Bad Friends

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “Well, as long as you’re not planning to wait around all your life and swoop in there if something happens to Adam?”

  He laughs hard. “Thought had crossed my mind, seeing as though I’m her favourite out of all his friends.”

  “That’s not difficult, the rest she’s hardly spent time with, and most of them don’t have your looks or intellect.”

  “Why, thanks,” he says, in a Southern Belle’s accent.

  He always makes me laugh.

  “As long as they’re not going to try and matchmake us.” I turn and give him a look. “So they can turn us into their perfect partners for double dating or some crap.”

  He sighs and I chuckle at his obvious, still-there obsession.

  “Let’s not tell her about our pact,” he chuckles, “but gently let her believe there’s a chance.”

  I turn my nose up at him and snort. “Always been the rough and ready ones for me, far too pretty you are, Theo.”

  “Fuck off,” he growls, and I turn the radio up louder, starting a sing song he’s eager to join in with.

  “Hey guys,” she says, welcoming us in. God, she looks perfect in tight jeans and a cute pink cashmere polo neck. “Did you find us okay?”

  “No problem at all, your directions were really good.” I hug her in the hallway. “I like your house, very sweet.”

  They have a terrace house, two-up, two-down, from what I can tell.

  I move into the hallway and Theo’s behind me, throwing his arms around her next.

  “So glad you could come,” she says, diminutive when placed next to Theo, who’s 6’4 while she’s around 5’6. I’m 5’10 and more a match for Theo, I suppose.

  Adam comes barrelling towards me, wrapping me up in a big bear hug. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Me too, you missed Christmas Eve.”

  He still has hold of me. “How bad was it?”

  “Fucking abysmal,” Theo replies for me, and we swap, Adam and Theo hugging next.

  “Let’s give you the tour!” Adam exclaims, matching Susan in jeans and a lovely chunky-knit sweater.

  Adam moves back a couple of paces and opens the door to the sitting room, just off the corridor. “It’s a bit chilly in there right now, we’ll light the fire later.”

  “Nice,” I mutter, as me and Theo peek our heads around the door.

  It must be Victorian or something this place, because the ceilings are too high and the windows and doors are oversized. The sitting room has a huge fireplace, original wood floors and a big rug, corner sofa, mounted TV and lots of bookshelves.

  Adam leads us down the corridor to an open-plan kitchen next. It’s vast.

  “Wow,” I exclaim.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Susan gushes.

  It must be the length of nearly the entire house.

  “Wow,” Theo agrees.

  “There’s a lav down the bottom,” Adam explains, “but we had two living rooms and we didn’t need them. The dining area before was tiny so we knocked some walls through, and et violà!”

  “Wow, I mean…” There’s something cooking in the oven that smells great, but it’s more than that.

  The dining table is more befitting of a banquet hall. Down one side there’s an absolutely huge wooden bench for seating, and at the other side there are chairs built for kings, all carved wood and huge arms.

  “We were lucky. My dad did all the work for us. Isn’t it impressive?” Susan sounds thrilled, truly.

  We walk further into the room and admire the huge worktops, reminding me of a kitchen that ought to belong in a log cabin in Canada or New Zealand.

  “It’s stunning,” I agree, “and you haven’t been in long. It’s truly something. You can have big parties in here. You wouldn’t have to move from the room. It’s amazing.”

  The central island has a hob and plenty of storage space. They have an American-style fridge freezer, plus a double oven built into what looks like an old chimney breast that’s been plastered and re-purposed. There are windows all the way down one side, it being an end terrace, and with all the light and space, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to stay in here all the time.

  “We had all our colleagues over for New Year’s Eve last week, it was amazing,” she says, giggling.

  Theo and I look at one another. I guess they’re socialising in different circles now, but at least this gorgeous kitchen isn’t going to waste.

  “Ooh, let’s go upstairs,” she says.

