Just Friends

by Holly McCulloch

  Oh God. I kissed him. I know I kissed him. I remember that. That was nice. Oh God, that was stupid.

  Why am I so stupid?

  Oh my God. I was getting naked. I remember getting naked. Oh my God. We had sex. I am in his bed and we had sex in his bed. Shit. Fuck. Tits. I wish I could remember it.

  I didn’t even tell him how I feel. This was one thing I needed to do well and I did it very badly. I did it so badly I didn’t do it at all.

  Don’t panic. Just think. What do I remember? Be calm. It’s important to be calm. Follow the breadcrumbs. I remember bringing burritos. I remember him touching my hair. I remember him telling me I looked good in Lycra.

  I remember kissing him.

  I remember him leading me into the bedroom.

  Oh God, my head hurts.

  I remember some limbs. I remember undressing. I remember undressing and, oh God, telling him I wasn’t toned.

  I am not toned. I meant to get toned, but I like cookies and chicken too much. I’m sorry.

  Oh fuck. Why do I insist on shitting everything up? What the fuck is my problem? Why did I put him in this position?

  I don’t feel well. I feel bad. I need to feel better. I need to rewind time and act like an adult. I also need a sausage sandwich. A sausage sandwich will make me feel better. I wonder what vegans eat when they’re hungover? That is not a helpful thought.

  I really need a sausage sandwich.

  Or maybe I need to be sick.

  I definitely need to get out of here before I make it worse.

  I turn over. Peter’s side of the bed is ruffled, but empty. He’s gone. The clock, the same crappy one he’s had since I first met him, tells me it’s 8.42 a.m. Oh God, why is it still so early? I already want this day to be over.

  I sit up. I’m glad he isn’t here to see this. I can’t imagine I’m looking my best.

  Vertical is definitely worse than horizontal, so I stay still for a while in an effort to stop the nausea.

  What have I done? Why did I do this?

  What if he left because he didn’t want to see me either? What if I made such an arse out of myself that he couldn’t bear to look at me? Have I finally done enough to make Peter, who is comfortable around anyone, stop talking to me? I am an awful human being.

  I struggle out of bed. I spot a couple of random bruises on my legs, but I can see both of my shoes, which is a win, and all of my clothes. Some kind of grumbling noise escapes from me.

  I don’t want to put the horrible plasticky Lycra back on. Being that shiny and skin-tight was OK last night, but in the cold light of day it further highlights my shame. Peter’s neighbour is probably camping by her window, waiting for his inappropriate guest to reappear in yesterday’s clothes.

  It really can’t get much worse, so I borrow one of Peter’s jumpers. It will cover most of what is indecent (at least on the outside), and paired with the cheap Lycra leggings, my outfit could look like a fashion choice instead of a hen party hangover. I tell myself that I’ll wash the jumper and send it back.

  Once dressed, the idea of leaving the relative safety of the bedroom doesn’t fill me with joy. I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. The apartment feels empty, but I still spend some time listening at the door before deciding to risk it. I open the door as quietly as I can, which takes more effort than it should, but I can’t help the delay in communication between my brain and my limbs.

  Peeking around, I can’t see any trace of people; there is no movement, there is no noise. I can, however, see the remnants of the burritos, which look even less appetizing now than they did last night. I’ll take those with me. I might have messed everything up with Peter, but leaving him that cold, globular mess to clean up is a step too far.

  I wander around, making my way slowly to the kitchen, and come across his gallery wall.

  I hadn’t really looked at it before, but I do now. And right there, slightly up and left from the centre, is a picture of the two of us. It’s a picture I know well; I have it Blu-Tacked above the accessories station in my bedroom. It’s a nice photo. We look happy. We also look cold. From memory, this was taken at the end of the first term at uni, when all of our essays were written and all of our classes had finished. Of course we were happy then, we didn’t have a care in the world. And I hadn’t just ballsed up our friendship.

  I have to get out before he comes back from wherever he’s escaped to. I took advantage of him and his kindness, and the idea of him trying to tell me it’s OK when I’ve made a prize arse out of myself is too much.

  I grab a pen and hover over a notepad of his.

  Sorry I fucked everything up. It won’t happen again. Bea x

  Doesn’t quite cover it.

  I drop the pen, crumple up the note and run away.

  CHAPTER 37

  By the time Monday rears its ugly head, I’m technically sober, but still haven’t been able to shake the hangover guilt. And all I can ask myself is whether it’s acceptable to ghost one of your best friends who you had drunken sex with until they move away to the other side of the world.

  I don’t know the answer, so I’m slowly working my way around the office with some very bald tinsel. Everyone around me seems determined to be full of festive cheer, but I know that in reality we are all facing a month of work deadlines, poor diets, and parties every night. All in order to be able to take off that precious week between Christmas and New Year when nobody knows what day it is.

  It’s all too much. I reach for the inflatable Santa.

  ‘Bea, can you come in here please?’

  I didn’t think bosses were allowed to shout at assistants any more.

  It takes all of my energy to straighten up and walk over to Mansi’s office door.

  ‘Can I help?’

