Brand New Friend

by Mike Gayle

  At the time Rob and Phil were both at the Orange Egg design consultancy in Shoreditch, working on print ads, corporate websites and general design, but they were thinking about starting up their own company. The rest of their friends were at the party too: Ian Two (whose real name was Ian Manning), Woodsy, Darren and Kevin. The six were standing together in a large group at the bar when Rob spotted Ashley coming through the door.

  As far as relationships went, Rob had been going through a dry patch that was threatening to turn his whole life into a Sahara. It wasn’t that he never met any single women, rather that he didn’t meet any single women who came up to his self-imposed, stringently high standards. His last girlfriend, Trish, had been a part-time model and fashion student who, as well as being exceptionally easy on the eye, had a great sense of humour and, most important of all, got on with his friends. For the two years they had been together Rob was convinced that he had found the yin to his self-confessed difficult-to-fit yang. Then she had graduated from the Royal College of Art, announced that she was desperate to go to New York to get into fashion and wanted him to go with her. For several weeks Rob wavered, trying to make up his mind, and at one point sent his CV to a few design studios and advertising agencies in Manhattan. The crunch came, however, when an ad agency forwarded his CV to a small design studio in the process of setting up. They contacted him immediately and practically offered him a job over the phone. The second his east-coast pipe-dream looked like it might become reality, he had realised that he didn’t want to go. He couldn’t pinpoint why – it would have been a brilliant opportunity – but no matter how he looked at the situation it didn’t feel right. When he had broken the news to Trish she told him she was the best thing that had ever happened to him and he’d live to regret not taking that chance. And Rob was sure she was right. A year later, he’d met loads of single women but hadn’t been interested in any of them. As he’d explained to Phil, ‘They’re just not Trish.’

  Then he met Ashley.

  ‘Now she is amazing,’ said Rob, to his friends.

  ‘Out of your league, mate,’ pronounced Phil.

  ‘Absolutely,’ added Ian Two.

  ‘What is my league?’ asked Rob.

  ‘She’s a nine,’ said Darren, ‘and you’re a six and a half.’

  ‘A seven tops,’ added Kevin.

  ‘I’m an eight and a half at least.’

  ‘In your dreams, mate,’ said Woodsy. ‘You’re a six and a half. Stick with what you deserve, mate.’

  ‘Right,’ said Rob. ‘We’ll see about that.’ Without taking his eyes off Ashley he went over to Ian One on the other side of the bar. ‘Any chance you know who that girl is?’ he asked, pointing at Ashley.

  ‘Don’t know her but I do know the woman she’s talking to,’ said Ian One. ‘If you ask me she’s way out of your league, mate. She’s young, attractive and well dressed – what could she have in common with a scruffy graphic designer like you who has more pairs of trainers than a sports shop?’ He laughed. ‘Nothing I’m saying’s going to stop you, though, is it? You up for some smooth talking or what?’

  Drinks in hand, the two men made their way across the room and Ian One opened with a kiss for his work colleague, Michelle.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re really leaving,’ she said, hugging him. ‘You’re like part of the furniture.’ She turned to the woman standing next to her. ‘Ian, this is my baby sister, Ashley.’

  ‘Hi, nice to meet you,’ grinned Ian One. ‘And this is my mate Rob.’

  Ian One, ever the perfect wingman, began to ask Ashley about herself to draw her into the conversation. She was twenty-four. She was a medical student at Manchester University Medical School. She’d come to London to see her sister for a few days. Then he made an excuse to take her sister aside, which left Rob with the perfect opportunity to break the ice with Ashley.

  ‘So,’ began Rob, ‘you don’t look like a medical student.’

  ‘I’m not sure how to take that,’ replied Ashley, smiling.

  Rob winced. ‘Why don’t you tell me what I look like and then we’ll be even?’

  She laughed, then looked Rob up and down as though he were an item of clothing she liked but wasn’t sure she wanted to take home. ‘You look like you work in a record shop,’ she replied.

