Crap, I’m so confused.
Okay, check list.
Do I think that Will is handsome? Yes.
Well…it’s not a matter for debate, is it? Comparatively speaking, he is good-looking. It’s a simple fact, no personal feelings in it at all.
Am I attracted to him? Ummm…
That’s too hard. Find an easier one.
Do I like him? Yes.
I like him better than anyone else I’ve ever met. That’s why we’ve been friends for so long. But surely the only reason I’ve liked him better than any guy I’ve ever dated is because he’s great and they were all losers. See, no worrying implications there at all.
So, I don’t fancy him.
Or, maybe…
I need to do the flower-petal thing. I fancy him, I fancy him not. But, obviously, no flowers in Will’s bathroom.
I suppose I could pick bristles out of his nail-brush.
But then, he might object to that.
I’m sure I read somewhere that if your feelings are confusing you, you should put them aside and tell yourself firmly that you’ll come back to them tomorrow.
So, I’ll do that.
Easy peasy.
Although that still leaves the question of what to do tonight.
**
I pad into the living room, nicely clean and smelling of lavender, wearing a pair of Will’s sweatpants, which fortunately have a drawstring waist, and an old jumper that shrunk in the wash. I must look bizarre, but of course the beauty of being just friends with a guy is that you don’t need to get all paranoid about looking less than perfect.
Which is good, because I don't think I've ever looked perfect in my life.
Will isn’t here, which throws me. Where could he have gone?
I go to the sofa and settle on it to wait for him to come back. Which he does, very quickly.
He holds up a plastic bag as he comes through the door. 'Chocolate,' he says. 'I thought you’d be needing some.'
'I love you,' I say gratefully.
I must have said that to him a million times and yet, post kiss, it suddenly has implications that it never had before.
'I mean, thanks for getting it for me,' I say hurriedly, feeling like my hands are too big and my body’s all bent in two.
'You’re welcome,' Will says, just as awkwardly, as he brings the bag to me.
God, what have I done?
Will settles into his chair and we both get very interested in the carpet.
'So,' I say, and it’s testament to how desperate I am for something to say that I’m introducing this element, 'aren’t you seeing Natalie tonight? Friday night, date night?'
'Well I was,' Will says, still looking at the carpet, 'but I came home early.'
Will’s carpet has this weird swirly pattern that has no beginning or end and…
Oh, this is ridiculous. I can’t live like this.
I take a bite of Snickers, just to calm my nerves. 'So,' I say, 'I’m homeless.'
God, aren’t I just the sparkling conversationalist?
It kind of works though. A topic makes it safe to stop looking at the vertigo-inducing carpet.
'I just can’t believe that Beth would do that,' Will says, shaking his head. 'What did she say exactly?'
I repeat the words she used as best I can, unintentionally mimicking her expressions as well. Will looks gob-smacked.
'I don’t believe it,' he says. 'I mean, Beth? It’s like trying to picture Mother Theresa as an axe murderer.'
'I know,' I say, now chain-eating the contents of my goody bag. 'But what am I going to do?'
Will is still shaking his head in disbelief. 'There’s no way she’d be serious about this,' he says. 'You must have just hit a nerve somehow. Stay here tonight and I’ll come with you tomorrow and get it sorted out.'
'What if she won’t let me in?' I ask, having visions of barbed wire and anti-Mel missiles.
'I still have the spare key you gave me for emergencies,' Will says. 'Although I didn’t ever expect something like this would happen. I’ll dig it out for you later. It’s not like she’d barricade the door.'
Crap, what if she barricades the door?
'Don’t be ridiculous, Mel, she won’t do that.'
I swear I didn’t say that out loud.
'You didn’t say it out loud,' Will says. 'I just…' he suddenly looks embarrassed, '…knew what you were thinking.'
Suddenly it’s a bad thing.
God, now things are all weird between us.
Maybe we should have a little drink.
Chapter 24
Mmmm. I love Saturday mornings. Waking up at my own pace, no alarm screeching in my ear, next to…
Hold on a minute.