  She says, ‘Shut the door,’ and nods to the chair. ‘I’m going to have a frank conversation with you. As a warning I’m terribly hungover, and so this might be more frank than even I mean it to be.’

  I sit in the chair to await my fate, and start to pick off my nail polish. I wish with all my heart that I had called in sick today.

  She takes a sharp inhale of breath as I try to steel myself. ‘You have been a pain in the arse since I hired you. But I can’t blame you because I’m also a pain in your arse. And I’ve come to the conclusion that we aren’t the ones for each other. I don’t need you as my assistant.’

  Holy shit, is she firing me? I was expecting something bad, but I wasn’t expecting to get fired.

  ‘That said, I can’t help but value your … unique contribution to the company.’ I wonder if she is thinking specifically about the joke wall I created in the kitchen. ‘And over the years, you have become as much a part of this company as I am. You have grown on all of us, except possibly Joan. And now you’ve cut out an interesting niche for yourself.’

  Hold on, is she giving me a raise?

  ‘But you’re not suited to being an assistant, and I do need an assistant, now more than ever.’

  I need a map to help me navigate my way through this conversation.

  ‘I’m trusting you with this information because, well, I have no other choice, and I have never doubted your increasingly begrudgingly given loyalty to me.’ She’s right. I’ve never once shared any of her secrets, including her apparent love for making felt animals, despite having to open all of her mail, containing many, many boxes of felt, patterns, googly eyes, glue-gun sticks, twine and, most recently, alpaca wool. ‘I’m adopting a child, which is why I’ve been out of the office more than usual lately.’

  Oh God, maybe she’s been making the felt animals for the kid she was hoping to have. Now I feel awful.

  She goes on. ‘But this means that I will need a more involved assistant so I can spend more time at home. I don’t believe you want to be a more involved assistant.’

  I’m sitting on my hands, making sure I stay deadly still until I know what is going on.

  ‘So, I have a proposal for you, one that I urg
e you to seriously consider.’ She takes a dramatic pause. ‘When we first started out and I hired you, I remember you were great at many things, even things that you had no real background in. This is the moment where I apologize to you. I have done you a disservice; I should have found you a more suitable, more challenging role that made the most of your strengths, but instead I kept you as my assistant, a selfish move on my part.

  ‘And so we find ourselves here.’ She makes a gesture with her hands that prompts me to look around her office, wondering precisely how literal she is being.

  ‘Now, I’ve also been keeping track of your card business –’ business is still a stretch at this point but I’ll take it – ‘ever since that unfortunate headline mix-up. I saw your business plan on your desk last week. I shouldn’t have snooped, but I did and it made for interesting reading. It’s ambitious.’

  She looks at me pointedly and I think I’m meant to say something.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘It will take time.’

  ‘Yes, it will.’

  ‘The cards are funny.’

  ‘Thanks.’ This comes out more like a question and I frown a little. ‘How do you …’

  ‘I looked them up online.’ She says it as if that was the dumbest question I could have asked.

  ‘I do not need or want you as an assistant, but what this company does need is something that I think you could be quite good at.

  ‘I’ve been watching you with the assistants ever since I stumbled across your mentoring session in the cafe. I’m impressed, as are they, I believe. And I’m of the opinion that the sessions have made a difference in the workplace. For the better. I also noticed how you handled Joan.’ She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, and makes a face that looks like she smelt cabbage soup being reheated in the communal kitchen. Interesting. ‘Our attrition rate is shocking, and it costs us a lot of money and time to hire in and train up new people. Too much money and far too much time. I want to try and stop this. And to stop it, I think what we need is someone to help on board our rotating door of assistants so they feel more confident from the start, and someone to look out for the development opportunities we offer. I hope that with time and more support, the door will rotate a little more slowly, and we will have fewer skills gaps. I want to see if you can be this person. Indeed, I believe you already are.’

  ‘OK.’ Again, it comes out more like a question.

  ‘But, and there is a but, this is a role we cannot currently offer full-time. So your salary will be pro-rated for three days a week, with a review after six months to see how things are going, both from your perspective and mine.’

  Huh. Interesting.

  ‘Think about it.’ She adjusts her power blazer. ‘This could work out quite well for you. And me. It will give you more time to dedicate to your … puns.’

  She stops talking and looks at me.

  ‘Can I take some time to think about it?’

  She nods, once.

  ‘When do you need me to decide by?’

  ‘I would like to start looking for an assistant right after Christmas. So if you could tell me by next Thursday that would be appreciated.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ I’m not too sure what to say. I definitely won’t say the right thing, and I haven’t had any chance to prepare something, so I go with my gut. ‘There were a couple of compliments in there somewhere. I really appreciate it. I’ll think about your offer and let you know by Thursday.’ I go to leave, but before I do I turn around. ‘Sorry I’m a terrible assistant.’

  She looks at me above her glasses and I wonder whether this is a mannerism you automatically pick up as you gain power, or if there is some secret class you can take.

  ‘Don’t be. I was also a terrible assistant. Probably worse than you are. But then I found what it was I wanted to do, and you need to do the same. I’m trying to find a solution that works for both of us.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You could go get me a ridiculously sugary festive coffee. Unless that falls outside your job description.’

