Just Friends

by Holly McCulloch

  He looks happy enough, so I plough on.

  It’s been a great morning. Peter has been his usual patient self, helping me to understand a whole load of things I’m pretty sure are quite simple, including a bunch of overly lengthy and unnecessarily convoluted terms.

  The wall is covered with Post-its and we have eaten all the cookies. I put the lid on the pen and half throw it on the table.

  ‘My brain is tired. I need to take a break.’

  Peter shuts his computer so abruptly it makes me jump, even through the mind fog I currently have.

  ‘Oh, thank God. Can we go get lunch? I’m starving. I only had a lasagne for breakfast.’

  ‘Who has lasagne for breakfast?’

  ‘It’s a perfectly balanced meal.’

  My brain really is tired, so I let it go.

  ‘I think the market is open. We could go there.’

  Peter jumps up from the couch and tugs down on the front of his shirt. ‘Perfect.’

  Peter earns a lot more money than I do and therefore can afford to live in a much nicer part of town. Not wanting him to judge me for my comparatively dodgy surroundings, I carefully plan a walk that avoids the worst parts of the local area. I wonder if any of the streets I avoid are where Colin’s friends live. Oh God. What if Colin is hanging around? Panic sets in. I should have thought about this before we left the apartment.

  I haven’t messaged him since we had sex. The only thing I could think to say was ‘thank you’ and that seemed somewhat insensitive, so I’ve stayed silent.

  Palms sweating, I take us on quite a meandering route. Hopefully Peter won’t ask for the reason behind the wiggling.

  ‘I like your scarf.’

  I snort. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Why is that funny?’

  Oops. ‘No reason.’ I avoid eye contact. ‘So … how are things with you and Alice? Last time I saw you, you didn’t really give me an answer.’

  ‘Ah yes, the lovely Alice. Well, to be honest they aren’t going very far. She’s a great girl, but she’s not the one for me. And I am definitely not the one for her.’

  ‘Interesting. Tell me.’

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘There’s nothing to tell really. She’s lovely. She’s attractive. She’s very kind. But she isn’t the person I want to be with.’

  ‘Well, who do you want to be with? What kind of things do you want in a relationship?’

  I can see him in my peripheral vision, but I purposefully keep my eyes away, trying to give him the safety of perceived anonymity.

  ‘That’s a good question to ask. It’s either a really long list, or a really short one.’

  In an effort to lighten the mood, I grab his elbow and make space to loop my arm with his. I didn’t mean for my question to bring him down, but I can feel emotions coming off him in waves.

  ‘Well, you deserve to be happy. And whoever she ends up being, she’s a lucky girl.’

  We walk on for a while, but he’s clearly still distracted. The silence is not quite comfortable.

  I decide to distract him with thoughts of food. ‘So, what do you fancy for lunch? A hotdog? A burrito?’

  ‘Nope, I can’t eat them.’

  ‘What? You love a burrito! Are you still annoyed at me for refusing to go get one with you at two in the morning?’ This is one of his favourite university stories. He always loves to tell it, so I always let him. ‘Why did that annoy you so much?’

  ‘It annoyed me so much because in the span of three years you must have asked me to accompany you to the late-night burrito van at least fifty times, and I always went with you, despite the fact I know that place didn’t have a food hygiene rating.’ He gets more animated as the story telling goes on. ‘I asked you once and not only did you say no, you also threw a book at me. I think I bled a little.’

  ‘Yes, but when I asked, you were always awake. When you asked, I was already in bed.’

  ‘Hmm, I suppose. I’ve always found it hard to say no to you.’ He pauses briefly and then looks away. ‘But that wasn’t actually what I was talking about. I meant the time we went on a date and then you ghosted me, even though I bought you a delicious and overpriced gourmet hotdog.’

  I stop in my tracks.

  ‘When on earth did we go on a date?’

