What Are Friends For?: The will-they-won't-they romance of the year!

by Lizzie O'Hagan

  ‘Family changed forever after cystic fibrosis diagnosis now fights for a better future.’

  ‘That sounds brilliant,’ Makena says diplomatically. ‘But I meant what are you working on right now in work.’

  ‘Oh, the top ten bags to hit the high street this season.’ I sigh.

  ‘Man, I’d love to do that piece properly.’ She smiles at the thought. ‘I can just imagine it, sitting front row at a runway show, reading the style stars first-hand rather than regurgitating content from our competitors.’ She rolls her eyes, her daydream over.

  ‘One day you will.’ I smile, holding out hope for her.

  ‘And one day you’ll write tell-all exposés on incest in the office,’ she replies.

  It’s not that I necessarily want to write about gritty topics. I just want to write about something that matters. But Makena has heard this so many times that I decide to save her another regurgitation.

  Bringing up my emails, I start to go through my inbox. Next to me Makena laughs loudly at whatever Ajay has just messaged her. His on-off behaviour is finally firmly on. Just like Becky and Tom.

  ‘How’s Ajay?’

  She looks up from her phone as if she’s surprised, as if her girlie giggles and loud laughter wasn’t carefully curated to invite this inquisition.

  ‘He’s amazing,’ she beams, and I swear I see all thirty-two of her pearly whites.

  ‘I’d love to meet him sometime,’ I say. If only to prove to myself that I’m just in need of company. That I’d enjoy my time with Ajay as much as my time messaging Tom.

  ‘That would be great!’ Her excitement reverberates between us.

  ‘How about tonight?’

  ‘Oh.’ Her face falls, and she looks a little awkward. ‘Tonight’s no good, actually . . .’

  I’m not sure why the mood has suddenly shifted. What is she hiding? Probably nothing compared to me. Panic begins to build in my bloodstream at the thought. Note to self: you can’t control everything. Not in Makena’s life maybe, but I could be in control of my own career.

  ‘We’re actually going for dinner with Lola and Benj,’ she explains, and for a moment she looks a bit guilty.

  ‘Sounds fun,’ I say, as I mentally start to build some busyness into my evening. I could go for a run. But then I ran this morning. I could work on some article ideas, keep building my portfolio. But I’ll be pretty tired by then. Still, I need distraction. Something to keep my mind off Tom. No, off my dad. This weird feeling is just about my dad.

  Eve: What are you up to tonight? Fancy hanging out?

  Becky: I’m with Tom tonight, sorry.

  Becky: He’s training until later, though, so could do dinner?

  Eve: Sure. Where shall we go?

  I look down at my phone, happy to have plans even if I can’t help another prickle of panic from threatening to rise. Am I being squeezed out? I fought so hard to create a space for myself. A space in a family, a space in this office. And now my dad is trying to occupy the space in my mind.

  ‘Check your inbox, check your inbox,’ Makena hisses across at me.

  ‘What the . . .’ I look up from my phone, startled, embarrassed to be caught not working. This isn’t like me. I’m getting distracted, more distracted than I’ve felt in years.

  ‘It’s official!’ Makena beams.

  ‘He’s asked you to be his girlfriend?’

  ‘Why would that be in your inbox?’

  ‘Good point,’ I say, scanning my emails. One titled ‘Announcement’ leaps out at me.

  We are delighted to announce that Angela Baxter, one of our lead features editors, is expecting her first baby . . . Oh shit, it’s actually happening. Angela is now noticeably pregnant, but I wouldn’t put it past her to book a half-day to give birth and be back in the office by the following morning. We will be looking to recruit her replacement for a year-long maternity cover . . . A year! Adrenalin shoots around my body, forcing out my anxiety. This is my chance. We will be advertising this role shortly, but we welcome internal applications. Please join me in congratulating Angela at drinks after work today . . .

  ‘He does know pregnant women can’t drink, right?’ Makena laughs across at me.

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘At least he’s congratulating her.’ She laughs again, enjoying the excitement. ‘I heard him describing maternity leave as flaky the other day.’

