a penis. Classy.

I started moving in on the Monday, two days after I'd checked the flat out for the first time. Lou and Tam helped me. They were actually so eager to assist, I started to suspect their high volume escapades had been partly intended to smoke me out of our flat so they could have it to themselves. But if that meant they felt guilty enough to do most of the heavy lifting, I was totally down with that.

"Wow, it's actually really nice in here," Lou marvelled, as she helped to manoeuvre my bookcase through the front door and into the hallway. "I was worried you were going to end up in a crack den."

"Not concerned enough to stop me from moving out though," I muttered, propping my bedroom door open with the box of DVDs I'd been carrying.

Blithely, she pretended she hadn't heard that. "It's so big!"

"Hey, you usually only say that to me!" Tam protested, complete with a suggestive leer. Blurgh. I did not need to hear that. Anymore.

A very good timely reminder of why I was moving out.

When we'd managed to unload everything from Tam's van into my new room, he and Lou headed home, presumably to have excessively loud sex in the only room they hadn't yet done it in - my old bedroom.

Meanwhile, I looked around at the mess of boxes and furniture, and figured I'd start properly unpacking and arranging my belongings the next day. My back was already aching from all the lifting and carrying. I decided to head to Waitrose (the nearest supermarket - I'd need to find a cheaper one going forward, unless I was planning on winning the lottery anytime soon) and pick up some shopping.

The next evening, when I got home from work, I'd discovered the extra-posh spinach & ricotta pizza I'd bought (and had really been looking forward to) was missing.

The empty box, however, was in the pile of cardboard waiting to be recycled next to the bin. Taunting me. Ric hadn't even tried to hide his crime. Injustice burned a trail of fury inside me. It drove me to his bedroom door. My fist thudded angrily against it.