  ‘Second term, first year. I finally plucked up the courage to ask you out, remember? We went to watch the rugby together, I bought you a hotdog with onions and extra gherkins. A real Casanova moment. We had a nice time, at least I thought so. But then you never seemed interested in giving me a second chance. It was such a scarring experience I haven’t touched a hotdog since.’

  I remember this well; it was a very good hotdog. But my version of events is quite different.

  ‘That was absolutely not a date! There were fifteen people going together! All of whom you had invited! That is categorically not a date. You don’t invite other people on a date.’

  ‘Yes, but I invited you first, and I only invited the others because I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed or scared or something. You had a tendency to run away. You still do.’

  ‘You are totally nuts. Nuts.’ The idea that the two of us would go on a date is preposterous. But he’s right – had he asked me out on an actual date, I definitely would have run away.

  We walk along a bit further in silence as I absorb this new information.

  I’m quite glad I didn’t know he meant that to be a date. Could you imagine? It would have ruined our friendship. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had him by my side at uni. If we weren’t friends now.

  It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Thank you for helping me today, by the way – it means a lot.’ I’m half fired up and eager to work, and half overwhelmed at my lack of knowledge and the amount I need to do. But it was nice to talk things over. And I was right to trust him; he wasn’t at all negative about any of my extremely meandering thoughts and plans. ‘Most of the time I have all of these thoughts and ideas, but then when I go to act on them I worry that what I once thought was brilliant is actually useless.’

  ‘You realize that all I did was organize your thoughts into a more logical plan?’

  ‘No! You did so much more!’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Nope, I promise you I did not. This is the glory of my job. I very, very rarely have to come up with any original ideas, all I have to do is organize them. Seriously, when we go back, have a look at your wall. All of those ideas are yours.’

  I shake off the praise. ‘Well, either way, I enjoyed this morning. It was fun.’

  ‘I’m happy that you asked for help.’

  We round the corner and finally reach the food market.

  Our arms still looped together, I give him a quick squeeze, look at him and raise an eyebrow.

  ‘How about a hotdog?’

  He smiles and shakes his head slightly, kinda like he’s waking up. ‘Fine. But this time you’re buying.’

  CHAPTER 22

  The rush of progress in love and at work is stopped in its tracks by a Sunday visit to my brother’s house, to play cool aunty for my niece’s fourth birthday party. I arrive when the party is in full swing and note that Olivia already has more friends than I do. I also note, with a hint of irony, the large ride-on unicorn that my mum appears to have given her. Hugo seems totally uninterested in it, lying peacefully nearby like butter wouldn’t melt. He’s a traitor.

  My brother, Fred, has always been my mum’s favourite. She has more photos of him up in the house than she does of me and his ‘artwork’ will always have pride of place in the guest loo. Mine hangs in the coat cupboard above the wellies.

  And she should be proud of him. I’m proud of him.

  He has a pretty perfect set-up. He and his wife Anna make a great team. You can tell they’re a good match just by looking at them. The only tiny thing I’d find to criticize, if I really had to, is the way Anna views me as a project. Areas she focuses on includ
e: my job, my side hustle, my clothes, my diet, my exercise regime and my love life. Coming from quite a direct family, her straightforward approach is very different from that taken by my mum and brother, who are instead totally happy to go along with the superficial details I provide.

  I plan on avoiding Anna all day.

  So here I am tangled up in rope, leading a charge of children through a supposedly age-appropriate assault course whilst wearing a tutu. It was a bit of a tight squeeze. I’m relieved there’s nobody here to impress.

  On reflection, one foot stuck in a hole intended for a child’s foot, I’m not convinced this physical assault is better than Anna’s emotional assault would have been. It takes one more kick to persuade me I’ve had enough of the physical for today.

  Finally free, I find a group of adults. ‘Goodness. That assault course is intense. Soft play isn’t that soft.’ They stare at me without laughing, and I know I am not quite adult enough for this particular group. I don’t disagree.