  ‘I’m a graphic designer.’

  With certain girls Rob had found that “I’m a graphic designer”, with its implied creativity, had a certain cachet. Ashley, however, didn’t seem to be one of them.

  ‘What’s that, then?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m like an artist,’ explained Rob, ‘only I work in the commercial world. I design things like ads, billboards, posters, book jackets, packaging, corporate logos, websites – that sort of thing.’

  Over the next half an hour they talked, uninterrupted, about their lives. There was something easy about their conversation – it wasn’t forced, just flowed naturally – but Rob couldn’t escape the feeling that it was simply a means to an end. They didn’t know each other, might not have anything in common, but they wanted to know each other so conversation was the only avenue open to them. As far as he was concerned Ashley might have been reciting the times table and it wouldn’t have mattered. The result would have been the same because the conversation was just a jumble of personal details. It was the fact that they were having it that said everything – and primarily: ‘The more we do this the more I want to do it.’

  As Ashley was about to reply to ‘What’s your favourite film?’ Michelle returned, without Ian One, and reminded her sister that they had a table booked at a restaurant in Piccadilly for nine thirty.

  Ashley looked at Rob. ‘Do you want to come?’ Then she turned to her sister. ‘It wouldn’t be a problem, would it?’

  ‘No, of course not. More the merrier.’

  Ashley’s eyes met his. ‘So, how about it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s Ian’s leaving do.’

  ‘Oh, he won’t mind,’ said Michelle. ‘The way he’s going, he won’t even remember.’

  They all gazed at Ian One who, now jacket-free and tieless, was dancing exuberantly with a middle-aged woman.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said Rob, ‘but I’m with the rest of my mates, too, and it’s frowned on to leave parties early.’

  ‘I could understand what you were saying if you were an eleven-year-old and you’d spent the day playing out on your bikes, but you’re a grown man,’ laughed Michelle. ‘At least, I thought you were.’

  ‘It’s a friends thing,’ explained Rob, ‘and there’s a certain etiquette with these things.’

  ‘You make it sound like you belong to an exclusive golf club,’ said Ashley.

  ‘It’s something like that. The fact is, if it wasn’t Ian’s leaving do – say we were just down the pub – it wouldn’t matter at all. I could leave without giving my mates a second thought.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘Because a night down the pub is a regular occurrence.’

  Ashley nodded. ‘But a leaving do isn’t so you have to be seen to be doing the right thing.’

  ‘Exactly,’ replied Rob.

  ‘Well, it’s your loss,’ said Michelle.

  Suddenly Rob realised she might have a point. Some sort of masculine brain malfunction had caused him to talk himself out of having dinner with an attractive twenty-four-year-old medical student. What was he thinking? She was the first woman he’d been properly attracted to since Trish. And Ashley didn’t even live in London – how would he get a second stab at making something happen between them if they didn’t live in the same city?

  ‘On second thoughts,’ he began nervously, ‘maybe I could get some sort of papal dispensation from Ian to make it all right.’

  ‘No,’ said Ashley, touching his hand. ‘You stay with your friends.’

  Rob thought about saying it was fine, but was all too aware that he was in danger of losing what little cool he might still have. Instead he replied, �
��You’re right. Friends should come first. Because without them what are you? But before you go I’d like to insist on one thing.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Your phone number.’

  Ashley and her sister exchanged a knowing glance.

  ‘Have you got a pen?’ asked Ashley.

  ‘No,’ replied Rob, digging into his pockets and pulling out his mobile. ‘I’ll just put it in this.’ Ashley took it from him, carefully tapped in her number and pressed ‘save’. Then she kissed his cheek, picked up her coat from the back of the chair next to her and went towards the door.

  Alone, Rob checked her number as if it was the only proof in the world that the last half-hour hadn’t been an elaborate dream. Was the number she had given real? He took a deep breath and pressed ‘call’.

