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

by Lizzie O'Hagan

  ‘Great, thanks.’ I force my mind to concentrate on all the good bits. ‘Route secured and we’re well on the way to getting all our other permissions granted. It just takes a bit of time. And we need to work on the volunteers a bit . . .’

  ‘I’m sure Amy would be happy to help.’ Peggy grins, eyes widening at the thought. I don’t have the heart to tell her I need a lot more than just Amy.

  ‘Stop trying to meddle.’ Even as I say it, I taste the irony.

  ‘I’m not.’ Her eyes twinkle and she pushes a strand of grey hair from her heavily lined face. If she needs to get her kicks by playing matchmaker, who am I to deny her that? ‘Look, Max, if anyone can pull this walk off, it’s you. It sounds brilliant, but I don’t need you to—’

  ‘Peggy, I’ve promised you a walk and a walk you shall get. Just think of what it will mean to all those people who feel so alone.’ I smile, taking her fragile hand in mine.

  ‘I know, I know.’ She sighs, her smile soft and sad. ‘But promise me you won’t get so distracted with everyone else’s loneliness that you ignore your own.’ She isn’t to know that there’s only one thought that’s been distracting me of late.

  ‘I’m not that lonely.’ I force a laugh. ‘I was just saying that to make you feel better.’ I roll my eyes but we both know the truth. Well, that part of it at least.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Peggy matches my eye roll with one of her own. ‘So what are you doing tonight?’

  Staying in, reading my book, trying not to think about Becky and Tom.

  ‘Nothing really.’

  ‘Nothing?’ I look up to see Amy standing by the table. She looks really cute with her hair tied back. If Paddy were here, he’d be tongue-tied in no time.

  ‘Nothing!’ Peggy confirms for her, incredulous. ‘A good-looking young man like that with no plans for a Saturday night. Tell me you’re out and about, Amy. I need to live vicariously through someone.’ She sends a little wink my way.

  ‘Just chilling with a takeaway, I’m afraid.’ Amy glances at me.

  ‘So you both have plans to do nothing,’ Peggy says. I know where she’s going with this. ‘Well why don’t you plan to do nothing together?’

  Oh Peggy, you’ve done it now.

  ‘I’d be up for that.’ Amy suddenly looks shy. ‘If you are?’

  Am I up for that? Well, it’s not like I have any other plans. Tom’s busy with Becky and Eve’s busy with the kind of stuff I probably should be busy with. But right now, I’m struggling to find the energy to do anything other than escape. And Amy, warm and welcoming, is offering me a means of doing just that.

  Walking up the steps towards the Dickens Inn, Amy is practically buzzing beside me.

  ‘This is gorgeous.’ She gazes up at the fairy lights twinkling from the foliage. ‘Thanks for suggesting it.’

  She smiles at me, and for a moment I feel pretty awful. I bet she thinks I promoted doing nothing together to a proper date to try and impress her. In reality, I need people around us, a table between us to create some distance that two bodies alone on a sofa categorically don’t have. If Amy tries to kiss me, I know I won’t have the heart to say no, and right now, I don’t need any more complications to add to my list.

  ‘Yeah, I love this place.’ I follow her into the bar area, only now realising that it’s kind of weird that I’ve suggested here. I’ve wanted to come back to this place ever since I set up Tom and Becky’s first date. But now that I’m here, my mind is conjuring images of them that I’ve pictured a thousand times since. But that was just because I was feeling lonely. Now that I’m here with Amy, it’s time to forget.

  I pull out a chair for her at a table in the corner of the bar. Do people do that in bars any more? Isn’t it a dinner thing? Contrary to what Tom thinks, to what I am pretending to be, I’m not actually an expert when it comes to these things. I may have the theory, but I’m sorely out of practice.

  ‘It’s so nice to hang outside of work.’ Amy beams across the table, taking a sip of her wine. ‘I’ve been meaning to suggest it for some time.’

  ‘Yeah, it’ll be nice not to talk about work for a bit,’ I admit. I’ve been hoping we’ll have something else in common, but now that we’re here, I’m not so sure. ‘So what would you usually be doing on a weekend?’ I ask, the words sounding a little wooden, as if I’m reading from my own script.

