What Are Friends For?: The will-they-won't-they romance of the year!

by Lizzie O'Hagan

  He’s asking for a second chance. And I know Becky will want to give him one. She really liked Tom. She was happy with him. She’s just had too many bad boys to trust that a good man can exist.

  Leave this, Eve, leave this. But for the first time all week, the adrenalin pumping around my veins has me up and ready to run. If I leave this and Becky doesn’t reply, then Tom might delete the app. Or he might meet someone else. Maybe if I just keep things ticking along, from a distance, Becky will thank me in the long run.

  Even as I start to type, I know this is a bad idea. But like an addict trying to resist alcohol, the guilt washes over me before I’ve taken my first sip.

  Becky: Hey, stranger, long time.

  Tom: Hey, Becky. I’m so sorry.

  Tom: And I’ve really missed chatting to you.

  Becky: I’ve missed you too.

  Tom is typing . . .

  For a moment it feels like everything is right with the world. Yes, this is a bad idea. And yes, I’m not in the best place to be making decisions. But I am doing this for Becky. If I don’t, she’ll be regretting what may have been with Tom for years to come. This relationship started with my help and it sure as hell isn’t going to end with an unsatisfactory fizzle. If we can’t help each other make our happy endings, then what are friends for?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Max

  Max: Hey. You around?

  Tom work: No, sorry, mate. I’m with Yvonne today.

  Max: Cool.

  Tom work: We’re just hanging round her house otherwise I’d ask you to join.

  Max: It’s totally cool.

  Tom work: Maybe the three of us could hang out sometime?

  Max: Has Yvonne said she wants to?

  Tom work: Not exactly.

  Tom work: But she can’t keep me to herself forever, can she?

  No, Tom, she can’t. Why can’t he see that she’s just using him? I look up from my phone to navigate past the people walking by. It’s another gorgeous day and yet Yvonne is keeping Tom tucked away inside. Away from her friends, away from his, because let’s face it, if you keep your relationship in a box, it’s easy to return it just before your receipt runs out.

  A group of friends walk past me, almost forcing me off the pavement. Of course Yvonne and Tom aren’t hanging out with other people. Once you introduce your significant other to your significant others, things get messy, harder to break apart. Friends make everything complicated. But how Yvonne feels about Tom? She’s lonely and he’s easy – at least to her. That part is pretty obvious – at least to me.

  Becky: Good morning.

  Becky is typing . . .

  And then there’s Becky. I reach for Tom’s phone with the cracked screen, stashed in my pocket. She still likes Tom too. But not because of his body; because of his brain. A brain that will come to its senses soon and realise that it’s Becky he preferred all along, that he never should have let her go. Tom has always had my back, always been there for me – well, before Yvonne came and drew his attention further and further away from his friends. And isn’t this – me messaging Becky, keeping things ticking over – just me having Tom’s back, being there for him? Yvonne will end things soon and there will be one more lonely person in the world. Isn’t that what I’ve spent the past couple of years trying to avoid? Why I’m on my way to update Peggy about the walk? I want to make people feel less alone. And then there’s the tiny fact that speaking to Becky makes me feel a little less alone too.

  Becky: How did you sleep?

  Tom: Good thanks. How about you?

  Becky: Yeah, all right. Probably shouldn’t have stayed up quite so late, though.

  Tom: Who were you in bed with this time?

  Becky: Dickens.

  Tom: Again?!

  Becky: I think your date kick-started some kind of obsession.

  Becky: *Our date.

  Tom: Ha! So what are you up to today?

  Becky: Working still.

  Becky: SO.

  Becky: MUCH.

  Becky: MARKING.

  Tom: Bless you!

  Becky: You’re the same though, right?

  Tom: Yeah, patients coming out of my ears.

  Becky: Patients?

  Tom: I mean clients.

  Tom: So sorry I’ve not been able to see you this last couple of weeks. It’s just been mad. Soon, though?

  Becky: Don’t worry, I’m as busy as you.

  Becky: And to be honest?