  ‘Hello?’ said a female voice.

  ‘Is that Ashley?’

  ‘Yes – who’s . . . Rob?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rob that I was speaking to less than a minute ago?’

  ‘Yes, that Rob.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing at the minute. I just wanted to check – with you being a trainee doctor and all – that you’ll be available in case of an emergency.’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied softly, ‘I’ll always be there for you in an emergency.’

  Thirty seconds later she walked back in and, without a word, they kissed. And that, pretty much, was that.

  Ashley arrives in London

  It was just after midnight when Rob heard Ashley’s car pull up outside the house. He turned off the TV and looked through the curtains: she was reversing her convertible MQ into the kind of parking spot that most people would have written off as a non-starter, which said volumes about Ashley’s ability behind the wheel and her personality. Nothing was too difficult for her – whether it was life in general or precision parking. He put on his trainers and went outside to help her with her bags.

  ‘Hey, you,’ he said, as she unlocked the boot.

  Ashley allowed herself to be kissed.

  ‘How was the journey?’

  She didn’t reply, just rolled her eyes and hauled out her bags. As they went towards the house Rob asked question after question in a bid to coax her out of her dark mood, but her responses were strained and barely audible.

  He dumped the bags in his bedroom while Ashley made herself a cup of tea. By the time he was back downstairs she was sitting in the living room with a steaming mug in her hand. Rob turned on the TV and they watched an old episode of Have I Got News For You. In the half-hour it was on, Rob laughed several times, but Ashley failed to raise so much as a smile.

  ‘I’m really tired,’ he said, stifling a yawn as the credits rolled. He stretched in pantomime fashion – his code for, “Do you want to have sex?”

  ‘I’m shattered,’ replied Ashley. ‘The second I hit the pillow I’ll be out like a light.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Rob, decoding her answer as a firm negative.

  ‘I just want a big hug and then to fall asleep,’ she said, cuddling up to him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rob.

  ‘No.’ She sat up. ‘Actually, I’m not. I think we need to talk.’

  ‘It’s the long-distance thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked into Rob’s eyes. ‘You know I love you, don’t you, more than anything in the world? But you must see that we can’t carry on like this. I miss you too much, the travelling makes me bad-tempered and I feel like our life is on hold . . .’ She pointed across the room to the armchair where a sleeping-bag adorned with a pair of green boxer shorts lay bundled up. ‘And although I love Woodsy to death even he’s getting a bit too much for me.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rob eyeing the boxers. ‘I’ll have a word with him about tidying up.’

  ‘But that’s not the point, is it? The point is, do you want us to live together?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Rob. ‘I’ve told you that a million times.’

  ‘So if you want to be with me, let’s go for it. Come and live with me – or stay here, if you prefer. I’ll start looking for a new job tomorrow. All you need to do is say. But we can’t carry on the way things are. Manchester or London? The choice is yours.’

  Rob nodded slowly. The choice was indeed his. He knew Ashley had been more patient than he deserved. She had asked time and again if she should apply for a job in London so that they could be together and he’d always said no. The fact was, he knew he’d have to leave London one day. It was too expensive. It was too grimy. It was too . . . London. And he was aware of what was at stake. He didn’t want to miss out on a good thing as he had done with Trish because of geography. He knew Ashley was his one chance of living a proper life. He didn’t want to miss out on the Buying-a-house Thing, the Getting-married Thing, the Being-a-parent Thing, even the Being-happy-for-the-rest-of-your-life-until-you-pop-your-clogs Thing. And it didn’t seem fair that he might miss out on all that just because he wasn’t ready to move city.

  ‘Look, Ash,’ he began, ‘I know things can’t go on like this, and one day I will move up to Manchester. It’s just that . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Things are different when they become reality. It’ll mean a lot of changes, like moving my job. Phil and I have only had the company running two years—’

  ‘But you’ve told me before that you could easily set up in Manchester and commute to London for meetings with Phil. It’s only two hours on the train.’