  I’m sitting in one of my favourite pubs on a Saturday night with a pretty girl; why on earth does part of me not want to be here? I’ve spent so long yearning for company, and now I have it. Come on, Max, just be present, just be here, now.

  ‘Not a whole lot, really.’ Amy smiles, unabashed. ‘I usually work at the care home at weekends, so I try to keep my evenings chilled, but the girls drag me out for drinks every so often. I’m ashamed to say there’ve been a few hung-over shifts.’

  Becky would never go to work on a hangover – her passion is too strong to be diluted by drinking – and her weekends are always as packed as her weeks. Damn it, Max, do not think about Becky.

  ‘I can’t imagine that’s easy.’ I force a laugh at the thought.

  ‘I usually just hang out around Roger on those days; he always stinks of booze.’

  That’s certainly true – Roger is always on the whisky – but somehow making light of someone else’s drinking problem doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. I can’t help but think of Eve.

  ‘How about you? What do you get up to?’ Amy asks across the table.

  ‘I like to get out and about a bit,’ I say, knowing I’ve been doing anything but of late. ‘I usually go in search of nature.’ I laugh, wondering how living in London can make Tooting Common feel like the Peak District. ‘Then I like to have some me time but around other people, you know? Soaking up the vibe whilst soaking up a coffee somewhere.’ I’m effectively reading Tom’s dating profile out loud.

  ‘So you just sit there in coffee shops alone? That’s brave.’

  ‘Is it?’ I ask. I thought it was pretty normal.

  ‘Yeah, I hate being alone. Like tonight, I was so glad you were around.’

  ‘Really? I love being alone sometimes,’ I say. Well, I did. Before I found someone who enjoys all the same things I do.

  ‘So you just sit there?’ Why is Amy finding this so hard to get her head around?

  ‘I usually take a book.’ So not really alone: I’m with great authors like Jane Austen, Lewis Carroll and Charles Dickens. ‘Do you like to read?’

  ‘Not really.’ Amy takes another sip. Well, that’s that then. ‘I’m a big box-set watcher, though; are you into any?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m loving The Crown at the moment,’ I beam, recalling the romance, the drama. ‘You?’

  ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race,’ she says without pause. A different kind of drama then. I can’t help but sigh over my beer, my distracted mind darting to a parallel universe, one where Amy and I are sitting here laughing about films and books and whatever news story has just divided the nation. One where Amy looks suspiciously like Becky.

  Her eyes fix on mine and my heart starts to pick up pace. We have nothing to talk about, no common ground, except for work: Peggy and the other patients she cares for day after day. Amy is great. Amy is great.

  ‘You’re so great at your job, Amy.’ I smile across at her.

  ‘Except when hung-over.’ She laughs and I force myself to do the same. I glance at my watch, subtly so she won’t notice, and my heart sinks when I see how little time has passed. ‘But thanks, you’re great at yours too. Peggy told me about the walk you’re planning; it sounds great.’

  ‘Yeah, it will be. It’s just . . .’ I sigh. ‘Like for a normal sponsored walk you’d need loads of volunteers, right?’

  ‘Yes, and the whole charity and all your partner homes will be on board with this.’

  ‘Thanks, yeah . . . thanks,’ I say, honestly touched
by the thought. ‘But I think we’ll need more. Each of the people we’re trying to reach might need one-to-one support.’ It’s only as I say it out loud that I realise what a problem that is. ‘And I don’t want the people who can’t come out feeling like they can’t join in, making them lonelier still.’ My stomach sinks. I’ve promised Peggy I’ll pull this off without even knowing whether I can. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a man of my word. And yet here I am again. All the right words, zero follow-through.

  ‘So what are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking of setting up some kind of live stream of the walk and some press coverage so that people inside know they can enjoy it too; maybe get some volunteers to visit those house-bound people and help them log on, sit with them to show them they’re not alone . . .’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’ Amy nods, taking another sip.

  ‘Yeah, but it will need even more volunteers.’ Oh God, it will need so many. ‘I thought making this about loneliness rather than dementia would broaden the appeal.’ Classic Max, dreaming bigger than reality. ‘But it turns out I’ve now got too many people to help and not enough helpers.’

