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

by Lizzie O'Hagan

  Tom, what’s going on? I wish I could tell her. That Tom is brilliant, everything she’s hoped for and more, but that even the greatest of guys has weaknesses, every hero an Achilles heel, and Tom’s is Yvonne.

  My eyes dart around the room, searching for something – anything – to distract me from Becky’s messages. Tom is long gone. But eventually he’ll come to his senses and he’ll want to take her in his arms and never let go. And he needs to, because if Becky isn’t with him, she sure as hell can’t be with me. Not after everything that has happened.

  Please tell me you’re not just another guy who finally got what he wanted? So they finally slept together? I’d wondered when they would, ever since Tom had told me the wait had started to mean so much more, though part of me didn’t want to know. Becky thought they had a future together, and now this? I swear Yvonne has a sensor for these things. For knowing just the right time to come and fuck up my friend’s life. And now Tom has gone to her, even though I tried to stop it, to tell him that it didn’t need to play out this way . . .

  But maybe it doesn’t need to play out this way. I have his phone. I have Becky’s messages. And I have Tom’s permission. Well, kind of.

  Don’t blame me when you end up hurting her even more. His words spin through my mind. But how is sleeping with her and staying silent any kinder? Tom will come to his senses eventually, but by then, his silence may have stretched for too long. I don’t want to see him regret this. And I hate the fact that Becky might get hurt. If heartbreak can be avoided, isn’t omission as bad as getting involved? I helped them get started after all; maybe if I can just keep them going until this thing with Yvonne finishes, their love story might still yet have a happy ending.

  I look down at Tom’s phone in my hands, take a deep breath and begin to type.

  Tom: Hey, Becky! I’m so sorry. I lost my phone earlier in the week and I’ve been trying to contact you. And work’s been mad – it’s still mad. But I promise you I’m definitely not just another guy. How you been? X

  I mean, it’s a shitty excuse given all the other ways he could have reached her, but Becky must know Tom isn’t a social media guy. And if she likes him like I think she does, then hopefully it’s enough. I look down at the message, still not sure whether it’s a good idea but knowing for certain that Yvonne isn’t, and that in any case, it’s too late to turn back now . . .

  Becky is typing . . .

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eve

  ‘Oh shit, he’s messaged, he’s messaged,’ Becky squeals, and before I know it, she’s snuggled by my side, sending Buster scarpering across the room.

  ‘Who?’ I look at her through bleary eyes. I’ve been up for hours, but after dragging myself from my bed to the sofa, I haven’t moved an inch.

  ‘Tom,’ she says, looking a little concerned. And not just about Tom. About me.

  ‘Oh, right, yeah,’ I say.

  I should have known. Becky’s been talking about him all week. And not in the way she was before, all excited and loved up. No, that kind of chat climaxed last weekend. The second they’d slept together. The post-sex run-through was the most painful I’d had to endure. I knew the moment was coming, but after so long, it kind of caught me off guard. It was Tom, Tom. The man who had occupied my mind for all the moments it hadn’t been filled with work. And now the work part felt pretty painful too.

  Looking around the room, at my closed laptop edging further and further beneath the sofa, my stomach churns. Oh God, I don’t want to think about work again. I’ve gone over and over the same ground with Becky all week. As she’s gone over and over Tom’s messages since that night. More sporadic with each passing day. ‘I’m so stupid,’ she said while I stroked her hair and dried her tears. ‘I should have known I’d never meet anyone good online.’ I tried to tell her otherwise. But misery loves company, I guess.

  ‘He says he lost his phone; that’s just an excuse, right?’ Becky looks at me, snuggling my elephant cushion to her chest. She needs me to be her stability right now. Eve the elephant; sensible and secure. Who am I trying to kid? Ever since Makena’s announcement – or confession or betrayal or whatever else I’ve called it this past week – I’ve felt smaller than I’ve ever felt before. Small, vulnerable, insignificant. Yet here’s Becky still looking at me like I have something of worth to say. Like what I have to say matters.

