Becky: Sometimes there’s nothing you can say.
Becky: Sometimes you just need to be there.
Becky: To sit with him. Let him cry.
Becky: And then when he does, tell him what he needs to hear.
Tom: What would you tell him?
Becky: I’d tell him that you know it hurts like hell.
Becky: That it’s okay to cry.
Becky: That it’s okay to not be the hero.
Becky: That he doesn’t need to be a knight in shining armour.
Becky: That it’s okay to break.
Becky: But that it won’t feel this way forever.
I cry harder and harder, just wanting to hold him. Hold Tom, hold Max. I read my messages back. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to break. Don’t I need to tell myself that too? When did I start trying so hard to be what everyone else needed me to be, to be the perfect best friend? So much that I stopped being a friend to myself.
Tom: I might never get over this.
Tom: *He.
Becky: He will. I promise he will.
Tom: I think maybe it’s bigger than Peggy, though.
Becky: How so?
Even as I ask Tom the question, I know the answer. Max told me about his grandma, about the fact that he wasn’t there when she needed him. How he felt like he’d let her down, broken his promise to her. And now he’s promised Peggy she’ll see one last dream become a reality, but it’s too late. Again. Feeling Max’s grief, even from a distance, makes me feel the full weight of my own. Oh gosh, loving someone is hard. But Max can’t beat himself up forever, not for his grandma, not for this. Sometimes things just happen. Note to self: not everything’s under your control.
Tom: It’s stuff with Grandma.
Tom: His grandma. He’s been carrying around guilt and regret about her death for a year now, and now this.
Tom: Peggy died before he could do the walk.
Tom: He promised her.
Tom: And he broke that promise.
Tom: And now he feels like it’s breaking him.
Becky: It will do.
Becky: Of course it will.
Becky: But Max is strong.
Becky: And he’ll mend.
Becky: Even stronger than before.
Becky: Like a phoenix from the flames.
Tom is typing . . .
Chapter Twenty-Four
Max
Becky: So remember what I told you?
Tom: Yes.
Tom: Be strong.
Becky: For Max.
Tom: Yes, for Max.
Tom: Show him that it’s okay for him to be sad.
Becky: Yes, but that Peggy wouldn’t want him to stay sad.
Tom: Right.
Tom: But I still hate myself for not seeing it coming.
Tom: *Max does.
Becky: But he couldn’t have done anything different.
Becky: Life has a way of surprising us.
Becky: Sometimes brutally.
Becky: Sometimes beautifully.
Tom: Man, I love your words.
Becky: And I love yours.
Becky: But Max needs your words more than me today.
Becky: Tell him what I’ve told you. It’s not his fault. It never has been.
Becky: And tell him again and again and again.
Tom: And again? Ha.
Becky: Tell him as many times as he needs before he believes it.
I look up from Becky’s messages to the crowds of people piling into the church, savouring every syllable. She may be messaging Tom, but her words are meant for me. I don’t think I’ve ever needed them more than I have done this past week, since the moment Peggy passed away. I know I shouldn’t have messaged her back, that message ten thousand and one was a mistake. But I can’t do this grief thing alone, not again. It will kill me, it will actually kill me. Somehow Becky’s words are soothing a pain in me that I’d just got used to living with, finally restoring some hope.
Scrolling back through our messages from the past week, I search for the one I’ve starred: Like a phoenix from the flames. It was what I had said to Eve that afternoon in Soho. Maybe Eve told Becky about our conversation, finally told her about her dad’s letters. But either way, reading Becky’s words back to me is helping me see things differently.
I was with Peggy on the morning she died. Laughing, joking, telling her about Eve. I was there on the day, that seemingly ordinary day, and nothing could have prepared me for that evening. And even if I had been there with my grandma, it wouldn’t have changed anything; it wouldn’t have stopped her dying. Life has a way of surprising us: brutally, beautifully. Becky’s words are helping me see that. And sometimes you don’t need to be there in person to know someone is standing with you. Becky is helping me see that too.
‘How you holding up, dude?’ I turn to see Tom standing beside me as I slip his phone into my pocket. I can’t believe he hasn’t asked for it back yet. Things had been frosty between us ever since Yvonne came back on the scene, ever since he thrust his seemingly redundant phone in my direction. But as soon as I told him about Amy’s phone call, the ice thawed. I guess he’s is always there when I need him.
‘Been better,’ I reply as he throws a muscular arm around my shoulders.
‘Me too.’ His smile is a little sad. Tom has been back at ours all week, and he hasn’t mentioned Yvonne at all. Hasn’t seen her. Maybe things have finally gone south with them? Ended just like I knew they would? But why isn’t he telling me? Maybe because I need him more right now.
‘Ready to go in?’ He squeezes my arm a little tighter.
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’ I smile back at him, a lump in my throat.
‘It’s not an open casket, is it?’ he says, a glimpse of horror in his eyes.
‘No, dude, it’s not.’ I can’t help but laugh at his relief.