  ‘So this is more about loneliness?’ Amy asks, and I nod. ‘Well, helping Peggy and the other service users certainly makes me feel less lonely.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ I say. So there’s one more thing we have in common.

  ‘So maybe don’t think of it as helpers and helpees so much as helping each other. Have you seen the stats about how volunteering lowers anxiety?’

  Yes, Becky talked about them in her messages. I nod.

  ‘So why don’t you make the event about fighting loneliness generally, and just get able-bodied lonely people coming alongside those who need a bit more physical help? Pitch it as all of us being a little less lonely together, helping one another, levelling the playing field? I don’t know, am I making any sense?’

  ‘Perfect sense,’ I say. And it’s true. If I can get millennials and different interest groups to see that by helping others they’ll help themselves too, we really could be on to something. I could reach out to other organisations with this as well: Loneliness Lab, the Jo Cox Foundation, the Minister for Loneliness. Why didn’t I think about it earlier? But then, I’ve been so distracted. ‘Perfect sense,’ I repeat. ‘Thanks, Amy, you’re the best.’

  ‘So are you.’ She pauses. ‘Max, I’ve been meaning to ask you something . . .’ Oh shit, what? ‘What do you think about dating work colleagues? Well, not colleagues, technically, but someone you work with?’

  She’s watching me intently across the table, but I’m struggling to hold eye contact. I may be shit at signals, but I know she’s talking about me. She wants me to say I think it’s a good idea. But I don’t. Well, not if the colleagues are me and her. She’s great but just not great for me.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s the best idea.’ I sigh as I watch her face fall. Just another person I’m letting down. But it’s not her, it’s me. Me, who doesn’t fancy people the way every other red-blooded male seems to. Who falls for a woman’s words rather than her looks. Who wants to fall in love with someone’s mind; who worries I already have.

  ‘But there are loads of guys who might think differently. Want me to get you another drink?’ I say, as half-heartedly as Tom’s offer to join him and Becky this morning.

  ‘No, it’s okay.’ Amy’s smile is a little sad. ‘I’m not sure it’s the best idea.’

  Leaving the Dickens Inn behind, I begin the long walk home. It’ll take hours, and yet it’s not like I’m in a rush, and I really, really need some time to think. Thanks to Amy, I’ve got a bit more clarity on Peggy’s Walk. With some collaboration, some togetherness, we might actually be able to pull it off. The thought might make me feel better if being with Amy hadn’t given me clarity on something else: I like Becky. Shit, I actually like Becky.

  I’ve spent years reading about love, experiencing it just one step removed; hiding behind the author’s words, enjoying romance from the sidelines. I’ve spent the last couple of years convincing myself I’ll never find my perfect woman online, knowing deep down that I’m just not the kind of man a woman like that would go for. I work for a charity, live in a house share, trying to keep it all together whilst my relationship with my family is falling apart. Messaging Becky brought out the best of me, reminded me it was there. But I wasn’t being my best self, was I? I was helping Tom be his.

  I should have known that trying to write someone else’s love story would get me tangled in the most powerful, painful love of them all: one that can never be mine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eve

  I fix my eyes forward, mind feeling more settled with every house that blurs by. Running on, my body bosses my heartbeat into place. I swear mid run is the only time its rhythm feels right. Not that even that has worked lately. But the sun’s out, the job advert is live and the rumours are rife. Note to self: it’s all moving in the right direction.

  ‘So it’s a shoo-in?’ Lola asks, keeping pace by my side. Her impossibly long ponytail bounces behind her, propelling her forward to match my too-long legs.

  ‘I wouldn’t say a shoo-in.’ Although with each passing day I’m feeling more and more sure that Taren isn’t getting the job. And if it’s not him, then surely it’s me? It’s me. I savour the thought. After all my confusion with Tom, with my dad, it feels good to remind myself of those two little words. It’s me who’s on the cusp of being promoted. It’s me who made it happen all by myself.

  ‘Well, that’s what Becky says,’ Lola pants as we turn the corner towards the flat.

