My Best Friend Has Issues

by Laura Marney

  Chloe tipped the bottle almost upside down and let the wine gush into my outsized glass.

  ‘Yeah Chloe, a glass of wine, not half a litre.’

  We both laughed. I tasted a sip and then a mouthful. I hadn’t had a drink in more than a week. It tasted wonderful.

  I felt fine. It was hard to believe that a week ago I’d suffered a heart attack. But I was young and, as Dr Collins had once said, had a tremendous life force. I’d made a terrific recovery from the glandular fever, so long as I took it easy my heart would be fine. A drop of wine, quality wine like this, would probably do me the world of good.

  ‘Damn, this wine is good,’ said Chloe, swigging a mouthful and wiping butifarra grease from her mouth with the back of her hand.

  I had to smile. The concept of moderation simply did not exist for Chloe.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll never grow up, will you?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ she said, mock-offended.

  ‘You’ll always be crazy, extravagant, hopelessly impractical, wildly generous, and fucking infuriating.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she said and winked.

  ‘Here’s to the best flatmate ever,’ I said, ceremoniously raising my glass. ‘To Chloe: mad, bad and dangerous to know!’

  ‘Quite an accolade, I thank you. To Chloe,’ she said, toasting herself, ‘Cheers!’

  We clinked glasses and glugged down the wine but we didn’t look each other in the eye the way we usually did, both embarrassed by my slip into such naked sentimentality.

  The conversation moved on. Chloe told me she’d finally tracked down a craftsman who would make the ceramic crowns she’d designed for her chimney project. She was very excited about it and I let her chatter. I was relieved that the bitter rowing was now forgotten, sluiced away by the wine.

  ‘Oh yeah, but the Aged P had to have something to say about it. He’s going crazy saying he won’t pay for them because I can’t take ‘em with me back to California.’

  It was interesting that when she talked of returning to California she said can’t take them with me instead of can’t take them with us, but I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I don’t remember that, when did he say that?’

  ‘When I spoke to him yesterday. You were asleep.’

  I wasn’t quick enough to hide my disappointment; when Philip called, I usually answered Chloe’s phone. Chloe left it unanswered if I was asleep. She hadn’t even mentioned he’d called until now. This was the way things were going. I was out of the loop.

  ‘He called yesterday to inform me of his state visit.’

  ‘State visit? You mean he’s coming here?’

  ‘Yeah, unfortunately. He’s gonna be in town on business,’ said Chloe, between mouthfuls of beans. ‘Only for two days, thank God, just passing through. He wants to meet you.’

  ‘Really? Tell me,’ I said, ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Huh? Whaddaya wanna know that for?’

  ‘Well, you have loads of photographs around the flat of your mum but I haven’t seen any of your dad. I’ve spoken to him so many times now, I feel like I know him but I’ve no idea…’

  ‘You don’t know him.’

  ‘No, of course but…’

  ‘Yeah, you like old Phil, don’t you?’ she said in a teasing voice.

  ‘He seems very nice,’ I said carefully.

  We both loaded our forks and filled our mouths. Time out while we chewed this one over.

  ‘S’pose it’s natural,’ said Chloe, breaking the silence. ‘You probably miss your own dad, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why not? Weren’t you a kid when he died?’

  ‘Yeah, but he was never around much anyway. He worked on the oil rigs, for an American company. He earned good money but he was away most of the time. The only time I spent any time with him was after his heart attack.’

  ‘Didn’t you say he died of a heart attack?’

  ‘Yeah, but not the first time. It was a minor one, a warning. He got sent home from the rigs on sick leave during Christmas holidays; Mum was at the bakery so I was at home all day with him, but we didn’t really speak. We didn’t have anything to talk about.’

  ‘That’s tough.’

  ‘Not really. I hardly knew him. We’d never done the father and daughter bonding thing. He’d always worked on the rigs since before I was born. I never understood the way girls at school were so in love with their dads.’

  ‘Yeeesh, daughters and dads, it’s disgusting. It was the same at my school. I know what you mean.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you do.’

  Chloe stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Oh yeah? What don’t I know?’

  ‘That I killed him.’