  We follow her and Adam upstairs and discover two lovely bedrooms, equally kitted out as wonderfully as the other rooms. Wood floors, rugs, huge pieces of oak furniture, big windows, the odd feminine touch here and there. The bathroom has a separate shower and bath and is as clean as a whistle. Bless her, she’s such a homemaker. I wish I had a Susan.

  “And then the pièce de résistance,” Adam says, leading us even further into their secretive domain. We climb more stairs into the attic. A fixed staircase, so either it was converted when they got here or it was already boasting this before they bought the place.

  We enter a huge space. Massive.

  “Fucking hell,” Theo exclaims, making Susan and Adam laugh.

  “It’s awesome,” I agree.

  The attic space is a huge office area with a flatscreen, big desks, big computer screens and even a little kitchenette with drinks facilities, a microwave and gas hob.

  “I’m going freelance,” Adam proudly admits, “so that, if we have kids, I can work from home and be around. I’m going to see how it goes and if it works, I’ll keep it going.”

  “Wow, congratulations.” I squeeze Adam’s hand and walk about the room, stunned by it all.

  “Let’s go get drinks,” Susan suggests, and we all head downstairs in silence.

  Theo hasn’t said anything, but I think he’s letting it all sink in.

  Downstairs Theo and I look out of the window while the happy couple go about fixing drinks. It’s idyllic, really. I mean Castleford isn’t exactly cultured or on the map, but I can’t argue, this house is perfect for a recently married pair like them.

  Theo and I sit at the kitchen island on two stools, then Susan and Adam join us.

  “Cheers,” Adam toasts, and we all clink our glasses. I’ll have one and no more, because I’m driving. I warned Theo earlier that he can have no more than four, or he can make his own way home.

  Susan messes about with something on her phone, then music begins playing magically, out of some hidden speaker somewhere.

  “So, how in the heck did you get the work done so quickly?” I start the conversation.

  “Oh,” she blushes, “my dad bought this for us in secret, when we said we were looking for somewhere to live in this area. It’s our wedding present, you see; he told us the morning after the big day, giving us something to look forward to after it was all over. It needed a lot of work, so we basically took out a small mortgage for the renovations, but we’re really lucky. I don’t think we’d have thought of half the little touches if we didn’t have my dad.”

  “That’s really lucky.”

  “How’s it going with you, anyway?” Adam asks, looking at me.

  Theo’s holding his glass of wine, trying his hardest not to drink it all at once.

  “I’m renting again, near where I used to live. I’m still under mentorship, but I’m out there, treating patients and everything. It’s pretty scary.”

  “I think what you do is amazing,” Susan says, “I couldn’t do that.”

  “It’s hard work,” I admit, “but can be rewarding, beyond what I imagined actually. I don’t think I’ll do it forever. The dream is to eventually one day have a workspace at home like you do, maybe specialise in paediatric therapy, it’s what I’m most passionate about.”

  Theo turns and looks at me. He’s grinning and there’s something genuine and kind in his eyes, as if for the first time, he really sees me and what I’m doing. “You’re amazing, Lil.”

  “And you, Theo?” s
he asks.

  “Oh, yeah… haven’t told anyone yet, have I?”

  I turn, frowning. “Eh? What?”

  “I’m touring around Europe, it starts at Easter. We’re doing a production of Hamlet. I’m Hamlet’s dodgy git of a father. It’s a little artsy and scaled down, but I’m sure I’ll ham it up and the Europeans will love it.”

  I throw my arms around him. “I’m so happy for you, why didn’t you say?”

  “I don’t know, didn’t want to brag, I suppose,” he chuckles nervously.

  “That’s great news, big guy,” Adam agrees, also aware how much Theo’s struggled with work and stuff.

  “I’m trying not to get my hopes up,” admits Theo, “but it’ll be good to travel a bit and get out of London. I’m giving up my bedsit and bringing some stuff home to store at Mum’s. I’ll wait until I get back to see how I feel, but I don’t reckon I’m moving back. Not for me.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Theo,” Susan says gently.