‘Thank God for that.’ He shakes his head, his cheeks a little white. ‘I mean, I loved Peggy and everything, but dead bodies freak me right out.’ He bites his lip, suddenly realising that he’s probably saying all the wrong things, acting insensitively, breaking funeral protocol. But that’s what I need right now, I need him to be here, I need him to be him.
I laugh again at the horror on his face, and then I laugh harder and harder, tears making tracks down my face until any joy turns to sadness and I sob all the more. Tom pulls me close, and I let my tears fall into his strong suited shoulder. My breath catches, my shoulders heave and I cry hard. I cry for Peggy. I cry for my grandma. And I cry for me, for all the moments when I’ve told myself I don’t deserve to cry.
‘It’s okay, dude, it’s okay,’ Tom says, and it’s only as I pull away that I see his cheeks are wet with tears too. He’s standing with me, saying very little but doing all the right things. Turns out he doesn’t need Becky’s advice; that’s just for me.
Behind us, the two large wooden doors swing open and summer sunshine floods into the church. One by one we leave the darkness of the old stone building and walk out into the light. Sadly, my own darkness comes with me. But as I step into the crowds of people who loved – still love – Peggy, something else comes too: hope. I won’t feel this way forever. Just like Becky said, one day my broken bits will mend.
Walking further into the church gardens and towards the tables of drinks and cakes, the people mingling together, sharing memories together in a way Peggy would have loved, I see a familiar figure. Two familiar figures actually. Tom by my side, I catch up with them, walking hand in hand. Amy in her black sundress and – no way . . .
‘Paddy?’ I look at him as he turns around. Appropriately solemn, but still smiling next to her.
‘Hey, Maxy.’ He throws his arms around me in a tight embrace. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks, dude.’ I pull away, smiling a
t him before throwing my arms around Amy.
‘Peggy loved you,’ she croaks into my chest, tears tracing their way down her rosy cheeks.
‘She loved you too.’ I smile back at her, the words catching in my throat. She really did. Peggy was the one thing we had in common. I look at Paddy, weaving his fingers back through Amy’s. ‘You two.’ I never saw this coming, but maybe I should have. They’re a good match. Brilliant, even.
‘Yeah.’ Amy smiles, a little sheepish. ‘I know you said you thought dating people you work with wasn’t a great idea . . .’ I recall her question from that night in the Dickens Inn, the night Peggy tried to force us together before she knew our hearts were both set on someone else. ‘But after I came to your offices that time . . . well, Paddy got my number off Heather . . .’ Did he now? Paddy shrugs his shoulders: guilty as charged. ‘And, well, we messaged for a bit, and one thing led to another . . .’ They always do. ‘And here we are.’ I look at them smiling together, hand in hand. They look so right that I wonder why I didn’t see it all along.
But then sometimes it’s the things closest to you that are the hardest to see.
Becky: How did it all go?
Tom: As well as can be expected, I guess.
Becky: And Max?
Becky: How was he?
Tom: Gutted, obviously. But I know he’s going to be okay.
Becky: Of course he is.
Tom: I think in some strange way, the grief of losing Peggy is helping him let go of some of the grief of my grandma.
Tom: *His.
Becky: That makes sense.
Becky: Sometimes things are easier to get right second time around.
Tom: Learning from your mistakes and all that?
Becky: Something like that.
Becky: Is it still full steam ahead for Peggy’s Walk?
Tom: I’ve not really thought about that.
Tom: *He’s.
Tom: I guess Max was always doing it for Peggy.
Tom: For her to see it.
Tom: So in a way, what’s the point?
I look down at Tom’s cracked screen, up to him sitting in his usual place on the sofa. I’m sure he knows I’m still messaging Becky, but if he does, he isn’t saying anything. Maybe he understands that I need this right now. I glance down at the screen again, at Becky typing her reply to my last message: What’s the point? I was only doing the walk for Peggy. And now she isn’t here any more. The thought hurts like hell. But I know that what I said to Becky is true. I am going to process my grief properly this time, talk about it, not be afraid of it, not carry it around by myself.
‘You all right, dude?’ Tom must have clocked me drifting off into the distance.
‘Not really,’ I admit.
‘Well you do know you can talk to me about it, right?’
‘I know that.’ I notice that Tom looks pretty down himself. ‘And you can talk to me. Two-way street, right? What’s going on with Yvonne anyway?’
I put Tom’s phone down. Becky has stopped typing anyway. I imagine her letting herself get distracted by Eve. She has said that Eve is still finding things hard with the job. Of course she is; she put so much into getting that part of her life sorted before contemplating sorting anything else. But are any of us really ever sorted? Aren’t we all a work in progress?
‘It’s over.’ Tom looks at me, daring me to say I told you so.
I knew this would happen; it’s why I carried on messaging Becky in the first place. Well, one of the reasons. But what now? Will Tom want Becky back, just like I predicted? That will be good, right? Becky will be happy. Tom will be happy. I will be . . . well, I’ll be okay. I’ll be more than okay one day.
‘She ended things?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone measured.
‘No.’ Tom shakes his head, smiling a little. ‘I did.’
‘You did?’