  ‘You didn’t kill your dad. How could you kill your dad? You were just a kid. What were you, fourteen?’

  ‘I was thirteen and okay, I didn’t directly kill him, but it was my fault he died.’

  ‘Shut up! This I’ve got to hear. What happened?’

  ‘I’ve never told anyone. Before he died he made me promise not to. I couldn’t talk about it, I had a kind of mental block. Eventually people stopped asking me.’

  Well, I’m asking,’ she said gently, ‘if you want to tell me.’

  I found that I did want to tell her. I’d told her all the other stuff, about Bashed Head Boy and nearly doing it with Wanca in front of people. Even when I admitted I’d taken the money and the underwear, Chloe was fine about it.

  ‘Okay, well, first of all, Mum and Dad didn’t get on. That’s probably why he worked on the rigs. It was all long silences and bad atmospheres between them. You know the way.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I know it.’

  ‘But when he came home for such a long time on sick leave they just fought constantly. I was sick of it. My brothers were out playing football most of the time so they hardly noticed the arguments but I didn’t go out much. I was stuck trying to watch Coronation Street while my parents had whispered rows in the kitchen. One night I couldn’t stand the tension any more and asked if I could go out. There was a youth club in Abronhill. I didn’t have a friend to go with but I decided that I’d go alone, it was better than watching them glare at each other.

  Mum asked Dad to drive me to the youth club; it was a cold night and the club was on the other side of Cumbernauld. At first he refused but then when he heard it was in Abronhill he changed his mind. All the way there in the car, he never spoke to me once.

  He was sending texts on his phone. Instead of watching the road he kept sending texts, and then reading the replies. I was scared. I offered to type the text in for him, but he ignored me. I asked him to stop. I pleaded with him. I was scared he was going to crash. I knew it was going to happen, I just felt it. It was a horrible feeling, as if I was seeing it before it happened. And it did happen!’

  ‘He crashed?’

  ‘Yes! He crashed the car down an embankment.’

  ‘But I thought he died of a heart attack.’

  ‘He did. He had terrible injuries but the doctor said he’d have survived if his heart hadn’t given out.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Broken arm and punctured lung. Not much considering the car fell thirty feet. The newspaper said it was a miracle. But he died before the fire brigade could get to us.’

  ‘Oh honey, it must have been awful.’

  ‘It was cold. And heavy. He was trapped on top of me. A twig from a tree branch was stuck in his right eyeball. The liquid from inside his eye was dripping on me, on my face.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Chloe, putting down her cutlery, ‘gross.’

  ‘Before he died he was crying and pleading with me not to tell Mum. He said it had to be secret.’

  ‘I would’ve definitely told my mom. Reading stupid text messages while he was driving? No wonder he crashed. It wasn’t your fault, Alison, you didn’t kill him.’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘S
tupid bastard, he had his kid in the car, he could have gotten you both killed!’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, ‘sorry. I’m getting the story all mixed up now. We’ve jumped ahead. He didn’t crash while he was texting, it was later, on the way back, after the youth club. That wasn’t the secret.’

  ‘Well what the hell was? Stop teasing me and get to the point. What’s the big secret, Alison?’

  ‘Buy a flower for the lady?’

  A young Asian guy stood at our table. He held out a large bunch of roses and grinned at me.

  ‘Hola, Esmerelda!’ he said.

  ‘Hola, Sanj,’ I replied.

  For a moment I thought Ewan had sent him. Sending flowers to apologise for what he’d told Charlie. But how did Sanj know to find me here? Then I realised it was just a coincidence. The flowers weren’t from Ewan. Sanj was selling them to loved-up, splatter-cash tourists.

  ‘Please to see you otra vez, Esmerelda.’

  ‘You too, Sanj,’ I smiled. I’d forgotten what a nice guy he was.

  ‘You two know each other?’ said Chloe.

  She was smiling, oozing charm towards Sanj but I could tell she was annoyed. This was a friend of mine that she had never met and knew nothing about.

  ‘Esmerelda?’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Eyes,’ I said, my finger pointing to my eyes. ‘Esmerelda because they’re…’

  ‘Green. Yeah, I got that. What I don’t get is why you’re not introducing me.’