  “It’s been hard,” he admits. “Either not having the right look, or them not being convinced by my accent. Whatever.”

  “Well, this could lead to that big break,” Adam decides, “you just never know. And anyway, getting out there and seeing more of the world will do you the world of good.”

  “Cheers, I’m hoping so.”

  “Right, let’s dish up,” she says, producing a huge lasagne, salad, garlic bread and a basket of French fries.

  Maybe I could loan her from Adam for a bit?

  On the drive back, Theo’s quiet. I must admit, I’m taking it all in, too.

  “Are you alright?” I ask, the car radio on low, rain thrashing against the windows, the wipers on full.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, she obviously wants children. They’re all set up for it with a house and all. To be honest, I realised a lot while we were there.”

  “Yeah?” I chuckle light-heartedly.

  “I mean, I know we joked about being each other’s back-up and all, but kids isn’t something I’ve ever really thought about. And a mortgage? As far as I’m concerned, people shouldn’t get a mortgage before they’re forty.”

  I can’t help but laugh out loud. “That’s my Theo.”

  “Eh, well, she’s got Adam, dependable, there, open to compromise. Me? I’d only disappoint her.”

  “Yeah, and there’s the whole problem of love. She clearly loves him. Haven’t you seen the way she looks at him?”

  “Well, I didn’t notice, actually.”

  A guttural laugh snorts out of me. “Oh, bloody hell. Denial!”

  “Or I wasn’t looking!”

  I reach across and squeeze his thigh. “You know what? I think it’s gonna be alright. I really do.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah, I promise.”

  Silence descends and I look across, finding him deep in thought. I wonder if he’s thinking about him and Adam, how they used to be so in sync and now there’s this whole elephant in the room – Susan – who’s a wedge between them. Not that Adam knows about Theo’s feelings, he hasn’t got a clue; though he recognises people obviously admire Susan, or Susie as he calls her, Adam doesn’t see that Theo has the capacity to fall for someone in the same way he has.

  “Did you notice how he didn’t mention Paul once?” I find that so interesting.

  “Well, I didn’t say anything, to anyone. Lips are sealed.”

  “Unless Susan doesn’t like Paul? And he didn’t mention him for that reason.”

  “I think Adam knows more than he’s letting on, probably cos Paul rings him first. I reckon Adam is protecting you from what’s going on in Paul’s life. Either that, or Paul has done something to really anger Adam, which could well be the case. He’s a married man now, he acts different, looks different. Paul’s Paul, whereas Adam is settled, a one-woman man. Leagues apart suddenly. Yeah, we can all get along still, but our experiences are different now. If Paul rang him and said something Adam didn’t agree with, you can bet Adam told him so.”

  “Or Paul’s madly in love with his holiday romance and Adam doesn’t want to rub it in my face?”

  Theo laughs so loudly, I think the car is about to pop. “No, fucking, way. No way, kid. Absolutely no fucking way.”

  My stomach flips, just thinking about Paul; but the bitterness is still there, swishing around my gut, a reminder of how he left me – naked and alone, totally in the dark to his troubles.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’m leaving work and it’s been a long day. January and February dragged and I thought things would eventually get easier, but it doesn’t seem any better now we’re in March. I could blame it on the bad, dreary weather but honestly, the cases I’ve been handed lately get worse and worse. I wonder if this is how they bed you in with a career like this; lull you into a false sense of security with the less complex patients, then suddenly pile on the personality disorders, the suicidal and extremely damaged. My head’s spinning with treatment plans. It physically hurts being around such poorly people all day. I don’t think the average Joe realises how hard it is to work in this field, because our patients often don’t understand what’s happening to them and don’t want help, either. And none of it is their fault. It’s the fault of our complex biology and the way in which, sometimes, it doesn’t work out. And it’s sometimes unexpected. Nobody saw it coming. No history, nothing, and in an instant, lives are changed forever. And ever.