  ‘Well I’m not planning on flaking any time soon,’ I say. I’m a single woman living in a house share; my family planning amounts to whose turn it is to feed the cat.

  ‘You’re going to rock this,’ Makena says. Everything in me wants to pull up my CV and send over my column idea with it, the column Max pointed out.

  ‘Makena?’ We both look up to see Taren behind us.

  ‘Taren.’ Makena seems to narrow her eyes at him. He’s always been competition, but now his status as the enemy is official.

  ‘Celia wants to see you in her office.’ He looks down at her; he looks down at all of us. Makena nods at him, then turns to whisper to me.

  ‘If I’m not back in ten minutes, alert the media.’

  ‘They are the media.’ I lower my voice too, adopting a dramatic tone.

  ‘No, seriously.’ Makena’s laugh rings around the room. I love her for never hiding her true feelings, for never stifling her sass. ‘After what I said in the last pitch meeting, it’s highly likely that Celia will be stashing my body in one of this season’s top ten bags.’

  I stride confidently into Ciao Becca. The announcement about Angela’s maternity leave was the fuel I needed to fire up all four of my cylinders and start focusing on what matters again. On telling the stories that matter.

  ‘Eve!’ Leonardo dances across the restaurant towards me, hips moving in time to some early-noughties Justin Timberlake. Sofia must be out.

  ‘We thought you’d died.’ Becky jumps to her feet to throw herself at me.

  ‘Why?’ I laugh as I’m ushered towards our table in the corner.

  ‘You’re late,’ Becky says. ‘You’re never late.’

  ‘I was working,’ I tell her.

  ‘Work better than you thought it would be?’ she asks as Leonardo pours me a glass of red. I didn’t even tell her this morning that I was anxious. She can still read my face like a book; probably the only book she’ll read all year, despite what Tom thinks.

  I smile and take a sip of my drink – a small one. As soon as I’m done here, it’s back to work. Depending on when the job advert goes up, my days of feeling supplementary could soon be over.

  ‘No! They made the announcement?’ Becky squeals, throwing her arms around me. ‘This is your time, Eve. I just know it.’ I grin back at her. I’m not usually one for counting my chickens, but I kind of feel that way too.

  ‘Angela’s officially up the fluff?’ Leo says, piling our plates with pasta.

  ‘Dad, it’s up the duff.’ Becky rolls her eyes. ‘And yes.’

  ‘And our Eve has got the job?’ He looks at me hopefully.

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Not yet.’ Becky forks up her first mouthful. ‘But it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘Oh crap.’ Leo looks at the door as Sofia walks into the restaurant. ‘Girls, I’m telling you, that’s the last time I play this drivel for you . . . This is a traditional Italian restaurant. The free pasta is one thing, but you don’t own the place . . .’

  ‘You tell ’em.’ Sofia gives her husband a massive kiss on the lips before turning to throw her arms around me, holding me for what feels like several minutes before turning to offer Becky the same over-the-top embrace.

  I used to find their family dynamics weird, before I became a part of them. I wonder whether Tom will feel the same, whether he’ll throw our rhythm offbeat. Leo dances Sofia across the room, changing the music back to the traditional tr
acks.

  ‘Oh please.’ Becky rolls her eyes at her parents, Sofia giggling flirtatiously.

  ‘You’re not much better.’

  ‘If Tom and I ever get like that,’ she nods to Leo now spinning Sofia in circles, ‘you have permission to kill me.’

  ‘Couldn’t afford the rent without you,’ I point out.

  Then it hits me. If Becky ever moved out, I literally couldn’t afford the place without her. I’d have to move further out of London. Further away from Ciao Becca and Leonardo and Sofia and everything I’ve built.

  Note to self: stop worrying about things that haven’t happened yet.

  ‘Anyway, your parents are great.’ I try to push the thought away. ‘Is Tom close to his family?’ I say before I can stop myself.

  ‘Yeah, he is.’ She smiles. ‘Proper close to his dad.’

  Even as she says it, I feel gutted that I didn’t know that about Tom. Jealous, even. When he and Becky first started dating, I swear I knew him better than her. Now they’re doing fine without me.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to get in touch with him?’ Becky asks.

