Page 26 of People Change

Slag.

I will tell everyone what you are.

She thought she had forgotten how thick his Yorkshire accent was, but here it is: loud and with a drawl, just like he jokes in his comedy sketches. He reaches for her, and she feels herself being pulled from side to side theatrically, like a rag doll. He then throws her against the countertop but she manages to take hold of it, rather than let her body slam into it. On the table is a kitchen knife with a green handle and she grabs it quickly, raises it in the air to protect herself, but when she turns to Rob she is too late. In his hand is a rolling pin and it is about to hammer down directly onto her skull.

She jolts awake, her body damp with sweat. The moon shines in from the crack in her curtains and she has to turn her lamp on to calm her wildly beating heart.

Her face is wet. She has been crying.

Peckham

In September, when summer draws to a close, Shirin sees Kian again. She’s spent the last month assuming she would see him at every social event, only for him not to be there. They message occasionally – small talk – though the subject of them meeting again does not arise. It is ironic, therefore, that she sees him just when she has assumed she never will again.

They’re at Millie’s twenty-seventh birthday drinks at a bar in Peckham. A large outdoor table has been reserved, and Kian is across from Shirin, talking to a dark-haired woman with strong eyebrows and full lips. They lean in close to speak, and in their closeness Shirin feels embarrassed. Embarrassed to be here, to be glancing over at them, like it is obvious to everyone that she is looking at him.

She sits in the only empty space, next to Henry and a girl she does not know, who has her back to Shirin, in conversation with someone else. She leans past Henry, over to Millie.

‘Hana told me to say sorry again that she couldn’t make it,’ Shirin says.

Millie waves her hand in the air. ‘She’s always unreliable, it’s fine.’

‘It’s a hard time for her right now,’ Shirin says, gently, so as not to seem defensive.

‘It’s always a hard time for her,’ Henry says, a speck of spit landing on the back of her hand when he says this. Shirin can feel it there, sitting on her skin, and she hasn’t got it in her to embarrass him enough to openly wipe it off. She waits a few seconds before scratching the back of her hand against the table. ‘Like, how hasn’t she got a job since uni? What does she do with her time?’

‘Fashion is hard to get into …’

‘We don’t live in fucking la-la land,’ Henry continues. ‘She should get a shit job like the rest of us.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Millie says. ‘Shirin and I have jobs we love.’

Henry’s jaw tightens and they begin a dull bicker that Shirin interrupts to ask Millie what she wants to drink. Millie points to the table; there are three full drinks there – she is fine for now.

Shirin climbs out of the bench and makes her way towards the bar. It is situated under the railway arches, the walls curved, the floor grey and unfinished. On one side are five or six long tables and benches, and they are filled with people who look just like Shirin and Millie – young people in Dr Martens and Reeboks, wearing gold hoops or cord shirts. A stark reminder that none of them are original, that they are a product of being millennials in London.

In the queue, she texts Hana.

Shirin:Wish you were here

Shirin:Kian is here with a girl

Shirin:

Hana:Damn, and you’re jealous?

Shirin:No. It’s just weird to see

Hana:Well, have a Ginger Bonfire for me to get through it

A Ginger Bonfire is a cocktail that consists of gin, Cointreau, elderflower and ginger beer. Hana gets drunk off two and makes terrible decisions thereafter.

‘Hey.’ Shirin hears a familiar voice next to her.

She turns and it is, of course, Kian. He is wearing a dark green T-shirt, which complements his skintone well, and clear-framed glasses. He looks good.

‘Hi,’ she says. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Alright,’ he says. ‘I’ll get this one. What you having?’