  Becky: After our little wobble, it’s quite nice just going back to basics for a bit.

  Tom: I know, I still feel bad about that.

  Becky: It’s okay. I forgive you, plus messaging is fun. Feels like the early days, right?

  Yes, it feels like the early days. When things were simple. When it was just me, Tom’s phone and Becky. Maybe part of me is enjoying it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not doing it for Tom. It’s like Amy said at the Dickens Inn: don’t think of it as helpers and helpees; think of it as helping each other. Helping Tom is helping me feel better. And it’s helping Becky avoid a broken heart.

  Tom: Yeah, but I feel like I know you so much better now.

  Becky: I know. There’s something really intimate about messages, don’t you think?

  Tom: Like modern-day love letters?

  Becky: Yeah, exactly like that.

  ‘Dude, are you even listening?’

  I look up to see a bearded hipster holding my takeaway mug practically in my face. Somewhere in between messaging Becky, I have managed to drift into the café on the corner near Peggy’s care home, order a double-shot flat white and pay for it without even noticing.

  ‘Thanks, man.’ I smile at him; it’s the guy who’s usually here on a Saturday.

  He looks down at Tom’s phone in my hands and smiles. ‘You should get that fixed.’ I’ve been telling Tom that for weeks, but he’s got his shiny work phone so he hasn’t bothered.

  I take the coffee and stash the phone. It’s only when I do that I realise that even with Tom’s half-hearted blessing, I definitely have something to hide.

  Walking back into the sunshine, I stroll the final stretch to the care home, the warm breeze shaking me alert. I take a gulp of my coffee, and then another. I’m going to need this today. Just like Becky, I stayed up far too late last night – well, too early. Sadly, not drifting into Dickens’ prose, but drafting some of my own.

  Between Paddy, Heather and the rest of the team, we’ve managed to secure most of the permissions we need for the walk. Amy has hooked me up with multiple partners, and now we just need to nail down the date and start telling people about it. It feels like standing on the starting line looking out at the miles before me. I’ve been working up to this for so long, and now that I’m finally on the cusp of everything, I feel like I want to jack it in and walk away. But I can’t. I’ve promised Peggy. She’s the reason I’m doing it, after all; well, one of the reasons. That part is clear. But still I spent the early hours of this morning tossing and turning, trying to answer the question Heather asked me just yesterday: ‘The media don’t just need to know why we’re doing the walk, they need to know why now.’

  Tom: Hey, sorry. Was just grabbing coffee.

  Tom: Much, much needed after last night.

  Becky: What was last night? I thought you said you slept well?

  This is why I shouldn’t lie. Makes it pretty hard to keep up with myself.

  Tom: Yeah, to be honest, I slept pretty badly. Just didn’t want to make it all about me.

  Becky: Busy mind?

  Tom: You could say that.

  Becky: Anything specific?

  Tom: Yeah, I guess.

  Tom: Peggy’s Walk.

  Becky: That Max is putting on?

  Oh shit, that’s right. It’s not Tom’s thing to
worry about. And I’m being him. But just sometimes, speaking to Becky makes me feel more like myself than anything else.

  Tom: Yeah. Guess I’m just a bit worried about it.

  Tom: *Him, sorry. I meant him.

  Becky: That’s really sweet.

  Becky: You’re such a good friend.

  God, I hope so. That’s what I am trying to be.

  Becky: So what’s been going on with it? Just out of interest?

  Tom: It’s going well, generally.

  Tom: Well, that’s what Max says.

  Tom: Just trying to find a hook for media, something that answers the ‘why now?’ question for anyone looking to sponsor the event.

  Becky: Like an awareness day or something?

  Tom: Exactly like an awareness day.

  It’s just a shame I couldn’t get it together sooner, too busy feeling sorry for myself whilst Dementia Action Week came and went. And Loneliness Awareness Week is towards the end of the month. There is no way we can pull this off before then. Why is everything I do just a little bit too late?

  Becky: Shame Dementia Action Week was a couple of weeks back.

  Of course Becky knows that. Sometimes she seems to know everything that is important to me.