  Luckily, Fred beckons me over and tugs me under his arm when I’m within reach. ‘Come here. Have some birthday cake. It’s half yours too. Kinda.’

  Never one to turn down baked goods, and feeling like I might have exercised enough to have earned it this time, I pick a larger piece than is probably polite.

  Almost as though she can sense I’ve been up to no good, Anna pops up.

  ‘So, Bea, how’s the love life? How’s the card making going? How’s life at work? How was Mia’s wedding?’ Straight to the point as ever. ‘Fill me in. Let me live vicariously through you.’ I take this as a subtle way of her saying, ‘You should be doing more with your life.’ I don’t 100 per cent disagree with her.

  I have just enough time to take a rather large mouthful of cake, knowing the chew time will give me some precious moments to fortify myself.

  I nod and flap my free hand about, pretending to be chewing faster, and eventually swallow. ‘All ticking along quite nicely. I don’t want to say too much and jinx it –’ a phrase I hope means she’ll back off – ‘but card-wise I’ve actually been building out more of a solid business plan with my friend Peter. Work-wise, I’ve been given some more responsibility mentoring newly hired employees –’ sure, this is a bit of a stretch, but it’s fine – ‘and love life-wise, nothing of note to report.’ At this last point I give her what I hope is a subtle look that says, ‘Something is going on, but I’m not going to share it in front of Fred.’

  Of course I have absolutely no intention of sharing my antics with her, but she doesn’t need to know that. I need to make sure I stay close enough to the protective embrace of my big brother at all times, thereby making the subject off-limits.

  ‘Peter?’ Fred asks. Right in the middle of a sexy mini flashback to Colin, Peter’s name is an unwelcome surprise. Not noticing my discomfort, Fred keeps talking. Mainly to himself. ‘I like Peter.’ Peter came over a couple of times during our summer holidays at university, saying he needed a break from his lovely but occasionally overbearing mother. The first time he stayed I was uncomfortable; I knew his house had to be impressive, and I worried what he would think of my vastly more humble abode. I have a sneaking suspicion that Peter is the only one of my friends my brother actually remembers.

  ‘Well, that’s all wonderful!’ Anna’s chirpier voice brings me back to the present; I can tell she has limited interest in the anecdote from Fred. ‘And what about Mia’s wedding?’

  My first thought is of that total knob at the wedding who said I could have been his next girlfriend. I try to bat down the hatred.

  But the hatred melts quickly into worry. Mia and I normally text each other at least once a day, but even her awkward ‘trying to be nice’ messages have stopped, and so I haven’t actually spoken to her since her birthday drinks. That was five weeks ago now.

  ‘Oh dear. Not good then?’ I wish my face was less readable.

  I’m not OK with admitting that we had a fight, especially as I know Anna will keep prying and will eventually lead the conversation towards a deep dive into my life. I decide to deflect.

  ‘Oh no, but I haven’t seen her that much since she got married. She’s very focused on her career, which gives her only a small amount of time for anything else. But I think she’s good. The last time I saw her it was her birthday. We went to a really trendy bar for a couple of drinks. You would have loved it. Lots of cocktails.’

  ‘Gosh, the days of going to bars seem so long ago.’

  It wasn’t that long ago. Anna invited me to a work do a couple of years back. I was trying to save money so I wasn’t drinking, but Anna was totally – and I use this term affectionately – off her tits.

  By the time 10 p.m. rolled around, nobody was left standing.

  I remember turning around from my conversation with a couple of Anna’s co-workers to see one of her non-work friends making out with the barman, another eating nachos directly off the floor, and Anna stroking the walls.

  ‘Hey, Anna. Whatcha doing there?’

  ‘I’m testing for the filth.’

  All I could do was raise my eyebrows and nod.

  Anna went on, slurring slightly, swaying. ‘Yes. I am a good friend, and my good friend –’ she pauses and looks down at me through her eyelashes like she can’t remember her good friend’s name – ‘her, over there! –’ she points to the person eating the nachos – ‘I want to make sure that it’s safe for her to eat her nachos from wherever she chooses to eat them.’

