by Mike Gayle
‘Maybe,’ replied Tom, ‘but I wouldn’t call us mates. I mean, even at college Andy was always more your friend than mine.’ Tom paused and smiled. ‘Is he still the same?’
‘Could he ever be any different?’
‘Hasn’t he even mellowed a little bit with age?’
‘I think getting older has actually made things worse,’ I replied. ‘Opportunities to let loose aren’t quite as forthcoming as they used to be when we were younger. And now it’s like he’s constantly this huge ball of pent-up energy waiting for the chance to be released. Say he calls you for a drink, you can’t just have one, it’ll be six or seven and then he’ll drag you to a club. Say you fancy some company while you watch a couple of DVDs. The DVDs won’t get watched and your home will be turned over for an impromptu party. In between he’s as right as rain, but I feel as though he’s always looking for his next opportunity for excess.’
‘Is he still doing the painting and decorating thing?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I wonder if the people who pay him to paint their houses realise that he’s got a first in Applied Maths?’
‘I shouldn’t think even Andy remembers that sort of information. The good news though is that he and Lisa are finally going to get hitched.’
Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘They’re still together?’
‘She’s what you might call long suffering. You know, sometimes I look at Andy and I can’t help but feel as if the whole of his life is really fragile . . . actually forget that. What am I talking about? The whole of all our lives is fragile. Like the only thing holding us together is Sellotape.’
‘I think you’re right,’ said Tom. ‘But with Andy it always seems more obviously so. But he’s always been a bit like that hasn’t he? Even at college.’
‘But that’s just it. We’re not at college and we haven’t been for a very long time. We’ve all moved on.’
‘Apart from Andy.’
‘Yeah. Apart from Andy.’
‘Anyway,’ said Tom finally. ‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘I know you probably don’t want to talk about it. But, really, how are you coping? I mean with Sarah gone after ten years together you must find yourself really missing her.’
‘Every day,’ I replied. ‘I miss her every single day.’
Milk, two cans of Boddingtons and half a tin of beans
When the doorbell rang at about a quarter past eight that evening I knew it would be Andy. So when I made my way downstairs to open the door I was somewhat surprised to see his girlfriend Lisa with him. There was an air about Lisa, not of someone dropping off her boyfriend and then immediately going, but rather of someone who was coming in, possibly having a cup of tea and a general nose around and maybe a chat too. Childish as it might seem, I had been in a bit of a ‘no girls allowed’ frame of mind for some time (they’re all unhinged/don’t know what they want/all on the same side – delete as inapplicable). Of course women had their place in the world but, I reasoned, at this particular point in time their place wasn’t my flat, with my friends, spoiling our pre-holiday enjoyment.
There was no doubt that Andy had done very well in getting (and even more so in keeping) a woman like Lisa. Though he was reasonably good looking (slightly less so than Tom but slightly more so than me) there was no arguing that Lisa was in her own quiet way the more attractive of the two. Her long brown hair was so dark that in certain lights it looked black and it framed the delicate features of her face perfectly. In contrast Andy had light brown hair with flecks of grey at the temples. His features were dark and craggy, as though he had lived a hard life working in a coal mine and his eyebrows were so heavy that they cast a shadow over his entire face. But what lifted his looks were his eyes. They were an immediately striking shade of green mixed with grey.
Andy had met Lisa in a bar in Brighton one evening seven years ago when the two of us were out for a drink. Lisa was Canadian and had been working for a food marketing company for a year but had only just managed to get an extension on her visa. When she and Andy first got together I used to joke that Lisa was only after him for a British passport. What other reason could there be for someone that attractive to be with someone as useless as Andy? Actually I was well aware why someone like Lisa would be with someone like Andy. He had charm. By the bucket load. And not cheesy smarmy charm either. But the good type that makes girls fancy you and boys want to be your best friend.