  ‘It is an excuse,’ I say, not meaning to sigh. It isn’t Becky’s fault this is all happening now. It’s mine; I should have seen it coming, shouldn’t have been so wrapped up in my own success that I didn’t see Makena as a competitor. ‘But is it a good enough one?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Becky sounds on the verge of tears. She cried and cried the first day he didn’t call. And I’ve cried and cried ever since hearing about the job – tears of sadness, tears of embarrassment. I’m surprised that between us we have any left to fall.

  ‘Do you want it to be?’ I ask. Becky is happy with Tom, isn’t she? And I’ve been happy spending time with him too. But even if this is the end for the two of them, it could hardly be the start of something for me. That ship sailed around the time I first swiped his profile as Becky. Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted with him, with my dad, I wouldn’t have missed all the signals pointing to Makena in the first place. Note to— Oh it doesn’t really matter now.

  ‘Part of me does.’ Becky looks down at his message. She starts to type a reply. Then stops and deletes it. Then starts again. Man, I wish we could start this whole damn story all over again. ‘There was a part of me that really connected with him, that thought we had something special . . .’ She stutters to a halt, and for a moment she looks like she’s going to cry again. Oh God, I hate seeing her like this. I wish there was more I could do to help. But I can’t even help myself. ‘But another part wonders whether we really had all that much in common, whether he might be better suited to someone like you . . .’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I say, trying to muster some energy. Some hope. For her.

  ‘Come on, Eve,’ she says, enough energy for both of us. ‘He sleeps with me and then instantly cools off. Suspicious timing, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yeah, but that doesn’t sound like Tom,’ I say, hating the fact that I know him so well. ‘And anyway, if he was just in it for sex, he would have ended things ages ago.’

  ‘Maybe he was enjoying the thrill of the chase, or whatever it was you told me about.’

  Maybe if I hadn’t meddled in the first place, Becky wouldn’t be in this situation. She would have been with her usual guys: one date, one night, on to the next. But I’d encouraged her to believe in her happy-ever-after, to invest in something different, deeper – and now what? She’d ended up let down and heart-bruised. Like I had with Makena. And my dad. And well, anyone else I’d let in before.

  ‘Eve?’ Becky asks, clearly worried by my lethargy.

  I guess Becky has always been here for me. She’s seen all of me, repeatedly, and she’s never let me down. Maybe I should have told her about the letters from my dad. But that doesn’t matter now. I’m not taking any more risks. I’m going to concentrate on helping the one person who has been there from the start. Tom was good for her. And so what if for a moment I thought maybe he’d be good for me too?

  ‘I think you should give him the benefit of the doubt. He makes you happy, and life is really short. So if you want to do something, trust yourself, don’t overthink it.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ Becky says before she can think better of it.

  But she’s right. It doesn’t sound like me. It sounds a hell of a lot like Max. Maybe if I’d taken his advice sooner – if I’d sent in my application, forced myself into the right meetings, the right rooms – I wouldn’t be stuck in this dead-end job.

  ‘I know, I . . .’ I stutter, trying to find the words. I’m crying again. When will I stop crying? It was only
a job. And Makena deserves it too. I’ll find the strength to cheer her on one day. But right now, it just feels like the finishing line has shifted from beneath my feet. I was working towards it for so long that now I have no idea what’s worth fighting for any more.

  ‘Oh Eve. It will get better soon, I promise.’ Becky wraps her arms around me. ‘Is it just about the job? Not that that’s not a valid reason,’ she adds quickly. ‘I know how much that opportunity means to you.’ She pulls away and looks at me, just wanting to make everything okay. And here I am wanting to make everything better for her.

  ‘Meant to me,’ I correct, the words catching in my throat. It’s over now. But things don’t need to be over for Becky and Tom, not if she doesn’t want them to be.

  ‘I know, Evie,’ she soothes. ‘Eve, sorry.’ She knows only my dad calls me that. ‘I can’t help feeling this is a bit about him too,’ she sighs.

  ‘About Tom?’ I say, not meaning to sound so guilty.