Where am I?
I don’t recognise that lamp.
Or that table.
Or this bedcover.
But I do recognise this arm around my waist.
Oh, God, no.
Very, very slowly I turn my head, so as not to disturb the warm, comfortable lump in the bed next to me.
Crap, it really is Will. I’m not imagining it.
Very carefully, I pinch myself firmly on the leg. I don’t wake up. I pinch every accessible body part until I have no choice but to admit to myself that this is not a dream. I am in bed with Will.
I mean, this has happened before. But last time Will was wearing Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas. It’s not quite the same thing.
I turn back, very slowly, and lie there, the picture of tranquillity, while my mind lets loose.
Did we do it? Was I good? Was he good? Did we use condoms? What about Natalie? Would he notice if I left? What do I say when he wakes up? What did I drink last night? This is like Friends. God, what if I got pregnant? What the hell am I going to do?
Okay. Deep, calming breaths, like I learnt at that stress-management course Susan dragged me to.
I can’t manage deep, calming breaths. My world has just been turned upside down and I don’t exactly have sticker pads attached to my hands. The second Will wakes up I’ll lose my grip on the bed and fall to my death.
Still, try to think rationally. I’m dressed and so is he. It’s perfectly possible that we were just spooning.
And I can’t have been that drunk, because I don’t even have a hangover.
In fact, now I’ve stopped panicking, I do remember what happened.
We definitely didn’t have sex.
Which is good, obviously. Just as it should be. We’re just friends. Aren’t we?
Now I’m confused.
You know, waking up next to Will is very, very nice. I like the way he smells. Half the guys I’ve dated didn’t stay the night with me even though we did have sex.
Of course, Will does live here.
But I’m not dating Will. Obviously.
I wonder if I should get up?
Will stirs beside me and hugs me closer to him. His cheek is sort of nuzzling my neck.
God, he’s thinking of Natalie, isn’t he? I’m the substitute, aren’t I? Me, the substitute in Will’s life. And for that bitch, no less.
I should definitely get up.
Very, very carefully, I lift Will’s arm up, trying to remove it from my waist without him waking up. I can’t look at his face.
'Morning,' Will’s sleepy voice says without warning. I jump and his arm drops and slaps my waist.
'How are you feeling?' he asks.
Scared, confused, but wonderful at the same time. Mystified as to why I’ve never noticed before what a sexy voice Will has. Especially when it’s all rough and scratchy from just waking up.
'Fine,' I say, my whole body rigid with tension.
'You don’t feel fine,' Will says, starting to rub the muscles in my shoulder.
This is getting weirder by the minute. I shift round so I’m facing him and he can’t reach them anymore.
'Well, I’m not used to waking up with you,' I say awkwardly, wanting to be closer to him and far away at the same time. '
I don’t know how to act.'
'Nothing happened,' Will assures me, picking up on my earlier worry, as he pushes a stray curl off my face. It feels wonderful and yet too intimate right now.
'I know,' I say, smoothing it back myself as if I want to undo his work. 'I remember. I just freaked out a little when I first woke up.'
'Is waking up with me really freaky?' Will asks, his forehead creasing into a frown.
'Yes!' I say instantly, then regret it. 'I mean no, I mean… You have a girlfriend, you shouldn’t be spending the night with another woman.'
'You hate Natalie,' Will says, his expression unreadable. 'And…'
'Of course I do, that’s not the point,' I interrupt, strangely hurt. I never knew Will was so casual about this. 'I may be old-fashioned, but I believe in one girl, one guy – or at least one somebody, one somebody-else. I mean, you can’t tell me that Natalie wouldn’t freak if she walked in on this.'
Will shifts his position slightly, subtly increasing the gap between us. 'I’ve never been unfaithful,' he says. 'You were upset, we cuddled, we fell asleep. It could be misinterpreted, that’s true, but that isn’t an issue in this case.'