I’d met Andy through Pippa, a girl I’d just started seeing in my first year at college. One night when Pippa and I were out drinking in Brighton, Pippa’s friend Lara brought Andy along to join us. After the pub a whole gang of us walked back to Lara’s house in Coombe Road and Andy and I ended up talking. It was friendship at first conversation . . . a few notches down from love at first sight. Andy told me about a party that was going on in Kemptown that we’d be mad to miss. Though I knew that Pippa would be upset if I went to the party without her, Andy presented such a persuasive argument (‘There’ll be girls, and loads of booze and really good music’) and was so steadfast in his refusal to accept no for an answer that in the end it was easier to say yes. And though my actions resulted in me getting dumped by Pippa the following day, the demise of my relationship led me to later pulling Holly, a mind-blowingly beautiful third-year fashion student who’d been at the party.
The downside of being Andy’s friend was that there were times when he was no more and no less than a right pain in the backside. Back in college if I had an essay to hand in for the following morning, I would literally have to hide myself away from Andy because I knew if he found me I’d end up at a bar or a club or a party and then I’d wake up the following morning with a raging hangover and the essay still not done. And it would be me that would have to face the consequences of the big night out. It would be me that would have to sort out all the trouble that he’d get the two of us in. It was always me that had to clean up after him. I think that at the heart of the problem back then was the fact that Andy didn’t want to grow up and did everything he could to delay the inevitable arrival of full adulthood. Once he left college he didn’t want a career (hence his chosen diversion into painting and decorating). He didn’t want the responsibilities of a mortgage (preferring instead to pay long-suffering Lisa rent).
The fact that he had finally relented to Lisa’s suggestion that they get engaged said less about any supposed change of heart on the subject of matrimony and far more about the fact that even he was coming to realise that he couldn’t stay twenty-one for ever. This was why I was sure that this holiday was more about him than – as he’d pitched it – about me. With his own wedding less than a year away, I could see that the holiday represented an opportunity for him to be young and stupid again. And I got a huge feeling of discomfort in the pit of my stomach that he was going to go all out to enjoy it.
‘All right you two?’ I said breezily greeting Andy and Lisa in a bid to cover my initial surprise.
‘Yeah fine,’ replied Andy. ‘Are you going to let us in then or what?’
I suddenly realised that I was standing on the doorstep as though I had no intention of letting either of them past the door and quickly ushered them upstairs. At the front door to the flat I stopped and issued a sort of catch-all world-weary disclaimer: ‘Sarah’s taken her stuff. Yes, it is difficult to watch TV when a dining room chair is your only comfort. Yes, I will be buying some more furniture when I get round to it. No, I’m not interested in any furniture that you’re trying to get rid of but I do appreciate the thought.’
Andy laughed and patted me on the back while Lisa rolled her eyes, kissed me on the cheek and followed Andy into the flat.
‘Oi, Bullock!’ yelled Andy in Tom’s direction. ‘Are you still in the God squad?’
‘Just ignore him, Tom,’ countered Lisa, digging Andy sharply in the ribs with her fingers. ‘My boyfriend is a pig and he knows it.’
Tom seemed more amused than upset by
Andy and as he hugged Lisa she commented on how long it had been since she’d last seen him. (Two years to be precise when Tom, Anne and the kids had come to stay with Sarah and me.) As Lisa released him from her embrace he turned to face Andy and the two men stood staring at each other for an uncomfortably long time and then they both burst out laughing.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ grinned Tom.
‘You too,’ replied Andy. ‘You too.’
As the two men fell into conversation I asked Lisa if she fancied a drink; this was the most subtle way I could think of to find out how long she was staying for.
‘What time are you guys going out?’ she asked, gazing around my empty living room.
‘There’s no rush,’ I lied. I doubted whether my honest answer: ‘The second you leave,’ would’ve been appreciated.