  Rob swallowed. She was right again. And, to make matters worse, he and Phil had had the discussion only a month earlier. Phil had suggested it might be a good thing as then they’d have the desk space to hire their first employee.

  ‘Look,’ said Rob, ‘all I’m saying is . . . can’t we just wait a little longer?’

  Ashley shook her head. ‘Not any more. Just give me a reason – one good reason – why you won’t move.’

  ‘I can’t give you one,’ he told her sullenly. ‘There are too many to choose from.’

  ‘And that’s the last you’ve got to say on the matter?’ she asked, as she untangled herself from his arms and stood up.

  ‘This doesn’t have to be a “Thing”, okay? All I’m asking for is a bit of time.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Two years . . . three max.’

  ‘No,’ said Ashley, firmly. ‘You’ve agreed we can’t carry on like this.’

  ‘You’re right, but now’s not the right time for me to leave London.’

  ‘You’ve said that. But I still don’t feel you’re telling me the real reason why.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it does, because whatever’s stopping you is affecting my life as well as yours. I don’t understand you. You say you want to leave London but you won’t make the decision to do it. Don’t you want to be with me any more?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Rob. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ asked Ashley. ‘What’s stopping you?’

  ‘I just need more time,’ said Rob. ‘A bit more and it’ll all be sorted, I promise you.’

  ‘Well, that’s the one thing you can’t have,’ said Ashley, and with that she left the room and headed upstairs, slamming the door after her.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Rob called after her.

  ‘Back to Manchester,’ she replied, as she appeared at the top of the stairs holding her suitcase.

  ‘It’s late,’ said Rob. Panic had worked its way into his voice. ‘You’re tired. I’m tired. Can’t we just talk about this?’

  ‘No,’ she said, as she came down the stairs. ‘We can’t. Not any more.’ She brushed past him and slammed the front door behind her.

  Rob opened it and followed her along the path to the gate. ‘What do you want me to say. Ash?’ he shouted.

  She was standing by her car now, fumbling desperately with her keys. ‘I want you to say that you want to be with me as much as I want to be with yo
u,’ she said, evidently fighting back tears. ‘That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

  Rob didn’t answer. Instead he sat down on his neighbour’s wall, closed his eyes and put his head into his hands. He heard Ashley start her car. As she slid it into gear and drove off, he exhaled heavily. He wished more than anything that he was in the pub with his friends. At least they would understand why he was finding it so hard to make the decision. They would see it his way. Unlike Ashley who didn’t understand that at the age of thirty-two, there were only a handful of things that could genuinely terrify a man – and, ridiculous as it might seem, one was the idea of moving to a new city and making new friends.

  Nine years earlier: When Rob met Phil

  Saturday afternoon. Two o’clock. Fresh off the Luton Line Express coach from Bedford, Rob entered the dilapidated rented six-bedroom house in Kilburn that would be his new home. He was carrying a large rucksack, a suitcase and a cumbersome just-about-portable CD-player. As he stood in the hallway, his mind was flung back to when the landlord had first shown him the room. He studied the floor. Had the hallway carpet always been so heavily stained? He sniffed the air. Had the smell of dust and damp been so strong? He examined the walls. Had there really been what looked like a faded blood splatter by the stairs on his last visit? Had his eyes been open at all when he was last here? He was wondering whether it was too late to beg the landlord for the return of his deposit cheque when he heard a noise from the living room. He realised it was one of his house-mates and decided to check it out. As he entered through the heavy panelled door, he saw a bloke of his own age sitting on a purple sofa wearing a pair of Blackburn Rovers football shorts and a bright blue T-shirt that bore the words ‘Pavement: The Slow Century’. He was reading a magazine that, on closer examination, Rob saw was a copy of Mac User. ‘All right, mate?’ he said, as he looked up.