  ‘No,’ she says, confused by my confusion. But then she knows I’ve not been myself all week, maybe even before then. I guess I’ve felt a little lost for a while. It’s easy to ignore that when you’ve fixed your eyes in one direction, on one destination. ‘Your dad.’

  ‘What’s my dad got to do with this?’ I ask. She hasn’t found the letters, has she? But I know she hasn’t. If she had, she would have said something by now. Plus we’ve been taking it in turns to do the chocolate run all week. If Becky knew there was a secret stash in one of the top cupboards, it wouldn’t have survived the past few days.

  ‘I just . . . You haven’t mentioned him at all lately, not even a little bit,’ she says, treading on eggshells all of a sudden. My heart beats harder in my chest. A run would usually calm it. But I’m knackered. It’s as if all the stress and hard work of the last few weeks has come to collect its debt. ‘And you’ve just been so focused on the job, and then so . . .’

  ‘Broken?’

  ‘Not broken.’ Becky shakes away the thought, but her hands, still resting on the tops of my arms, squeeze a little tighter. As if trying to hold all the shards of my heart together. ‘Just bruised. And I know sometimes you try and run away from family stuff, and I don’t know . . . Am I way off the mark?’

  No, Becky. You’re not. You’re bang on the money. And I love you for it. I should have told you about the letters a long time ago. But things are messy with Makena now, messy at work. Messy in my mind. And right now you’re the only thing that’s right and I can’t risk hurting you too.

  ‘I guess I’ve been too distracted by the job to really think about him.’ I smile through my sadness, the weight of his letters feeling heavier still. Not light like they did with Max. Buster springs up from the carpet to stretch across my lap, noticing that I need a lift.

  ‘Okay, that’s it!’ Becky gets to her feet, sending Buster running scared again just when he thought he’d found some stability. I know the feeling, mate. ‘We’re going out.’

  ‘We’re what?’ I look at her as if I’ve forgotten what ‘out’ means. And who could blame me? I’ve been a hermit ever since my heartbreak.

  ‘Going out,’ Becky repeats. ‘Yes, you’re disappointed. Yes, you’re down. And yes, Tom has disappointed me too . . .’ Her eyes dart to her phone for a moment, his message still unanswered. She’s making him sweat, and I would feel proud if it didn’t feel like all my major keys had been replaced with minors. ‘But we can’t just wallow here, expecting someone else to make it all better.’

  Someone else to make it all better is what Becky has hoped for ever since I’ve known her. A knight in shining armour riding in on his bright white steed. But maybe all my darkness has been enough to prompt some positivity in her.

  ‘But I’m tired,’ I say, almost scared at the thought of going out, of putting myself back out there again.

  ‘I know, darling, but you’re going to stay feeling tired if you don’t move. You’re Eve.’ She says my name as if it’s supposed to mean something. But what if all my Eve has run out? All my notes to self run dry? What if all my chasing stories and running miles before breakfast was really just me running away?

  ‘Why don’t I see if Lola and Makena are free and we can make a night of it, cheer each other up?’ Becky looks at me and my face must say it all: why do Lola and Makena need cheering up?

  ‘You go ahead.’ I smile at her, now my turn to give her a little squeeze. She’s handling this Tom stuff so well all of a sudden. Just another sign that she loves that he’s messaged, that a part of her is starting to feel in control again. God, I’d give anything to feel the same. ‘I’m just really tired. I think I fancy a night in with my book.’ I’m trying to sound more okay than I feel. Turns out I can be a pretty good liar.

  ‘Now that sounds more Eve,’ Becky says. ‘I can stay with you if you like?’

  ‘No, no.’ I shake my head, not knowing why I’m pushing her away. Maybe because I know she needs to blow off some steam too. And unbeknownst to Tom, reading a book is not Becky’s idea of letting her hair down. ‘You go. You deserve it after this week. Going to message him back?’ I ask. She should. Tom is great and Becky deserves the best.

  ‘Do you know what?’ She’s typing at speed to call in backup: Makena and Lola, maybe Ajay and Benj too. ‘I don’t think so. Eve, he finally slept with me and then fell off the face of the planet – for a week.’