‘I’ll stay for a cup of tea then,’ she replied, ‘but you can stop with the cold sweats, Charlie, I only came round because Andy needed a lift. I think in his ideal world he would’ve hurled himself from the car and had me drive by without stopping.’ She leaned forward and ruffled Andy’s hair affectionately. ‘Isn’t that right, sweetie? I’m cramping your style aren’t I?’
‘Massively,’ said Andy with his eyes still fixed on the TV. ‘I’ll have a coffee while you’re up there, babe.’
‘Hang on,’ she replied, ‘it was Charlie that—’ she stopped and sighed, something which I guessed she did an awful lot living with Andy. She looked at Tom. ‘Since I’ve been nominated designated maker-of-hot-drinks for the evening would you like one too?’
‘I’m fine thanks,’ said Tom warily.
‘No really,’ said Lisa, ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Okay then,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have a coffee too if that’s okay. White, no sugar. Thanks.’
‘Right, you,’ said Lisa addressing me in a tone that didn’t invite any form of debate. ‘Come and help me in the kitchen.’
As I stood at the tap refilling the kettle, Lisa rummaged through the various jars and tins that lived on top of the microwave looking for the coffee and the tea.
‘So, how are you keeping?’ she asked as she located the tin that held the tea bags and fished one out ready on the counter.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really.’
Lisa opened the fridge door and peered inside. ‘Milk, two cans of Boddingtons and half a tin of beans,’ she said woefully. She closed the door and rested the open milk carton on the counter in front of me. ‘You’re not fine at all, Charlie. At least that’s not what this fridge says.’
‘Well it’s wrong.’
‘And it’s not what Andy says either. He says that you’re still really cut up about . . . well, you know.’
I picked up a dirty teaspoon off the counter and ran it underneath the tap for a few seconds. ‘Have you seen her at all lately?’ I asked, avoiding eye contact. ‘I know you two still see each other.’
‘I spoke to her on the phone at the beginning of this week,’ said Lisa after a few moments. ‘It was nothing special. Just a catch-up call. We’ve been trying to come up with a date to have a proper meet-up somewhere in town.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘All things considered, she seemed okay.’
‘Did she ask about me?’
‘Don’t, Charlie,’ sighed Lisa. ‘Please.’
I shrugged and stared at the kettle as it heated up in front of me. ‘I’ve got some post for her.’ I nodded at a pile of letters jammed in next to the tea bags on the microwave. ‘It’s mostly junk mail. I should’ve left it out for her to take with the furniture. I don’t know whether she’s that desperate for another credit card but if you’re seeing her . . .’
Lisa declined the offer with an awkward smile.
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘I’ll just bang them back in the post then.’
As the kettle finally came to the boil and switched itself off, I reached across to the wall cupboard, pulled out the first mug I could find and handed it to Lisa. It was only when it was in her hand that I realised that emblazoned across it was the inscription: ‘The World’s Greatest Lover.’ Lisa just laughed and rested it on the counter while I stood there squirming with embarrassment.
Whenever Lisa came to my flat, she always made a big deal about the fact that she was quite fussy about the way that she liked her tea made and so usually made her own. Today was no different, and for some reason I found myself carefully studying her tea-making process. It didn’t seem any different from my own.
‘I need a favour,’ said Lisa as she stirred the milk into her tea.
‘What?’
She paused and looked at me. ‘It’s to do with Andy. I want you to make sure that he doesn’t cheat on me.’
How was I supposed to react to a request like that? My gut instinct was to laugh it off but there was a look in her eyes that made me realise that this was no laughing matter.
‘I’m not stupid, Charlie,’ continued Lisa. ‘I don’t believe for a second that Andy came up with the idea of this holiday just for your benefit.’
‘Well actually—’
‘You don’t have to deny it. You can still have the brownie points for being loyal to your friend, if that’s what you’re after.’
‘Look,’ I began, ‘Andy might be a lot of things but he’s not that much of an idiot.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Lisa. ‘But he’s not above trying anything once is he? Look, Charlie, I’ve got three brothers back in Montreal. I know what guys are like when they go on vacation.’