His eyes meet mine and there’s a strange intensity in them. 'Unless you think there is some reason why this would be more that it seems?' he says, his tone neutral. 'Something between us other than friendship?'
Good question.
'Of course not,' I say. 'Of course not. We’re friends, we always have been. You’re right, it meant nothing.'
If it meant something then I’m the other woman. And no, I don’t find that appealing. I’m a romantic, so shoot me.
Although…
'I didn’t think so,' Will says, still in that neutral tone. He sits up and climbs off the bed. 'I’m going to make breakfast,' he says, now sounding much, much too distant. 'You can use the bathroom first.'
I flop onto my back as he leaves the room and stare up at the ceiling and the weird mini-chandelier that the old owners must have thought was chic.
Just like Friends? Who am I kidding? That’s a TV show. They get together, have a few token problems, which get sorted out in an episode, and then have a sweet wedding to thrill the fans. This is real life. I think the best thing in my life has just been given one battering too many.
I don’t think Will and I are best friends anymore.
And, if I’m right, nothing will ever be the same again.
**
'Can I do anything?' I ask, hovering around the entrance to Will’s kitchen.
'No,' Will says, politely but not encouragingly, his head in the fridge.
'Right,' I say, suddenly feeling like I might cry. 'I’ll just…I’ll just keep out of your way then.'
I turn and walk slowly into the living room, waiting for Will to say something else, to call after me. Nothing.
I always thought that Will didn’t belong in this apartment. It’s too fancy, too pretentious. It looks like Frasier Crane’s, only with a computer and desk where the piano would be. Will only has an affinity with one type of keyboard.
Now it’s me who doesn’t belong.
I never know what to do with myself when I’m waiting. I always feel like I should be doing something, even when there’s nothing to do.
I go to the sofa, sit down and stare at the table. Then I pick up the TV guide and flick through it, with as much concentration as an hyperactive five-year-old high on e-numbers. I don’t think I even register one tag line.
Then I put it down, get up and walk over to the balcony doors. At the very least, the weather is not mocking me today. The sky is cloudy and there’s a steady mist of rain – rather as if God has left his sprinklers on. Finally, a little understanding.
I stand there, feeling vindicated, for about a minute. Then God realises he’s left his sprinklers on and switches them off. The rain stops. Then he sets up his electric fan and the clouds waft away. The spring sunshine shines its hardest and a rainbow appears. A sodding rainbow. A huge, whole rainbow, in which all seven colours are identifiable if you look hard enough.
I am not amused.
I resolutely turn my back on it and step down into the main room. I wander past the fireplace, which Will – no doubt to Natalie’s horror – seems to have started using as a bookcase for his Star Trek novels since the last time I was here. I look up at the mantelpiece and my eye catches a photo in a frame. Will’s copy of us at my graduation ball, when he came all that way so I wouldn’t be dateless.
We look so happy and young. Blissfully unaware that there would one day be a rift between us. There am I, wearing the most hideous dress imaginable, my hair making Medusa’s look like it’s been styled by Trevor Sorbie, about two stone heavier than I am now thanks to massive panic-eating around my finals and yet I’m beaming. I’m beaming because I’m with my best friend who’s just told me that I’m the most beautiful girl there.
I’m not sure whether or not I should try to swallow this lump in my throat. I might choke on it.
'Toast’ll be done soon,' Will says, like I’m a guest, as he puts a couple of boxes of cereal on the table along with two bowls. I keep my back to him, pretending to be fascinated by the china-blue tiling around the fireplace, so that I don’t have to look at him and he won’t notice the moistness of my eyes.
'Great,' I say.
It’s not great, how could it be great? But there’s nothing else I can say.
I hear Will return to the kitchen and I head to the table. Then I change my mind and step up to where the computer is, settling down in Will’s chair.
I right click on the Messenger icon, for want of anything else to do. His inbox shows three new messages. I click on the link.
I won’t read them, obviously. It won’t do any harm just to see who they’re from. One might be important and I could tell him about it. Maybe that’ll break the ice on the door that’s frozen shut between us.