  Becky: How about World Alzheimer’s Day in September?

  Tom: That could work timing-wise, but isn’t it too exclusive? We’re meant to be broadening it out to address loneliness generally, make the whole thing more inclusive.

  Tom: Well, that’s what Max says anyway.

  Damn it, Max. Keep it together.

  Becky: Well, it’s the cause of about seventy per cent of dementia, right?

  Right. Why is Becky always right?

  Becky: And it’s just a hook in any case, an excuse to get in touch with the media. But if the story’s good they should take note of it anyway.

  Tom: You sure?

  Tom: Could you ask Eve?

  Becky: I’m sure.

  Becky: Though I’m not up for talking about media stuff right now.

  Becky: Eve, sorry. I mean Eve’s not up for it.

  Tom: Oh shit, why? Is she okay?

  Becky: She didn’t get that job.

  Eve didn’t get the job? I look up from my phone as I navigate my way through to the reception area of the care home. Peggy is already sitting in her favourite armchair by the window, looking out across the courtyard, dreaming about places she’d rather be. And now Eve is dreaming about that too? Feeling stuck in a position she wants to move on from. I don’t know her that well, but even I know how much that role meant to her.

  Reaching into my pocket to pull out my own phone, I gaze down at the two screens in my hands. One cracked and broken and trying to hold something together. The other my own. Man, I want to message Eve. To just tell her I’m thinking about her. But if I speak to her, don’t I risk the chance of her finding out the truth about me, about Tom? No, I’ll just have to wish her well through Becky and hope that somehow she gets the message.

  Tom: Oh God, I’m so sorry to hear that.

  Tom: I know how much that job meant to her.

  Tom: She must be devastated.

  Becky: Yeah, I am.

  Becky: For her, obviously.

  Becky: But she’s keeping her chin up.

  Becky: Being kind to herself for once.

  Becky: Holding on to the things that give her hope.

  ‘Who is she?’ Peggy asks as I look up from Tom’s screen, smiling.

  ‘No one.’ I stash the phone before bending down to embrace her. She seems to be doing a little better today, the sunlight from outside warming her lined face. Despite the heaviness of her eyes, they have a twinkle in them, the way they do when she knows a secret. Well, when she thinks she knows a secret.

  ‘Not buying that for one second. I know that face.’ She shakes her head, sending her dangly earrings rattling in the process, still audible over the sound of her cough. Her eyes dart across the room to Amy, who’s smiling down at her own phone.

  ‘It’s not Amy, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I know that.’ She shakes her head. ‘She likes someone else.’

  She does? I study Amy, who’s trying her best to stop her laughter from escaping into the room. I know that face too. It’s the face I usually wear when Becky is around – digitally at least.

  ‘Amy tells me things.’ Peggy raises her eyebrows at me, another cough escaping through her laugh.

  ‘I tell you things,’ I object. Lots of things. It was talking to Peggy that prompted this sponsored walk in the first place. But I can’t tell her about Becky, can I? There is absolutely no way that Peggy will be okay with me pretending to be someone else. I thought there was no way I would be okay with it. But then these are exceptional circumstances.

  ‘That’s fine.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘I’m just an old woman sitting in a care home, staring out of a window at the same old view, day after day . . .’ I know what she’s doing, but I’m not going to bite. A wicked smile turns up the corners of her mouth, as she waves her fragile arms dramatically. ‘. . . waiting for something, anything from the outside world to entertain her, just wondering who is causing my favourite man to smile like that . . .’

  ‘Fine, fine.’ I put my hands up in surrender. She had me at favourite. ‘The person who is making me smile is Becky.’

  ‘Tom’s girlfriend?’ Peggy tries to sit up straighter in her seat, disappointment palpable. I can’t let her down, I just can’t.

  ‘Let me finish,’ I say, before I even know how my sentence is going to end. ‘Tom’s girlfriend Becky was making me smile . . .’ Probably best if Peggy doesn’t know the details about this either. ‘. . . because she was telling me about her best friend, Eve.’

