I swigged some gin straight from the bottle.
Don’t do it. Don’t you dare do it . . .
“I miss you,” I said.
As I waited for Babs to acknowledge this, I thought I heard someone asking if she was okay. Then came the faint strains of a busker clinging on for dear life to the right key as he sang “Hallelujah.”
“Theo . . . ,” Babs started. But she had to stop. I could hear the sadness in her voice. It made me well up. “Well done on the TV show, Theo, but you really need to understand something.”
“What’s that?” I said, but I knew didn’t want to hear the answer.
“I’ve moved on. And you really should, too.”
The line went dead.
Outside, I heard the village church clock begin to strike twelve. My birthday was over.
* * *
I waited until just after eight the next morning before going around to Alice’s. I’d barely slept, but I felt suspiciously okay. I assumed the hangover was biding its time, like a mugger waiting to jump out from the shadows.
“Nobody in the history of the world has ever been up this early on a Sunday,” Alice groaned as she let me in. “I need tea. Come on, chop chop. You better have a good excuse for this.”
“I do,” I said. “I’ve decided I’m going to do the walk with Joel.”
Alice turned herself slowly in her chair to face me. She took in my battered old waterproof jacket and rucksack. I’d hoped I looked like a noble explorer, Sir Ranulph Fiennes or someone. Judging by the way Alice was looking at me, I suspect I looked more like one of those idiots who goes up Ben Nevis in their flip-flops with half a flapjack and has to call Mountain Rescue half an hour later. But then Alice grinned, and I felt a little better.
“Well, I’m shocked,” she said. “In a good way, I mean. What made you change your mind?”
I picked at a bit of chipped paint on the kitchen doorframe. “Okay, don’t shout at me, but last night I may have got quite drunk and called Babs.”
Alice gasped. “What?! Theo!”
“I know, I’m an idiot,” I said. “But speaking to her was a massive fucking wake-up call.”
“Go on . . . ,” Alice said, frowning, but apparently willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.
“Well, it’s pretty clear she’s moved on,” I continued. “And that sort of put everything in perspective. I mean, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to forgive Joel, but up until I saw him yesterday I was still living as if all that shit between us had only just happened. It’s like I’ve sort of been stuck there ever since. So if doing this with him helps me move past it all, then that shows that things can change, right? And if I can find common ground with Joel again, then I can get over Babs, too.” It felt good to say this out loud. And I felt even more sure of my convictions as Alice nodded approvingly while I spoke, like a proud teacher listening to her student explain a tricky equation.
“Yeah,” she said, “and you’re going to get a big fat TV show out of it and everything.”
I smiled. “Well, yeah, that too.” I’d emailed Jake, my boss, asking if it was okay if I took all my remaining holiday for the year over the next three weeks. That he’d signed off on it seconds later with the message “Sure” suggested I might not be long for the Captain Beefy world anyway.
“I’m proud of you, bro,” Alice yawned, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “I mean, you may look like every nerdy hacker in a heist film who disarms the bank’s CCTV . . .”
“Right.”
“. . . but you’re actually braver than you might think, deep, deep, deep down.”
I leaned against the door as if I’d taken a blow to the chest. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”
* * *
An hour later, it was time to say good-bye to Mum and Dad. I took Mum aside and gave her the heads-up on Dad’s newest harebrained scheme.
“He’s eyeing up the dining room. I think he wants to knock through to the living room, but I googled it and I think it might be a load-bearing wall, so just keep an eye on that, okay?”
“I actually think it’s you that needs to be careful,” Mum said. “It’s going to be harder than you think, this walk. It’ll take its toll.”
“Mum, I’m going to be strolling through Henley with wine-in-a-can. It’s not exactly Fallujah.”
Mum sighed but kissed me on the cheek anyway. Dad reappeared and handed me some insect repellent which I was fairly sure had expired when Wham! were in the charts.
“I’ll, um, tear up the eviction notice, then,” he said, patting me awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Appreciate it,” I said. “Right, then . . .” The three of us went outside and joined Alice in the driveway. I saw Mum take Dad’s hand and squeeze it. Alice gave me a thumbs-up.
I turned around, looking at the winding lane ahead of me. This was it. As uncomfortable as I felt about leaving, not to mention the person I was on my way to meet, I was determined that the next time I came back here it would be through choice, not because I was still too scared to be anywhere else. Every time I felt crushed about Babs, I’d remember her telling me that she’d moved on. By the time I reached London, the memory of the night we met would be nothing but a reminder of the pleasant sting of first love.
I adjusted the straps of my rucksack and waved one final good-bye to my family. Then I began to walk toward the place where my past and my future were waiting for me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Joel
I left the house far earlier than I needed to, partly out of nerves, partly because I didn’t want to get caught in another conversation with Mum where she asked me about when I was going to tell Amber about being sick, or badger me about some new miracle cure, or “plan B.” I left her a note on the kitchen table: Off on my adventure! I’ll be back before you know it. Love, Joel x. I wasn’t feeling half as cheery as the note implied, but anything to make Mum worry less.