Matt ‘Re: I had an idea’, Lucy Knightley (Will's mum) ‘Further to our discussion’, Natalie ‘Arrangements’. Nothing that screams ‘urgent’.
I close the window, get up and then take my seat at the table. I rub my spoon against the bottom of my bowl sadly, wondering if Will would notice if I wore a hole in it.
Will comes in, sets down jars of honey and apricot jam on the table and then plants a kitchen-towel-covered pile of toast in the centre.
'There’s more if you want it,' he says and sits down.
Would he notice if I didn’t eat anything?
Would he care?
What’s happened to us? One minute we’re fine, then I tell him that waking up next to him is really freaky and he goes all silent and distant on me. I mean, why should that even make a difference to anything? He must have known what I meant.
'So,' I say, like this is another one of Beth’s blind dates and I’m trying desperately to make conversation. 'How are your parents?'
'Fine,' Will says, buttering a piece of toast.
A little help would be nice.
'Did you find much to talk about on Sunday?' I try again.
'The usual,' Will says, unhelpfully. 'My future, the next generation of Knightleys. This and that.'
He adds a layer of honey to his toast. Silently.
I start pouring myself a bowl of cornflakes. Halfway through I stop and put the box down.
'What about the website?' I ask desperately. I’d rather have a lecture on the finer points of HTML coding than this. 'How’s that going?'
'Fine,' Will says and takes a bite of his toast.
'Right,' I whisper and finish pouring.
Several ice ages pass. During which I add milk and force a spoonful of cornflakes down my throat. They taste of straw. But then I suppose they always do.
This is hell, this is torture, this is…
This is stupid.
'Will,' I say, dropping my spoon onto the table with a clatter, 'why are you being so quiet? We don’t play games, you and I, we never have done. That’s the greatest thing about being friend
s with you. I don’t want to lose that now. Tell me what I’ve done, so I can apologise and do whatever I need to do to make it up to you.'
Will has stopped with his mouth open, just about to crunch down on his toast. He closes his mouth, opens it again and seems about to speak. Then he gives a tiny shake of his head and puts his toast down. He does speak, but I’m not absolutely convinced that he’s saying what he meant to say at first.
'You’re right,' he says, finally looking at me properly. 'I’m acting like an idiot. You haven’t done anything wrong and you’ve got nothing to apologise for.'
I haven’t? That’s new. Making mistakes is practically my reason for being.
'I must have done,' I say, frankly a little bewildered. 'I said waking up with you was freaky and you went all weird.'
Will pauses. One of those pauses politicians use while they try to figure how not to answer your question.
'It’s nothing,' he says and I know he’s lying. 'It’s…okay, tired old cliché time…it’s not you, it’s me. I’ve…got some stuff on my mind right now, that’s all. Trying to figure a few things out.'
'Tell me,' I say, seeing my chance to be helpful and repair things a little. 'I’m sure I can help somehow.'
Will shakes his head. 'It’s not really the sort of thing you can help with,' he says. 'Or anyone, not just you. I’m just…having a mid-life crisis, I suppose.'
'You’re about fifteen years too young for that,' I say, cheering up considerably now that we’re talking again.
Will laughs, thank God.
'I’m exaggerating,' he says. 'I’m just…trying to make a few decisions. Change some stuff. Think about where I’m going.'
I have a bad feeling about this.
'You’re not turning into Big Five Accountant Guy, are you?' I ask anxiously. 'Becoming a member of the undead, the people who care who made their furniture?'
Will’s smile is weird. It’s like he’s amused, affectionate and sad all at once.
'No,' he says. 'I think I can safely promise you never to do that.'
'No matter how hard Natalie tries to convince you?' I press. Bad idea, but I have to ask.
Will pauses again. 'Actually…' he begins.
The phone rings and we both jump. Since Will’s nearest, he reaches over to the counter behind him and answers it.
The Dr Pepper Prophecies Page 19