  ‘Sorry. Chloe, this is Sanj. He’s a flower seller…’

  ‘Evidently,’ she said with a gracious nod towards Sanj’s massive bouquet.

  ‘And a friend of Ewan’s. Sanj, this is Chloe, my flatmate and very good friend.’

  We were still flatmates.

  ‘Please to meet you,’ said Sanj.

  ‘Encantado,’ Chloe replied.

  After the introductions there was an awkward moment when we all ran out of things to say. Chloe smiled up at Sanj and he smiled down at us. I’d already mentioned Ewan. I wasn’t going to do it again. I wasn’t going to ask after his health. Sanj rescued us by enquiring after my health, specifically my cough.

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s totally gone,’ I reassured him. I didn’t mention my heart attack.

  ‘I’d like a rose for my friend, please Sanj,’ Chloe said, stretching down to find her handbag under the table.

  ‘Por favor, un regalo,’ he said, choosing the best roses and handing us one each. He refused to take the money.

  ‘Thank you, Sanj, you’re very kind,’ Chloe smirked, ‘but you won’t do good business if you give your roses away every time you see a pretty lady.’

  Sanj’s English wasn’t really up to a reply so he switched to Spanish, the gist of which was that there weren’t two ladies in Barcelona as pretty as us.

  ‘Your friend’s a charmer,’ said Chloe, trying to sound cynical, but I could see that Sanj had already charmed the pants off her. It wasn’t only what he said, which sounded pretty cheesy to me, it was that it was in Spanish. Chloe always preferred when we were chatting to boys that she did all the talking. I was always her dumb friend.

  Sanj apologised for interrupting our meal, excused himself and went round the other tables.

  Chloe’s eyes followed him. ‘Impeccable manners,’ she said, ‘I like that, and so good looking. You kept quiet about him, you sly dog.’

  ‘I’m sure I told you about Ewan’s friend, Sanj.’

  ‘Whatever, I don’t remember. Anyhoo, I think we’ve found our guy for tonight.’

  ‘Chloe, no. Not him, he’s a friend.’

  ‘What’s wrong with getting a little friendlier? It’s kinda romantic, him selling flowers and all. It suits him. He looks like a sensitive guy. His place is probably full of flowers.

  ‘He’s a vendor. His place is more likely to be full of drugs.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ignoring me, carried away by her idea, ‘and his bed’s probably filled with fragrant rose petals, dark red ones.’

  I rolled my eyes.

  ‘What? It’s my artistic temperament. That and I’ve never had an Asian guy go down on me.’

  This had us both hooting with laughter. Sanj heard us and looked over, smiling his big innocent smile. I felt sorry for him. He had no idea what he was in for. While Chloe signed off the bill and tipped the waiter I had one last stab at putting her off.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by those big liquid eyes. He’s a gangster.’

  ‘No way. He’s too cute.’

  ‘I’m telling you. His uncle runs all the drug vendors in the city.’

  ‘Wow! How cool is that? I’ve always wanted to be connected. I think I’d make a great gangster’s moll.’

  ‘I don’t really think Sanj wants us to go back to his place. He’s not like that, he’s a really nice boy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m pretty sure he wants us. He’s an eager little beaver. Here he comes.’

  Chloe welcomed him back in Spanish. I realised that apart from his tourist sales pitch Sanj didn’t speak English but he was kind enough to include me in his smiles. I pretty much knew the script anyway. Chloe did her usual ear-whispering thing. She always pressed her breasts against their arm and her lips to their cheek and ear, but lightly, light as a kiss. I heard her say the word cocaina.

  ‘Aqui no, lo siento,’ Sanj whispered.

  There was no need for apologies. That was exactly what Chloe wanted to hear.

  When she suggested going back to his place, Sanj demurred. I didn’t look directly at Chloe. I didn’t want her to think I was being superior. Clearly embarrassed, Sanj said he had to sell his flowers before he could go home for the night. He’d promised Tio Mahmood, his uncle, he’d sell them all. He was emphatic about this.

  ‘En este caso, quiero comprar todas las floras,’ Chloe said expansively.

  Sanj appeared not to understand and stood grinning.

