“Let’s just get to Oxford,” he’d said eventually, his voice thick with defeat. “We can talk there.”
And now here we were, side by side, two glasses of Coke untouched in front of us, sitting in silence. It was almost a competition as to who could be the most still. It felt like as long as we sat like this, the chaos unfolding around us drowning everything out, we wouldn’t have to do anything. Suddenly everything was too much—more so when I saw Joel’s bag was on the table next to me and the “bucket list,” muddied by my boot, was poking out of it. I closed my eyes. In that moment, all I wanted was to be in the shed, earphones on, keeping the real world at bay.
“I’m going to get some crisps,” Joel said, finally breaking the deadlock. He got to his feet, grimacing with the effort. The way he walked to the bar—head down, hands in his pockets—it was like he was sixteen again.
* * *
It was another month after the conversation with Alice before I saw Joel for the first time. I’d started going to the Thames Head stone after school. It was a place I could find some quiet before going back home, or to the hospital. It was a cold September afternoon, a chill wind whipping through the grass. I hadn’t heard Joel approach, so it was too late for me to get away. I just sat with my legs pulled in to my chest, my chin on my knees, and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.
“Can I sit down?” he asked. A scraggly bit of stubble hung from his chin. There were dark bags under his eyes. His hands looked more cracked and sore than ever.
I didn’t reply, but he sat down anyway—alongside me, but with an unnaturally wide gap between us. I thought he might launch into a monologue about the party, try to apologize and make excuses, say how sorry he was, but he didn’t. Maybe he had that speech prepared and couldn’t bring himself to say it, but in the end we just sat there not talking. After a while he lit a joint. He extended his arm, but I refused the offer, and then once again, but on the third time I took it. Sometime later, I don’t know how long, he said good-bye and left.
The following day, the same thing happened. And the day after that, and then every day for a week, and we never exchanged a word. I was still so confused and angry. If it wasn’t for what Alice had said, I do think I might have thrown a punch at him, just to break the tension, to find some way of releasing the pressure valve. The weed probably went some way to stopping me lashing out. It softened all the jagged edges.
The first time I finally spoke wasn’t a conscious decision, I just responded automatically after Joel’s traditional greeting:
“All right?”
“All right.”
He looked so shocked that I’d replied, it almost made me smile. I watched as he composed himself. Acknowledging him was the green light he needed, and he started trying to apologize, until I put my hand up and stopped him.
“Please don’t,” I said. “One day, maybe. But not now.”
“Okay,” Joel said. “If that’s what you want.”
I could tell he still wanted to say something, but he seemed to decide that having me acknowledge him was enough of a victory, and so he let it go. I can’t remember who asked the question first, but one of us brought up a new show that had started on the BBC that week. At first, as we spoke, it was like we were strangers. Conversation was stop-start. We talked over each other. Everything seemed unfamiliar. It reminded me of coming back to school after the holidays and forgetting how to write. Then I made some stupid joke that made him laugh and it seemed to uncork the bottle. But the look he gave me after he stopped laughing nearly broke my heart. I could see on his face the aching relief that maybe all was not lost. The next thing I knew, we were both crying, our heads down—shuffling toward each other and meeting in the middle, putting our arms around each other’s shoulders, bound by our sadness. After a moment, self-consciousness set in, and we untangled our arms.
Joel sniffed and cleared his throat. He picked up a stone and flicked it at the Thames monument.
“Do you remember that plan we made?” he said. “To walk the Thames Path?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I remember.”
Joel threw another stone. Sniffed again.
“Do you still want to do that?” he asked.
I flexed my toes in my shoes, feeling the material strain.
“Yeah,” I replied. “One day.”
I said that because I realized then that when we’d been crying just now, it was because we knew our friendship was damaged in a way which meant a gap had opened up beneath our feet, separating us, and that this promise we’d made of a future event, of something so far away that it was the tiniest speck on the horizon, was our way of saying that maybe, someday, when enough time had passed, the fault line beneath us would heal, and we’d make it back to each other.
* * *
As I watched Joel standing at the bar, crisps clutched in one hand, phone in the other, I wondered whether this could be that moment, no matter how awkward or painful it was going to be. Joel had moved to the corner of the bar, listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the line. I clenched my hands together in my lap, clinging to that thought that maybe this was the point where everything started to get better. But then Joel looked at me, his face pale and afraid, and I watched as the phone slipped from his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Joel
I could still hear Jane Green barking my name, even after I’d dropped my phone on the floor. She’d been typically phlegmatic as she’d told me that The Regulars wasn’t going to happen after all. “I’m going to kill that little bald fucker of a commissioner the next time I see him.”
When I looked over at Theo, he was staring back at me like an innocent puppy that’s unable to comprehend why his hitherto kind owner has just shouted at him—it was as if he already knew. I made what felt like an epic journey back to where he sat, wondering how I was going to break the news to him. I stumbled slightly, feeling woozy and hot.
“You okay?” Theo asked, getting to his feet.