‘Don’t act so surprised, bro.’ He laughs, throwing a cushion my way. It misses.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just . . .’ I choose my words carefully, even though Tom can see right through me, ‘not what I expected. Are you okay? What happened?’
‘You fucked it.’ Tom says the words through laughter. What? What did I do? His phone buzzes by my side, full of Becky’s replies. Shit. Shit. Shit. ‘Remember when you asked whether Yvonne wanted to hang out, the three of us? Well, I asked her, and she said no, which is cool, right? But then I asked her again, and about her friends, and she snapped and said she didn’t see why we had to hang out with each other’s friends anyway.’
‘Do you think she was trying to keep you at a distance?’ I ask.
‘Either that or she’s really not a friend person, but I can’t imagine dating someone who doesn’t like my friends. Some of the best times I had with Becky were when the four of us were hanging out together.’
‘So do you want to give things another go with Becky?’ I ask, not knowing what I want his answer to be.
My heart hammers, palms starting to sweat. If he says yes, I’ll have to stop messaging her and hope to God he doesn’t hate me for staying in touch all this time; that he understands that I was doing this for him – well, kind of. If he says no, then I’ll have to stop messaging her too. Say goodbye to all the late-night conversations and good-morning messages. Who am I kidding? There’s only one way this is going to end.
‘Honestly?’ Tom says as I try not to think about all my lies. ‘No, not really. She’s an amazing girl, but I don’t think we’d have much in common without you helping me.’
Yeah, I guess I knew that too.
‘Probably best we let that one go.’
‘Yeah,’ I sigh.
My stomach sinks, my heart showing no signs of slowing, but this can’t carry on, can it? What did I think was going to happen? That a woman like Becky would fall like a guy like me, a guy who lied his way into her inbox in the first place? Tom might need to let this go, but I need to let Becky go too. I never should have let myself fall for her in the first place. The Peggy stuff is so raw, and our messages have got so intense, but what other choice do I have? I’ll rest it out for a day, lighten the tone, but then I’ll have to let it go, let her go too.
Becky: What’s the point? Are you joking? Tell Max there’s a massive point in carrying on with it.
Becky: Yes, Peggy was the catalyst, but Max has a real heart for lonely people and the walk was always so much bigger than Peggy, that was the point.
Becky: It’s sad that she didn’t live to see it, but there are still thousands of people living with loneliness and surely Max’s passion for helping them hasn’t changed, has it?
Tom: No, it hasn’t.
Tom: Well, I don’t think so.
Becky: So tell him to not lose sight of the bigger picture.
Tom: Okay, okay. I will.
Tom: I’ll tell him to see it through.
Becky: It’s what Peggy would have wanted.
Tom: I know.
Tom: I’ll tell him.
Tom: I’ve been meaning to ask, actually . . .
Tom: Well, Max has been meaning to ask.
Tom: Would Eve like to cover the event?
Becky: I’m not really writing at the moment.
Becky: *Eve’s not, sorry. Bloody autocorrect.
Tom: Because of the job still?
Becky: Yeah, she kind of doesn’t see the point if she’s just going to have to write stupid stories for the next year or so until new jobs come up.
Tom: Yeah, but what about her own stuff?
Becky: She was just writing all that for the job.
Becky: I think.
Tom: Well, I hope you’ve given her one of the pep talks you just gave me.
Tom: To pass on to Max, obvs.
Becky: What do you mean?
Tom: Like . . .
Tom:
Yes, the job was the catalyst for Eve’s column, but she has a real heart for real stories and that was always so much bigger than one role.
Becky: Oh, I see.
Tom: And . . .
Tom: Surely her passion for telling real stories hasn’t changed, has it?
Becky: Right.
Tom: So tell her to not lose sight of the bigger picture.
Tom: Basically, give all the advice you’ve just given to Max to Eve and she might just remember why she loved writing stories in the first place.
Becky: Yeah, okay. But what if she’s still stuck in her job?
Tom: Tell her to quit.
Becky: But there are no other jobs she wants to apply for.
Tom: She could go freelance?
Becky: With what money?
Tom: Well, maybe she might not be able to go freelance right away, but if she starts charging for stories on the side, then maybe she can start moving in that direction.
Tom: Baby steps.
Tom: Plus, she could always ask for some help whilst she gets started.
Becky: From who?
Her dad? He wants to be back in her life, doesn’t he? But then I still don’t know whether she’s told Becky that. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone, and as much as I trust Becky, there is no way in hell I am betraying my word to Eve. Plus, Tom doesn’t know about her family, does he?
Tom: Her family? Yours? You said they think of Eve as one of the family, right? That they’d do anything for her.
Becky: I did?
Tom: Yes, you did. That with Eve, your family feels complete.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eve
I look at Becky, sitting in our usual corner of Ciao Becca. It’s like one of the first photos I uploaded to her dating profile coming to life right before my eyes. So much has happened since then. For both of us. I barely recognise the woman sitting opposite me now. No phone in hand. No dates planned. Happy just to be in the moment. And I can barely register what I’m about to ask Leonardo and Sofia.
What Are Friends For?: The will-they-won't-they romance of the year! Page 23