  ‘He said he lost his phone and that work’s been busy,’ I remind her.

  ‘Work’s been busy for me too, and I still managed to message.’

  ‘Yes, I know but . . .’ I’m suddenly not sure why I’m defending him. Maybe because I’ve been so low this week that the thought of losing one more thing hurts like hell.

  ‘I’m done with boys,’ Becky says. A sentence I’ve heard a thousand times before. ‘Yes, I liked Tom. Yes, I thought he was a good one, but his actions say otherwise. And my actions?’ She stands up from the sofa. She’s not grown an inch, but somehow she’s standing taller. She holds her phone up and I watch her swipe and press the screen. Has she messaged him back? ‘Deleted.’

  ‘Deleted?’

  ‘And blocked.’ She smiles, but I can see the sadness in her eyes. ‘And Max’s for good measure. Can you delete him too? Full cull. I know he got your number from Tom.’

  It’s the simplest of requests. For a second I wish I hadn’t told her about Max’s text. But I did – and I told her it didn’t mean anything. Just like the many other things that don’t mean anything any more.

  ‘Oh, I . . .’ Part of me doesn’t want to delete his number. But why? Maybe because it’s my only link to Tom. But with Becky here, waiting impatiently for me to take out my phone, it’s not like I have much of a choice. ‘Deleted.’

  I stare at my book. I must have reread this passage a thousand times, but it’s just not going in. It’s like my mind is too busy to take any more. So I’m not moving forward at work. And Becky isn’t moving forward with Tom. Both dreams deleted, blocked, my almost-friendship with Max just collateral damage. I can imagine Becky now, laughing and joking with Lola, toasting Makena’s promotion. And I will too. One day. I’m just not ready for that yet. I guess I’m just not ready for a lot of things.

  I turn the page, hoping to turn the thought away. Becky might do a good job of pretending to be okay. But come tomorrow, hung-over and unhappy, I know she’ll start to miss Tom. To wonder what might have been. To wonder how things would have unfolded if she’d just decided to message him back.

  And then there’s Max. Maybe he’ll text me again. But then what? It’s not like I can be friends with him if Becky isn’t dating Tom. And as for Tom getting in touch with me? He’s never knowingly done it before.

  Before I realise it, my book is on my lap and my phone is in my hands, hovering over the number I haven’t dialled since that moment in the toilet cubicle at work. No, I don’t want to call Dad. It isn’t about him. Plus,
he must have seen the missed call and he still hasn’t returned it – surely he must know it’s from me? No, this is about so much more than him; this is about a life I’ve been building for myself that has now veered woefully off script. I’ve never been a relationship girl. I’ve been a work girl. A get-promoted girl, a too-busy-for-a-man girl. Until I wasn’t.

  My finger moves towards the dating app still downloaded on my phone. I should have deleted it a long time ago. As soon as Becky didn’t need my help any more. Something was stopping me. But what’s stopping me now? I hover over it, and then click. I was too busy to date before. But if I’m not getting that role, not getting in touch with my dad, maybe I’ll have a bit of time for someone. Someone like Tom?

  Flicking left and right, I get a few matches, but before long, my finger is drifting to the messages. Only then do I remember that these matches aren’t mine, this profile has never been mine. That I’ve never made one about me. Scrolling through my conversations with Tom, I see so much of myself on the page. A part of me I liked. Naturally, the messages are from months ago. Setting up our first date at the Dickens Inn – the one I never got to go on. Messaging before our double date – the first time we ever actually met. It was confusing seeing him in person but chatting to him as me: it wasn’t the same. But the man I messaged here? That man I’m really starting to love.

  The phone starts to shake in my hands. Oh shit. Tom has messaged Becky on the app.

  Tom: Hey, Becky. I’m not sure if you got my message or you’ve blocked my number or something, but I’m honestly really sorry for being MIA. There’s been a lot going on but I’d love to talk to you about it if you’ll just give me a second chance. If you don’t message back, I’ll take the hint and stop bothering you, I promise. X