It was another beautiful day, the sun already strong on my neck. Sun cream was one of the many things I’d forgotten to pack. In fact, I’d barely brought enough supplies for a gentle morning stroll, let alone a 184-mile walk. I’d have to bank on Theo being overprepared. That was if he actually turned up.
I took the train one stop to Kemble and made my way to the Thames Head. As I sat down by the scratched stone monument and took out my laptop, my phone buzzed. A message from Amber.
Hey, how’s your mum?
So-so, I replied, pushing past the guilt at the white lie. I’ll call you later. How’s Italy?
Perfect, Amber wrote. Apart from the fact that you’re not here. Tell your mum lots of love from me.
As two butterflies spiraled past, falling and climbing with the breeze, I imagined Amber sitting on the terrace with a coffee, feeling the same warmth from the sun that I was here—content, untroubled. Happy.
You’re doing the right thing, I told myself.
It was nearly ten. I opened a new document on my laptop and began to type.
“The Regulars”
By Joel Thompson
I looked up as I heard the iron cattle gate at the other side of the field clanging shut. I let out a long, deep breath when I saw who had opened it and, cracking my knuckles with a satisfying snap, typed three more words.
and Theo Hern
PART TWO
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Theo
Thames Head to Cricklade, 12.2 miles
(184 miles to Thames Barrier, London)
Joel beamed as I approached. “All right?”
“All right,” I replied.
“Well, then, here we are,” he said.
I used a hand to shield my eyes from the sun, and cleared my throat.
“Before we go any further, I want to say something.”
“Okay,” Joel said as he took
sunglasses from his top pocket.
“I don’t want to talk about what happened to Alice, and I don’t want to talk about Edinburgh. They’re both off-limits. We can talk as much as you want about stupid shit from school—like, you know, that PE teacher who wore those tiny little shorts where you could basically see his balls.”
Joel grimaced. “Mr. Arkwright?”
“That’s the one. But that’s it. Nothing serious or heavy. Okay?”
Joel smiled, but it was hard to properly read his expression with his sunglasses on.
“That sounds fine by me,” he said. “I hereby promise that we will largely stick to our old PE teacher’s balls. So to speak.”
And with that, we began to walk, settling into a comfortable pace, our boots swishing through the grass.
“This feels a bit of an anticlimactic way to start a big trip,” I said, stepping around a particularly juicy cowpat.
“How do you mean?” Joel asked.
“Well, as ‘road trips’ go, it’s all a bit sedate and British, isn’t it? If this was Route 66, this would be the point we’d whack on Springsteen and rev the engine of our Mustang. Even if we were doing the Pennine Way, there’d probably be some dramatic mountains in the distance, instead of . . . this.” I gestured at a sheep that had chosen that moment to wander across the path—hesitantly, like a grandparent walking into a room and forgetting why they’d gone in there.
“True,” Joel said. “But according to the guidebook there’ll be loads of interesting stuff cropping up along the way.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“What?” Joel said.
“Nothing. I’m just surprised you thought to bring a guidebook, that’s all. I can’t help but notice you’re dressed as if you’re about to open for the Strokes on the John Peel Stage.”
Joel was wearing the same skinny black jeans, black T-shirt and leather jacket combo as when he’d arrived on my birthday. The only concession to the length of the walk was that he’d replaced his box-fresh trainers with some knackered-looking walking boots.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joel said, before taking a porkpie hat from his jacket pocket and setting it at a jaunty angle on his head.
After about twenty minutes we came across the muddy pool known as Lyd Well, the point where the river technically starts, although the riverbed that led on from it was still bone-dry. As we passed it, I realized my natural walking pace was taking me on ahead of Joel. He seemed to be happy to plod along, stopping to look at anything that vaguely took his interest. I felt a bit impatient at having to hang back and wait. Part of this I realized was from nervous energy—both because I still hadn’t decided if I was doing the right thing in coming on the trip at all, and because I was itching to talk about The Regulars. But when we stopped for lunch in a nondescript pub in a village called Somerford Keynes, Joel still hadn’t brought it up. I felt a bit cowed by how he was the expert these days. He was the one who’d made it, after all. Maybe it was a challenge—he was waiting to see if I still had what it took. I felt queasy at the thought that he might have to let me down gently, sending me home with my tail between my legs because I wasn’t good enough, having to hope I still had my stupid Twitter job to come back to.
I thought it might finally come up over lunch, but Joel seemed distracted, pushing his food around his plate. It wasn’t until later, as we walked on through meadowland—soundtracked by crickets in the grass and buzzards keening overhead—that I decided I’d just have to go for it.
“So, then—the writing. How do you want to start?”
“However you want,” Joel replied, stooping to pick up a tall bit of grass which he clamped between his teeth.
“Yeah, but aren’t there rules we have to follow? X has to happen on page Y or the focus groups will hate it and the studio will cancel it, or whatever.”