  ‘Chloe, buying his flowers is like buying him. He’s a friend, it’s not right. We can go to a club and find Latino guys for free.’

  ‘Hey, it was your idea to come out tonight. I want this guy.’

  She spoke to Sanj again, making her proposition more direct and this time he understood. His reaction was businesslike.

  ‘Trescientos, por favor,’ he said, discreetly palming the notes. ‘Muchas gracias.’

  I kept my eyes on the table, smoothing out my napkin, taking care that it was very smooth.

  ‘This guy’s not cheap,’ said Chloe, laughing, ‘I kinda like that. And this way we get petals on the bed.’

  Chapter 43

  Before we left the restaurant I went to the toilet. After a while Chloe came in looking for me.

  ‘Come on, we’re waiting for you!’

  ‘I think I’m just going to head back to the flat. I’m not feeling great but I’m sure you and Sanj will have a great time.’

  ‘It’s because he’s Ewan’s friend, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, well yeah, there is that, but fuck it. Ewan didn’t want to see me when I was in hospital so who gives a shit what he thinks?’

  ‘Thattagirl.’

  ‘No, but Chloe, it’s something else.’

  ‘What?’ she yelled. ‘He’s waiting for us,’ she gestured madly towards the door.

  ‘I can’t go to Sanj’s place. He lives in Raval.’

  I said this slowly so she would understand its significance. She thought for a moment. I nodded. She was getting the significance.

  ‘So?’

  She hadn’t got the significance. The most important thing that had happened to me while I’d been in Barcelona, and she’d forgotten all about it.

  ‘Bashed Head Boy?’ I said, giving her a clue.

  ‘Oh, you’re not still obsessed with that, are you? For Chrissakes, Alison, that was months ago.’

  ‘Yeah but there could be people down there looking for me: the police, the killer. Those Asian guys, they all got a good look at me.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to be the drama queen! Look, the police are
too busy taking bribes and scratching their asses to give a shit about one dead tourist. If anything was gonna happen it would’ve happened by now. Nobody gives a shit. That’s Barcelona, honey.’

  ‘Och, you’re probably right but, I don’t know… Raval just gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, dragging me by the arm. ‘We’ll go straight to his apartment. It’s dark, no one will even see us.’

  Sanj lived alone. On the second floor of a neglected building in a rundown street in Raval, his place wasn’t the gangster’s paradise I’d imagined. The tenement stairs, like our own, were poorly lit, with lights broken or unlit on some of the landings. But his flat wasn’t bad.

  It was a long room that ran the length of the building and had balconies on either side through which a fresh breeze blew. Natural air conditioning. It was a studio, more like a warehouse loft than an apartment, metal brackets were still bolted to the ceiling, no doubt from some previous industrial use, but it was nicely laid out. The living room space was at the front, the kitchenette and bathroom in the middle, and the bed towards the back of the room. It was newly decorated. Sparsely furnished, the few bits of furniture looked tiny in the vast vanilla-coloured space, and for a guy’s flat, it was remarkably tidy. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no clothes or trainers lying around the floor. At the front near the open balcony two easy chairs faced a TV and DVD player. It was here that Sanj directed us to sit while he buzzed around getting things. A pile of Bizarre magazines were neatly stacked on the coffee table and there was a vase of fresh flowers. Chloe had been right; he did have a flat full of flowers. Three buckets of roses and chrysanthemums stood by the door, competing with the smell of curry. The smell of flowers always reminded me of Dad’s funeral; I preferred the delicious curry aroma. I directed my nose towards the kitchenette and breathed deeply.

  Barcelona was great but the food in the Indian restaurants was disappointing: bland curries cooked to suit Catalan tastes. I missed a good spicy curry, a proper curry. Although we’d only just eaten I hoped Sanj would offer us food, maybe a wee samosa or something.

  Instead he offered us cocaine. After he’d lit two low wattage lamps and docked his iPod to play Arabic chill-out music, he got out the coke. Sanj stood at the kitchen counter and chopped up two generous lines on a shaving mirror before standing over me like a waiter and offering it. I declined. I was all for new experiences but after my heart attack I was finished with coke forever more. He passed it to Chloe who hoovered up a line in one slick move.