  Shit. Who? Tom? Message him as just me? Wouldn’t that be weird?

  ‘Your dad,’ she prompts.

  Oh, right. My dad. I look at her, not sure why she’s saying this now. I still haven’t told her about the letter.

  ‘I do miss the good bits sometimes,’ I sigh, throat tightening. I don’t need this.

  ‘Why don’t you just think about it? Put the thought back on the table.’ She looks down at her pasta, trying to underplay the seriousness of the suggestion. If only she knew that thoughts of my dad are already the centrepiece.

  ‘It’s hard to take the good without the bad,’ I say, looking across the room at her parents, still hand in hand. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Perhaps I would if you let me,’ she sighs, before realising she’s threatening my chipper mood. And I’m chipper for a reason: Angela’s going on maternity leave, my chance has come and now isn’t the time to let myself get distracted. ‘Sorry, I know it’s not that simple. It’s just you’re so good at relationships.’ She looks down at her phone, and for a moment I feel exposed, like she’s caught me thinking about Tom. ‘Why don’t you get yourself online?’

  ‘It’s just not the right time,’ I remind her. ‘Dating is so distracting.’ So why do I love getting distracted by Tom?

  ‘Tell me about it.’ She sighs in surrender.

  ‘I mean it’s bad enough online dating as you.’ I think fondly of our nights snuggled up on the sofa, messaging Tom together; of other nights when it’s just me on her app, sharing my own story.

  ‘Well hopefully your assistance is no longer required.’ She shows me her screen but there are no messages on it, just the time. ‘Got to go, actually.’ She smiles at the thought, but my mind has stalled on her words: your assistance is no longer required. ‘No, no, feel free to stay,’ she says as I reach for my jacket. ‘You know my parents won’t mind if you work from here.’

  I do know that. What I don’t know is why Becky referring to them as my parents is reminding me they’re not really mine. Maybe it’s because she’s on her way to be with Tom, my role in their relationship becoming redundant. Or that my role in this family doesn’t work without her here.

  ‘It’s okay.’ I smile through the painful thoughts. ‘I really need to work on my application.’ Note to self: at least you know that role is meant for you.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max

  People pass me on all sides as I weave my way down Tooting High Street and back to the flat. I’ve read in Eve’s latest supplement that coupling-up season is over, but I swear spring is the season where winter romances move up another gear. Or maybe it’s that the sunshine is inviting everyone outside. But not everyone. Peggy and the others at her care home are still inside, and now that my visit to see her safely back from the hospital is over, I’m heading home too.

  Hooking a right to turn off the high street, I lose myself down a quiet lane, taking solace in the fact that I made Peggy’s day even if I have no idea how to spend the rest of mine. The way her face lit up when I told her the route for our walk had been approved was everything, her dreams of uniting dementia patients and their families moving in the right direction. I just have to keep my promise to her, the way I never did with my grandma.

  Pushing down the thought, I open our front door, slowing a little as I do, wondering what will welcome me: an eerily empty lounge that is feeling less and less like a living room with every day Tom isn’t here. Or worse, a room so full of life – of Becky’s laughter and light – that it makes me feel even darker. I’ve gone from being in the house alone to leaving the house because I can’t keep my eyes off her, but either way you cut it, I’m feeling pretty lonely.

  At least I’ve never been more convinced that I want to spend my time helping those who feel the same way. If only I’d been able to hang out with Peggy longer, but Amy and the gang were putting on a pamper day for the women at the home. Turns out Peggy has a better social life than me. I can taste the irony. I can also smell the bacon.

  Shit, Tom and Becky must be home. My stomach turns at the thought. There’s only so long I can be around Becky before facing the cold, hard truth: I really miss pretending to be Tom, if only to be able to speak to her.

  ‘Hey, buddy,’ Tom says over the sound of the sizzling pan in his hands. I look around our kitchenette in search of Becky. It’s obvious she’s not here.

  ‘Becky round?’ I say, watching him shred bacon on top of two chicken salads.

  ‘No, this is for you.’ He smiles across at me. ‘Thought you’d need to eat something after visiting Peggy.’ Nice to know I’m so predictable. ‘Not seen you much this week.’