  I intend to leave the hospital the way I always do, but then I get this strange feeling inside telling me to walk the long way around to my car. I usually slip out the side entrance, but today, I don’t know, something’s telling me to go out the front. Maybe I need the extra walk to grab some fresh air.

  Heading down the path which runs through the hospital gardens towards the exit, I have to pass through all the smokers creating their own smoke bubble right on the edge of hospital premises. Now I remember, this is why I never walk this way, plus it’s longer. Duh. Why today?

  I’m about to put my head down and sprint through smoggy corner, when something catches my eye. A guy in a check shirt is crouched on the floor with his back to the metal perimeter fence. His hands are shaking as he holds his cigarette, the ash tip extremely long, like he forgot what he was outside for. I know that body, that hair, those legs.

  “Paul?”

  He doesn’t hear, or he decides not to answer.

  “Paul?” I almost shout.

  He looks up, shaken from his thoughts.

  His eyes are red and bleary. He quickly looks away, down at his cigarette, which he drops to the floor and puts out with his boot as he stands to full height.

  “What are you doing here? Nobody said you were back.”

  He folds his arms, but not like people normally fold their arms. He sinks into his shoulders and almost drops his chin to his chest, crawling into himself, eyes to the floor.

  “Nobody knows. I got a call and had to come. There was no time.”

  “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” It’s the sound of his voice, like he’s not there; he’s just a shell and some automaton has taken over.

  “It’s my dad, alright,” he says, savaging me with his gruff tone. “He’s fucking… fucking…”

  “You’ve seen him? He’s in there?”

  “He’s dying, Lil. He’s fucking dying. That fucking cunt is dying in there.”

  He keeps his same posture but shudders as tears drip from his eyes, flicking off his forearms to the floor.

  Okay, this isn’t the same as prescribing knitting or long walks or sudoku to help keep people’s minds occupied with routine and gentle mental exercise. This is Paul, who I love, and who is in incredible pain. I can do things for him above and beyond what I do for my patients, who I have to honour with a code and a professional distance.

  “Do you have to go back in? What are you out here for?”

  He’s trembling but speaks. “I ought to, he might not last
the night, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

  I’m thinking of his brothers and his mother. I don’t get it.

  I thought they were such a tight, close family, so bright and happy. The feeling I’m getting is that Paul would rather be anywhere else – but was forced to come here.

  “Come on, let me take you somewhere we can talk.”

  “Lily, no. Go home. You don’t need this.”

  I feel burned, to a crisp. He made the choice. He left. He didn’t tell me why, but I’m starting to see.

  “I do need this. Oh, I do. I deserve answers. I deserve to be allowed to take care of you when I see you like this. So, fucking buck up and come on, or I swear to God, I’ll haunt you in this life and in all your future reincarnations too, Paul Barton.”

  I start walking away, and when I glance behind, I see he’s following me. My heart lifts, just a couple of millimetres. I love Paul more than anything and right now, if all I can do is be here for him, then that’s what I’m going to do, because that’s love. And he won’t stop me, not this time.

  I drive him to my place and when we get inside, I push him into the shower because he stinks. I doubt he’s washed in days; probably flew home and came direct to the hospital. While he’s showering, I throw his clothes into the washing machine and drag out some clean clothes for him from my drawer of scruffy sweats. I’ve got a 34 inside leg so they ought to fit him and are rather generous, as I usually wear them while cleaning or lounging in front of the TV. I find my largest t-shirt too and throw both items on the toilet seat while he’s still in the shower, hidden behind the curtain. I’d love a shower too but after spending the car journey with him stinking like that, I’m fairly certain I’m not in any danger of becoming that smelly anytime soon.

  While he’s finishing up, I change into my pyjamas and tug on a robe, tying my hair up high on my head. I hear the shower click off and dive into the kitchen, rummaging around for food. I’ve got a vegetable stir fry so I throw the wok onto the hob, add some oil and toss it all in. In the cupboard I have noodles and oyster sauce. I get to work on throwing it all together.