I braced myself on the table.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
Oxford’s city center was quiet, save for sporadic groups of uni-age kids monopolizing the pavements, drinking from cans, boisterous and excited. Jane’s news had sent me spiraling, and the sight of those kids—in the sweet spot where they were on the cusp of adulthood but without any of the responsibility, their whole lives ahead of them—hit me hard. We passed an off-license and I came to an abrupt halt, like I’d been caught in a searchlight while absconding from prison. Theo was so preoccupied that he carried on walking.
I turned to the window. The spirits were shining like beacons. If you’re going to press the self-destruct button, then at least do it properly, they seemed to say. I took a step toward the door. But then an image came to me of Amber standing alone among the couples and families at baggage claim, waiting patiently for her suitcase, and I stopped, the bottles immediately losing their sheen, their siren calls muffled.
I heard a squeak of tires and looked across the road to where Theo was being accosted by a cyclist. To my dismay, I recognized Colin, wearing perhaps even more Lycra than before. It was quite possibly the last person we needed right now. I stood in the doorway and watched him try to engage Theo in conversation, only for Theo to tell him—quite calmly, like he was giving directions—to fuck off. Colin went on his way, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher.
I crossed the road and joined Theo. We walked on in silence until we came to a stop on the bridge, looking down at the murky river below us. Across the water stood a pub bearing the name The Head of the Thames.
“Not really the head, is it?” Theo said. “That’s Kemble’s only claim to fame.”
“Does seem a bit unfair,” I replied.
Theo looked at me and then back to the off-license where I’d stopped.
“The answer’s yes,” I said. “I am. An
alcoholic, that is. But I’ve been dry for five years.”
“Oh,” Theo said, confused. “But then . . .”
“But the damage was sort of already done.”
“What do you mean?” Theo asked, and this time his voice shook slightly, and I realized he was scared. I just wished there was another way than this—for him to understand without me having to say the words.
“I’m not well, Theo,” I said at last.
A few seconds went by. Theo was looking straight ahead. I wondered if I’d spoken so quietly he might not have heard me. But then he said, “What is it, then? What’s . . . actually wrong?”
I looked down again at the swirling, indifferent water below us. I wondered how cold it was. How deep.
“I’ve got liver disease,” I said. “Advanced stages.”
Still Theo looked ahead. “The bucket list?” he asked.
Just then two boys passed by behind us. One of them kicked a bottle which clunked along into the gutter. His friend cheered. The simple call-and-response known only to the teenage boy made me smile.
“Yeah,” I said at last. “ ’Fraid so.”
Theo’s breath seemed to catch in his chest. It was as if he’d nearly cried out.
“Fuck, Joel. Liver disease . . .”
“Yeah, I know. They’re real fuckers, livers.”
Theo scuffed at the ground. “And it’s all from, you know, the drinking and stuff?”
“Well, it’s complicated,” I said. “Mostly the drinking. But I fell down the stairs way back when—ruptured the liver quite badly. It basically never properly recovered from that.”
Theo finally turned to face me. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “You falling down the stairs, I mean.”
“Yeah, that’s probably because it was after we’d . . . you know, gone our separate ways.”
A breeze had got up. My coat collar was flapping around my ear. Theo kept looking at it as if he might reach out and flatten it down.
“But the bucket list,” he said. “Does that mean . . .” He waved an arm in the air like a reluctant conductor, unable to finish the thought.
“It’s not looking good, put it that way,” I replied.
“But what about a transplant?” he said, earnest all of a sudden. “I mean, sorry, you and the doctors have probably thought of that already, I expect.”
“I’m on a waiting list,” I said.
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“It would be if I wasn’t so far down it.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. It’s a bit like trying to get Glastonbury tickets—there’s just a little bit more riding on it, and, um, yeah . . . I’m afraid I’m not sure I’ve got enough time.”
I gripped the railing of the bridge tightly, wishing I had something more hopeful to say. I realized it was times like this, when you’re standing in the gaping chasm of your inability to find the words to reassure someone, that you feel at your most useless as a human being.
“And there’s really nothing else they can do?” Theo asked, looking back once again to the river.
After a moment where I willed him to look at me, but which went unrequited, I said, “No. Nothing else,” and did my best to ignore Mum’s voice in my head: What about Plan B?
We were quiet for what felt like an age. It was Theo who broke the silence this time.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Yeah. Well, me too.”
“You don’t have to be sorry about this, Joel. Jesus.”
“No,” I said. “Not that. There’s something else I’ve got to tell you. It’s The Regulars.”
“What about it?” Theo said. “Can’t that wait? I know we’re behind on the scripts, but—”
“No, it’s not that.” I took a long, deep breath. “Back in Kemble, when I first came to see you, when you said you weren’t going to do the walk, I sort of panicked. The whole reason I’d wanted you to do it was so we could do one last thing together before I . . . and the BBC were looking for a new show from me, I promise . . . but we hadn’t discussed anything yet. I called my producer Jane straightaway, though, once you and I had talked, and it looked like it was all set to happen anyway. But Jane called me just now and . . . well, turns out Channel 4 apparently commissioned something similar a while back. I’m really sorry, Theo. If I’d had my time again, I’d have done things differently . . . That goes for a lot of things.”