  ‘You are a very good friend, but I don’t think she’s going to need to eat any more after she’s done with those.’ Anna keeps testing the wall. Her face is getting increasingly close, and I worry that she might lick it. ‘Can I get you a drink? Maybe some water?’

  That made her stop.

  ‘Water?! Water is for the weak! I want another cocktail.’

  I looked over at the bar. The barman was still, ahem, occupied with the other friend. But it didn’t matter. By the time I looked back at Anna she was merrily sing-shouting a montage of Disney songs to an unfortunate table of people nearby.

  I snap back to the present when a rainbow of children run directly across my eyeline.

  ‘Hello, sweetie! Have you said hello to Aunty Bea?’ Why does Anna have to use that high-pitched voice when she talks to Olivia?

  I realize that as her aunt I shouldn’t say this, but Olivia is a highly intelligent yet weirdly morbid child with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Ask her a simple question and she’ll answer it with a shocking amount of thought, always tinged with a depressing edge. Looking at her parents, who are now both singing Disney songs (thank goodness they found each other), I have no idea where she gets it from.

  She comes trotting over to me.

  ‘Hey, bug. You having a nice birthday party?’

  She thinks before she answers. ‘Yes.’ It sounds more like a question. ‘But I worry that one day I won’t have as much fun at my birthday parties. By the time we are old, like Mummy and Daddy, we will have lots of worries and the worries will spoil the fun. Do you still have fun at your birthday parties?’

  Where does she come up with this stuff? But then when I try to remember the last birthday party I had fun at, I come up blank.

  I can’t lie to her. ‘I know lots of people who still have lots of fun at their birthday parties. But I do think that the amount of fun you have is in exact relation to the amount of cake you eat. So I think you need more cake.’ And with that we wander off on a hunt for sponge.

  Later, safe in the quiet of the kitchen, Mum comes in, Hugo closely following behind.

  ‘Bea, you shouldn’t be cleaning up.’ She says this while adding a load of dirty plates to the pile.

  ‘I’ll wash if you dry.’

  She nods and grabs a tea towel.

  ‘I’ve put your card and present by your bag. I hope you like them. You can change them if not. The gift receipt is in there.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ I bet she’s given me yoga pants. Luckily it’s now acc
eptable to wear them to many different occasions. I hope they’re the type with pockets.

  ‘I think this year is going to be a good one for you, Bea. You seem happier today than you’ve seemed recently. Your eyes look less tired.’

  I know she means this as a compliment. At least, this is what I tell myself.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ I don’t say anything more, but I do pass her a plate to dry, whilst quietly hoping her premonition comes true.

  CHAPTER 23

  Peter! Guess what!

  Today I got accepted into an independent art fair, and at a discounted rate because someone had to pull out at the last minute.

  It’s only a small step, but it’s a small step in the right direction and it feels pretty good.

  I text Peter to share the good news. After all, it was his help that got me here. I also type out a message to Mia, as her pushing got me here too, but then I delete it. It doesn’t seem like the right time.

  Peter’s reply comes less than five minutes later.

  Want help?

  Yes, yes I do.

  Part of the new business plan was to get my cards out there. So I emailed a whole load of potential stockists, sent sample cards to trendy cafes, and applied to sell my wares at craft shows. I even dropped some cards on the underground, hoping it might cause a stir. It didn’t (at least not yet).

  My efforts didn’t amount to much. I got a lot of rejections. More rejections than I knew what to do with. Craft and art fairs were already full or far too expensive. Cafes thought the cards were cute, but said they didn’t currently sell anything other than coffee (but if that changed they’d let me know). Shops didn’t have any more space, but would get back in touch again come their January stock review. I thought the rejections would make me feel worse than they have, but they’ve actually been quite kind as rejections go; most people have even said how much they like the cards.