  Peggy’s smile widens, making her whole face shine. ‘Eve,’ she breathes.

  It isn’t technically a lie, is it? Becky has just been telling me how Eve is disappointed about not getting the job and yet is digging deep, finding strength to fight, to be that phoenix rising from the flames all over again.

  ‘Can you tell me about her?’ Peggy smiles again, reclining in her chair and closing her eyes, as if getting ready for a bedtime story.

  Can I tell her about Eve? I haven’t seen her since that Saturday together almost a whole month ago, hanging out in Soho. But I feel like we really opened up to each other then. So yes, I guess I can tell Peggy about her, just with a bit of Becky added into the mix.

  A little like Tom and I did in the first place.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, reaching to rest my hand on hers. She smiles again, still resting her eyes, heavy head nodding. ‘Well, she’s smart, really smart,’ I begin, remembering our first conversations together, the way we bounced off one another as I tried to help Tom keep things flowing at the Fable. ‘And super-ambitious, really passionate about what she does. She’s a journalist, works on this trend supplement for a newspaper but is fanatical about stories that matter, human-interest pieces about what motivates people to redirect their lives, to fight for a better future . . .’

  Even as I say it, I remember how cool Eve is. Trust Becky to have a brilliant best friend; there is nothing not-brilliant about her.

  ‘She loves to run, talk, read . . .’ Now that I’ve started, I’m somehow struggling to stop. It’s nice to share how I feel out loud, even if those feelings are pinned on the wrong girl. ‘And she’s super-fiery about family being something you build around you rather than something you’re born with.’ Peggy squeezes my hand tighter at the mention of family.

  ‘And what does she look like?’ She smiles again, eyes still closed, ready to conjure my mystery woman. Well, she’s small, brunette, olive-skinned . . .

  ‘She’s tall, really tall,’ I begin, knowing I shouldn’t be lying to Peggy about fancying Eve, but also sure this is the lesser of two evils: she
can’t know I’ve been lying to Becky, even with my good intentions. ‘And blonde, and pale . . . but she tans well in summer,’ I add, not sure how I know this; I’ve only seen Eve in spring. ‘And she’s got this really cool, laid-back look about her, even though she’s really not that laid-back at all.’ I laugh, and realise Peggy is joining in. She opens her eyes again, taking in the sunshine scattered across the courtyard before turning back to me.

  ‘She sounds . . .’ her smile is more alive than I’ve seen it in weeks, despite her shrinking body and her sporadically fraying mind, ‘magical.’

  ‘She is.’ I smile back. At least I know that part is true.

  ‘Will she be at the walk?’ Peggy asks.

  Maybe. I was going to ask her if she wanted to cover the story, but that was before Becky and Tom’s dating hiatus. I can’t ask now, can I? Not while things are so risky. Eve is too good at discovering the truth for me to be around her with all these lies.

  ‘Maybe,’ I reply, forcing a smile. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I hope so too. Any woman who can make you smile like that is a wonder. And Eve sounds lovely.’ Peggy doesn’t need to know that the woman and Eve aren’t one and the same.

  She looks back out of the window and sighs. As much as she wants to live vicariously through me, I know it reminds her that her best days are behind her. But not all of them; there is still the walk, her dream, her last chance to see dementia get the attention it deserves. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I know for a fact it’s Becky.

  ‘I think we’re closer to a date for the walk,’ I tell Peggy, and her smile brightens again.

  ‘Is that so?’ She struggles to sit up, as if eager to get walking despite feeling so weak.

  ‘September,’ I say, thinking of Becky and a media hook magicked so quickly that it stands a chance of impressing even Eve. ‘World Alzheimer’s Day.’ I hear another buzz.

  ‘September? As in three months away?’ Peggy looks apprehensive and excited at the same time. ‘Well what are you playing at, hanging out with me? Get to work!’

  ‘Don’t get yourself worked up.’ I pat her on the shoulder, pretending to patronise her. She narrows her eyes, shooting a playful glare my way. ‘Remember that you’re a hundred and one . . .’