Theo seemed to be experiencing about ninety different feelings at once.
“It’s fine” was all he said, his voice stiff and emotionless.
We watched the water in silence again. Something that had floated under the bridge caught my eye. It was a yellow washing-up glove, bobbing from side to side in a slow, sorrowful wave.
It was probably too early to say anything, but I wondered—now that everything was out in the open—whether we could still do the path together. I wouldn’t have to keep pretending I wasn’t tired. Theo might be up for doing the legwork on the tandem. The image came to me of us coming to a stop at the end of the path—the feeling of satisfaction at completing the journey and honoring our promise, maybe even exchanging an awkward hug. We’ve made it. Our last hurrah.
“I just can’t believe it,” Theo said. He folded his arms on the wall and rested his chin on them, looking off into middle distance.
Tentatively, I reached out and patted him on the back. I’d give him all the time he needed.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Livers, eh? Fuck ’em.”
If I’d looked away then, I might not have noticed it. But I saw it sure enough—the slightest glimmer of confusion in Theo’s eyes at what I’d just said.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “You were talking about the TV show. Not me.”
“No,” Theo replied. “No, I . . . That’s not . . .”
I waited. But he didn’t even bother to finish the lie.
“Wow,” I said, with a mirthless laugh. “Even for you, Theo, that is . . . Fucking hell. Well, it’s good to see you’ve got your priorities right, anyway.”
“No, Joel, I—”
“I’ll see you around. I’m so sorry to have upset you.”
And with that I left him, wanting to get as far away as I could. After a moment I heard him lumbering after me. He grabbed my shoulders, but I shook him off.
“That’s not what I meant, I swear,” he said, pawing at me, his voice trembling. But I didn’t care what he said now. He could protest all he liked, but I knew what I’d seen.
I turned to face him. “You’ve made your feelings crystal fucking clear. Now leave me the fuck alone, okay?”
I pitied him. How was he possibly going to get anywhere with his fucking life when his self-centeredness ran so deep. To think there’d been a second on that bridge where I’d nearly asked him for help. Well, I was glad I hadn’t put myself through that.
“Please,” he said. “Just let me ex—”
“No. Just don’t bother. It was a mistake, me doing this—I realize that now. I just wish I’d figured it out sooner, saved us both some fucking grief.”
I paused, waiting for Theo’s response, bracing for him to grab me and tell me not to go. But I took a step back and Theo didn’t move or say another word. Apparently he’d decided it was easier just to let me walk away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Theo
I walked around in the same loop for so long I lost track of time. When I finally made it back to where we were staying, the streets were empty. The streets were empty, and my friend was dying. Worst of all, he thought I cared more about a stupid TV show not being made than what was happening to him—and the truth was I couldn’t honestly say the news about The Regulars hadn’t temporarily come to the forefront of my mind, even if it was just for a second. Joel had seen it. He seemed to despise me so much in that moment that I fe
lt I had no choice but to let him walk away. But now I felt a horrible certainty that I’d never have the chance to make things right with him, because when I got back to the B&B and trudged up the stairs, I knew even as I pushed open the door and called his name that he would be gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Joel
I hauled myself off the train at Marylebone and decided to treat myself to an Uber to Peckham. That was the good thing about dying, I suppose: you stopped caring about things like a price surge.
When I got into the flat, it felt cold and damp. This had been where I’d lived during a strange, productive yet lonely time in London. I’d kept it as an office after Amber and I moved in together in Hampstead, but part of me knew I was using that as a bit of an excuse. I always felt there might be another time I’d need to seek refuge here. And that’s all I wanted now. To shut myself away here. To not think about Theo, or the fact that Amber was flying home but I still wasn’t brave enough to see her.
I showered, trying to warm myself up, sinking to the floor so I could wash my swollen legs and blistered toes. As I dried off, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’d been avoiding my reflection as much as I could lately, and I was shocked by how gaunt and exhausted I looked. What a stupid mistake the walk had been. How many precious days had I just chalked off, and all for nothing? I should never have sought Theo out. Not now, and not after Alice’s accident, either.
I should have just stayed away.
* * *
I was given a suspended sentence of fifteen months at a young offenders’ institute after the accident. I’d not been in trouble with the police before, hence the judge’s leniency. I still had to do 190 hours of community service, but it felt like a meaningless punishment. The final part of my sentence was paying “the victim” £2,750. As if that made up for anything. It was an embarrassingly small amount in the context of what had happened, but even then I couldn’t afford it myself, and nor could Mum. But Mike could. Mum had been making noises about asking him to move out after the confrontation where he’d pushed me and elbowed her—accident or not. But after this, the grip he had on us tightened even more.
When We Were Young Page 16