‘I think you’re forgetting that he’s going away with an emotional cripple and a born-again Christian,’ I replied. ‘He’ll be lucky to get anywhere near a girl with me and Tom in tow.’
She didn’t seem convinced.
‘All I’m asking is that you at least try to stop him doing anything he might regret.’ Lisa paused and took a sip of her tea. ‘You know he’s going to ask you to be his best man,’ she continued.
‘No, I didn’t,’ I replied. ‘He hasn’t mentioned it at all. What about his kid brother?’
Lisa shook her head. ‘You’re his first and only choice.’
‘That’s really nice to hear and . . . well . . . I appreciate you coming to me like this but you know . . . I’m probably not the best—’
‘You’re his friend,’ she interrupted. ‘Nothing else matters does it? Surely you want what’s best for him? Because I’m telling you now that if he’s unfaithful I’ll leave him. And I will not change my mind. Ever.’
‘Have you told him that?’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘Maybe you should spell it out.’
‘I told him that I didn’t want him to go on this holiday and he’s still going. I know what he’s like, Charlie. And I know what girls on vacation are like too. And it scares me. This whole thing feels like some sort of mid-life crisis come a decade too soon. I know he’ll get over it and then he’ll feel like he’s ticked it off his list of things to do before he gets married but if I try to stop him he’ll just resent me. You know as well as I do that he can’t always be trusted to use his best judgement . . . at least not without some encouragement.’
‘Fine, I’ll try,’ I conceded.
‘Do you promise?’
‘I don’t need to. I’m sure he won’t do anything, anyway.’
‘I hope you’re right. But at least this way I’ll feel better if I know you’re looking out for him.’
Putting down her tea, Lisa walked over to me, put her arms around me and hugged me tightly. I bristled immediately. Andy’s girlfriend was putting her arms around me, and we were in the kitchen out of sight of the others and though there was nothing going on I didn’t like the possibility of this situation being even slightly misinterpreted. At the same time I suddenly recognised in Lisa the same desperate loneliness that had dogged me during my last days with Sarah. I couldn’t help myself. I put my arms round her.
‘He loves you
, you know,’ I whispered in her ear as she clung to me.
‘That’s nice of you to say,’ she said quietly. ‘But I don’t think it’s true.’
He really must be having some sort of early mid-life crisis
‘Right, then,’ said Tom as Andy returned from the bar carrying three pints of Hoegaarden. ‘I know you’ve been enjoying keeping us in the dark over this holiday but enough is enough. Where exactly is it we’re supposed to be going to tomorrow?’
It was now just after nine and the three of us were sitting in my local pub, The George. The George was nothing special. Just another one of those light and airy refurbished pubs with stripped floors, overstuffed leather sofas, a food menu that leaned towards the Mediterranean and a bar that featured a larger selection of bottled wines and imported beers than most. Its chief selling point was its clientele. Too lacking in loud music to attract the needlessly young but too trendy to attract the needlessly old, The George was the kind of place where a man of thirty-five could still feel at ease.
‘Drum roll please, maestro,’ said Andy as he set the beers down on the table. ‘Prepare yourself to be shocked and amazed as once again your favourite uncle Andy delivers the goods because tomorrow, my friends, we are flying to . . . Crete.’
I stared at Andy in horror.
‘I know,’ said Andy, presumably mistaking the look on my face for delight. ‘Genius, isn’t it?’
‘You do remember we’ve been to Crete before don’t you?’ said Tom, barely able to hide his incredulity.
‘Of course I do,’ said Andy defensively.
‘And so you do remember what happened there?’
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Which is why we’re not only going back to Crete but we’re staying in the same resort.’
‘Malia?’ I spat in outraged disbelief. ‘Malia? You’re telling me that of all the places in the world you could have chosen you had to choose the one place you know I would least want to go?’
‘Hair of the dog,’ said Andy firmly. ‘Take your poison and turn it into a cure.’