  ‘Work’s pretty busy.’ I shrug. And I’ve been avoiding you and Becky like the plague.

  ‘Peggy’s walk official yet?’ Tom asks.

  ‘It’s all going in the right direction.’ I accept the plate Tom offers me before we make our way to the living room. It feels good to have him back; maybe we can spend the day together. That way I won’t have to spend another Saturday alone with my thoughts. Some of which are so bloody stupid I have no idea what to do with them. Mostly thoughts about Becky: articles she’ll like, new albums from her favourite bands.

  ‘Let’s do something today.’ Tom reads my mind, though thankfully not all of it.

  ‘I’d be up for that.’ I smile, feeling warmed by the thought. Finally, a bit of headspace. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘It’s such a nice day.’ His eyes dart outside to the blue sky, my mood lifting a little at the thought of getting back out there. ‘Park?’ I nod, before Tom grins again. ‘I know, why don’t we invite Becky and Eve?’

  My heart picks up pace at the thought. I don’t want to spend the day hanging out with Becky, mostly because I’m scared I’ll enjoy it too much. But it’s not like I can say no now that I’ve just told Tom I’m up for it.

  ‘Great idea.’ I force a smile. Hang out with the girl my best friend is dating who I have more in common with than any woman I’ve met for years? Great idea.

  ‘Owns seven cats, on her way to buy one more.’ Eve laughs as my eyes trace a woman seemingly wearing not one but two anoraks on a gorgeous spring day. Eve may just be my people-watching match.

  ‘International spy who works as an obstetrician in the week but dresses a little like an international spy at the weekend in hopes of perfecting a killer double bluff,’ I reply, both of us giggling as our suspect’s sunglasses fall further down his nose and we watch his eyes dart across Green Park.

  Out of the corner of my eye I can see Tom brushing a loose strand of Becky’s long brown hair behind her ear before reaching to the grass beneath him to pull out a dandelion and offer it to her. She blows, whispering a wish. I wish I didn’t have to see
that. I wish I could still speak to Becky properly. Even though we’ve all been together for a couple of hours, she still doesn’t seem herself around me, not like when I was messaging her as Tom. In person, she seems warmer but ditsier, not nearly as passionate about so many things we chatted about. But then Tom has changed too, suddenly uncovering his romantic side.

  Maybe it’s just the feeling of being in love that changes people. I’ve read about it a thousand times, but here I am seeing it in the flesh. I know part of me still wishes I was privy to that side of Becky, the side that will talk about Shakespeare until the sun goes down. I look at her now and her eyes meet mine. She smiles before turning away, and for one ridiculous moment I wonder whether she feels it too, whether she knows it’s my chat, not Tom’s, that she fell for in the first place.

  ‘Next place?’ Becky jumps up. Does she really have to be so sweet? Although she also seems to have the attention span of a child today. How she managed to stay still long enough to watch the extended edition of The Lord of the Rings films back to back is beyond me.

  ‘How about the National Portrait Gallery?’ I suggest.

  ‘Yes!’ Eve is already on her feet.

  ‘No, no, no.’ Becky shakes her head. I thought she’d love that? Tom looks at her, a little confused: he thought she’d love that too. ‘I mean, usually I’d love that.’ Becky’s eyes dart to Eve. ‘But it’s so sunny today. Let’s go to Oxford Street.’

  Oh God, please, no. Oxford Street on a Saturday? I can’t imagine anything worse.

  ‘I can’t imagine anything worse.’ Eve steals the thought from my mind. ‘Plus, being in and out of the shops is hardly in the sunshine.’

  ‘Yes, but I need some things for summer,’ Becky pleads. I’m not sure I can stand to watch her spin around in sundresses. ‘Thirty minutes tops.’ She fixes her eyes on Eve and then turns to me. ‘Please?’

  And to that face, how the hell can I say no?

  Becky is dragging Eve away from the Waterstones window display and in the direction of Zara or H&M Home or wherever it is she wants to go next. It’s almost as if she’s doing it for Tom’s sake, to make a point of being drawn to style as well as substance. But isn’t substance exactly what I’ve been helping him with?