  ‘How does she know?’ I say before I can stop myself. The words taste bitter. She knows because she asked me, but only because Tom wanted to know. He was asking after me as me – as Eve, not Becky. He cares about my job, about me.

  ‘Missing her?’ Lola asks as I push my burning limbs forward. I wish I hadn’t said anything. Lola sees through me – for the most part, at least. She doesn’t know about me messaging Tom. Or about my dad’s letters. I wouldn’t tell her before Becky anyway, but then I told Max, didn’t I?

  ‘Yeah, a little,’ I sigh, forcing all thoughts of Max and Tom from my mind as my trainers pound against the pavement. Note to self: your life was perfectly fine before they came swiping into it.

  ‘I thought she used to distract you?’ Lola has a point.

  ‘I guess you always want what you can’t have.’ I laugh, though it doesn’t feel very funny. Becky hasn’t been out all the time. It’s just that when she’s in, it’s usually with Tom, his big body and even bigger brain forcing its way into our space.

  ‘It’ll pass.’ Lola smiles across at me. I really hope it does. At least focusing on the promotion is helping. It feels so close now, almost within reach. ‘You know what Becky’s like in a relationship. It’s how you guys adopted me in the first place.’ My mind shoots back to when Becky was with Lola’s brother 24/7 so the two of us teamed up ourselves. It was a simpler time. ‘The woman goes all in . . .’

  ‘That’s true.’ I nod. I usually go all in too. Apart from in romance, where I’ve spent so long sitting on the sidelines that I’ve practically counted myself out of the game. ‘I’m just being silly.’

  ‘You’re not being silly, you’re just being honest.’

  Yes, but not honest enough. For a moment I want to tell Lola about the letters. That since receiving the second one, since chatting it over with Max, I’ve saved my dad’s number in my phone, that I’ve pulled it up to call countless times before thinking better of it.

  ‘You do know it’s okay to sit with your feelings sometimes, to not just run away?’ Lola continues. She draws to a halt and I fall into step beside her.

  Yes, I know. And I will. But not until I’ve got what I’ve been fighting for since I was a little girl: the opportunity to tell real stories. I’ve told Max my own story, and for now that’s en
ough. I don’t need anyone encouraging me to get online, to reach out to my dad, to work on the relationships I’ve ignored whilst building some stability for myself. No, I’ll get the job sorted and then I’ll think about sorting everything else. Note to self: one thing at a time.

  ‘When did you get so wise?’ I throw a sweaty arm around Lola, inhaling deeply.

  ‘Since I started hanging out with you and Becky,’ she pants in return.

  ‘Been learning from the best?’ I laugh.

  ‘Yeah.’ Lola’s laugh joins mine. ‘Learning what not to do.’

  I don’t need my alarm clock to tell me it’s Monday. I’ve been up for hours, brain in overdrive. It’s occupied with the same old stuff: articles, pitches, people I should be thinking about, people I shouldn’t be.

  But somehow today feels different. Not in a convincing-myself-it’ll-be-different way. It feels like something big is about to happen. Reporter’s intuition? I’ve heard colleagues talk about it. Waking up and just knowing the specific location of their next scoop. But as I make my way to the News Building and take the lift to my floor, I know for a fact that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

  Grabbing the post piled on my desk, I flick through the envelopes at speed. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, no sign of the handwriting I was half dreading, half hoping to find. It’s only then that I clock that Makena’s seat is empty. Ever since I’ve been putting in the hours at home – pretending to be Becky and then working hard to remind myself who I really am – Makena has consistently beaten me here. But then again, with her lover boy living just across the water, she has no excuse to be late any more. But if that’s the case, where is she now?

  I head across the office to the break-out area. If I can’t find Makena, at least I can find coffee.

  ‘Did you hear?’

  Moving around the kitchenette, opening a cupboard, pulling out a mug, my ears prick up at the collection of colleagues gossiping over caffeine. Hear what?

  ‘Angela’s baby is coming early,’ one of them says. ‘She’s fine but the baby’s pretty small, so they’ve scheduled a Caesarean for a couple of weeks’ time. Trust her baby to be eager.’