  ‘I’ll make an exception this time. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. I haven’t bought a Secret Santa present yet, and the party is next week. Next Thursday in fact. A big day for you.’ She gets some money out from her purse. ‘When you’re out getting coffee, could you also pick up a suitable present?’

  I shouldn’t have asked.

  ‘Who’s it for?’

  ‘Just get something you would like. I’m sure that would work fine.’

  ‘OK.’ I nod.

  ‘Good. Now go. Leave me in peace.’

  She shoos me out and I narrowly miss the door frame on my way out.

  I grab my coat and bag, and, like a bee to honey, or a bored office worker to any potential gossip, Penny appears.

  ‘You heading out?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m doing a coffee run. And buying a secret Santa gift.’ I roll my eyes at this.

  ‘Great! Can I come with you? I need fresh air otherwise I might fall asleep.’

  Having bought a pine-tree-scented candle and novelty Christmas mug, Penny and I head down the road to the cafe with all the food samples.

  ‘So what did the boss have to say?’

  I don’t think I should tell Penny anything until I know what I’m going to do myself.

  ‘Could we talk about something else?’ I feel bad; it goes against the work wife code.

  ‘No worries.’ I can tell from her tone that she is, in fact, a little worried. ‘What else is going on with you? You’ve been quiet today.’

  I can’t roadblock her out of two conversations, and besides, it might be good to talk about it. I hid in shame all of Sunday and I haven’t yet found a way to confess to Mia, so I fill her in on all the details. Or at least the ones I can remember.

  Having just reached the cafe, we stand in the middle of the floor blocking the natural path of customers, and only move when the update is over.

  ‘I think it’s a good thing you told him how you feel.’ Penny tells everyone how she feels all the time.

  ‘But I didn’t. I just launched myself at him. And now I can never actually tell him how I feel, because I’ve ruined it by acting like a drunken fool. And now I don’t know what to do. He hasn’t messaged me, so I guess I’ll take his lead.’

  ‘Why? Why not text him? That’s what I would do.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re beautiful. And beautiful people can get away with that.’ And I can be stubborn. Very stubborn.

  ‘I’m not even going to address that comment.’ Penny gives me a look. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Get a fake tan and do my nails?’

  She rolls her eyes at me and I think she also tuts.

  I pick up the coffees. Obviously I also ordered one for myself.

  Penny is still looking at me.

  ‘So?’

  I grab a handful of samples to take back to the office.

  ‘I’m going to pretend it never happened and move on.’

  CHAPTER 38

  Next Thursday arrives, and although I’ve made a decision, I’m still nervous about it. I’m sitting at my desk, unmoving except for my thrumming fingers.

  I spent the whole weekend thinking everything through. I kept wanting to call somebody and talk over my reasoning, but of course the one person I wanted to call was Peter. He’s always been good at organizing my thoughts, even if right now thinking about him still has me scrambled, not least because he hasn’t messaged me at all since that night. Sure, I haven’t messaged him either, but he hasn’t even bothered to tell me that he is moving to Australia. Doesn’t he think I deserve to know?

  Because I couldn’t call Peter I did the most Peter-like thing I could, and used Post-its to organize myself. They kept falling off my wall, but they were still helpful. And once all my thoughts were up there, it was clear my heart was saying ‘jump’, and eventually my head couldn’t argue any more.

  I look back at the
photo I took of the Post-its, the evidence I need to remind myself that I’ve made the right decision.

  Mansi looks up from her computer as I knock on her office door. I wonder if she can already tell what I’m going to say. ‘Have you come to a decision?’

  I remind myself that this is the right decision. I have one life; I might as well make the most of it.

  ‘Yes. I’d like to take you up on your offer, but I have some terms that I want to discuss with you first.’

  She smiles and nods. ‘Come in. Let’s talk.’

  I leave her office feeling more confident than I have in a while. She agreed to pretty much everything, even a pay rise; the only hard no was to my (half joking, of course) suggestion of bringing a dog into work. It would help morale. She even agreed to become something of a mentor to me.

  Mostly, I feel relieved and proud at making a decision, and taking the route that requires the bigger leap.

  I sit back at my desk, only to jump out of my skin when Penny jumps up in front of me.

  ‘Penny, you scared me half to death.’ She is smiling semi-crazily. ‘Why are you so happy?’

  ‘Why am I so happy? Why are you so happy? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much. Is it Peter?’

  And like that, my free and easy happiness bubble has burst. Because no, I was not smiling because of Peter, but I wish I could be.

  ‘No, it’s not Peter.’

  She changes the subject quickly after my admission, so quickly that I know she’s come over with a purpose.

  ‘What is it, Penny? What do you need?’

  She shrugs casually. ‘Nothing, but I was wondering what you were going as this evening?’

  ‘What am I going as?’

  ‘What are you going as? To the Christmas party?’

  In my sea of Post-its I have forgotten about the Christmas party, and I don’t want to admit to Penny that my costume-wearing quota for the year has already been reached with my eighties get-up for Tilly’s hen – the night I slept with Peter, who I am definitely not thinking about. I pull a face and tell her a white lie.