“No,” Joel said, “because we aren’t in Hollywood making an Adam Sandler film. This is England. They just sort of let us crack on.”
“Oh,” I said. And then, curiosity and excitement getting the better of me, “So, what’s it actually like? Is it just . . . incredible?”
“What’s what like?”
“You know. Having your show. Being famous. All of that.”
“Oh.”
I was waiting so expectantly for Joel to answer that I only narrowly avoided a low-hanging branch.
“Honestly?” he said at last. “It’s . . . fine.”
I didn’t respond at first, assuming he was going to expand on what he’d just said. But that was apparently all he was going to say.
“That’s it? ‘Fine’?”
Joel shrugged.
“Hang on,” I said. “Are you . . . Look, you don’t have to pretend on my account. You got there fair and square.”
Joel tilted his head from side to side. “Nope, I’m sticking with ‘fine.’ ”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Really? Your own show. Are you not just walking on air the whole time, swanning into restaurants where it’s all ‘Your usual table, Mr. Thompson?’ That sort of thing?”
Joel laughed. “No! I mean, yeah, there’s a tiny little bit of that, although I’ve definitely not got a ‘usual table’ anywhere. If anything, those sorts of places have my photo on the wall saying I’m not allowed in.”
It was my turn to laugh, but slightly nervously. I knew he’d liked a drink, but had things really got that wild?
“I dunno,” Joel continued. “On the face of it, it seems so huge and exciting. But the best day I’ve had throughout all of it was when I found out Tooth was getting made. Almost the day after that, the doubts set in. And then it’s the mundane stress that comes with any job.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Fair enough.” I didn’t know whether I bought this as much as Joel wanted me to. The idea that he was holding back for my benefit annoyed me enough to press him. “There must be properly fun parts though, right? I mean, you’re not exactly working down a mine.”
“Well, the writing’s still the best bit by far,” he said. “Do you remember when we used to work on stuff together and we’d get that little shot of adrenaline, where one of us latched on to something and it was like some weird alchemy where everything fell into place?” He looked at me a little nervously as he said this, as if I might have forgotten the moments he was talking about. But I hadn’t—I knew exactly what he meant. The adrenaline shot was what we always strived for, like a rare high—a holy grail. If we did get there, it usually ended with hysteria, one of us desperately trying to keep it together long enough to scribble down whatever stupid joke we’d just thought of with the urgency of someone on their deathbed imparting a final, dramatic change to their will.
I saw Joel surreptitiously pop something into his mouth.
“Hay fever tablet,” he said when he realized I’d clocked this. “Anyway, shall we go over what we both remember about The Regulars—compare notes?”
I’d been a bit worried that we might have forgotten all the best bits we’d come up with back then, but before long it all came back to us. So much of it was still there, completely fresh. It was as if we’d rediscovered buried treasure.
* * *
By the time we came up for air, it was late afternoon, the sun just beginning to dip. We clambered over a stile into a lush field where a herd of cows were mooching around where the path was.
“What are the rules here, then?” I said.
“The rules?”
“Yeah. Do we just . . . walk through them?”
Joel smirked. “Do you think they’re expecting a toll or something?”
The biggest cow, which I had already decided was the ringleader, seemed to be watching us intently, swishing its tail. I noticed there was a calf at its side.
Joel strode confidently toward them. Cursing my fearfulness under my breath, I followed. Almost immediatel
y, the cows that hadn’t spotted us got up from where they’d been lying. But they didn’t retreat. They held their ground. We were now in something of a standoff.
“Ah,” said Joel. “I’ll level with you: I was sort of assuming they’d just move out of the way at this point.” The calf was mooing plaintively.
“Isn’t there something about cows getting more aggressive when they’ve got their young with them?” I said.
“That rings a bell, actually,” Joel replied.
As the ringleader let out a long, ominous moo and took a step toward us, I instinctively shrank back behind Joel.
This is why you don’t leave home, I thought. The only cows there come with Yorkshire puddings.
“What do we do now?” I said.
Joel, fingers flickering at his sides like a gunslinger, suddenly wrenched his leather jacket off. I was just about to suggest that surely that particular item of clothing would only piss the cows off further, when Joel launched himself forward, swinging the jacket around and around and yelling wildly, scattering the cows.
After taking a moment to get his breath back, he turned around to me and adjusted his porkpie hat, gesturing with his arms out wide as if to say, Don’t know what you were worried about.
“Um, Joel,” I said, pointing behind him.
Joel turned to see that the cows had regrouped and had started to shuffle back toward us.
“Okay, new plan,” Joel said. Then he turned and ran.
“Wait!” I shouted, pelting after him.
We raced toward the other side of the field, chancing glances over our shoulders. The cows were in hot pursuit, but there was just enough distance between us and them that nervous laughter took hold of us. Giggling like idiots, we made it over the stile at the other end of the field and collapsed into the long grass just as the cows came to a halt a few meters away, huffing hotly, buffeting each other into the fence.
When We Were Young Page 7