Brand New Friend

by Mike Gayle

  ‘Good point but—’

  ‘So, this is what you do. You tell yourself that seeing Jo isn’t a big deal. In fact, you don’t even do that. You tell yourself it’s an ordinary, completely and utterly commonplace thing.’

  Rob laughed uncomfortably. ‘But it is a big deal – I’m hanging out on my own with a woman I met at a party.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ said Phil. ‘Another is that you’re hanging out with a human being who just happens to be a woman you met at a party. You see? It’s all about your point of view.’

  ‘Ashley’s never going to go for this,’ said Rob. ‘When I tell her I’m going out with Jo and I use the words “she” or “her” she’s going to have me under the bright lights with a gun at my head. It’ll never work.’

  ‘So don’t use the personal pronouns. It’s perfect when you think about it. You talk about “my friend Jo”. Think about it. After years of social conditioning Ashley will assume that “Jo” is a “Joe”. Which is the sort of outrageously sexist assumption she ought to be ashamed of.’

  ‘So you think I should lie to her?’

  ‘No,’ said Phil. ‘You’re not lying because that, my friend, will get you into big trouble. What you’re doing is challenging her preconceived notions about the social construction of gender politics.’

  Rob sighed. ‘Sod it,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice. I’ll call her right now at work and get it over and done with.’

  The call

  ‘Hey, babe,’ said Rob, when Ashley answered her phone. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Ashley. ‘Pretty good, actually. It’s been a quiet shift. A few emergencies came in just after ten but we dealt with them fairly quickly . . .’ She yawned. ‘Excuse me. I must be more tired than I thought.’ She yawned again, then added, ‘All in all it hasn’t been too bad.’

  ‘Great,’ said Rob, bracing himself for what he was about to do. This was his moment. ‘I know we haven’t seen each other for a while—’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said Ashley, attempting to stifle another yawn. ‘I can barely remember what you look like. How did your bloke-date with Veejay go? Was he nice?’

  ‘Put it this way,’ said Rob. ‘We didn’t click.’

  ‘Poor baby,’ sympathised Ashley. ‘Don’t give up just yet, will you? I know it’s tough but just hang in there. The other guys who called sounded like they had more potential anyway. One will be right, I know it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ began Rob, ‘but I don’t think I need them now. I’ve finally met someone. I bumped into them the first night I went to the pub on my own. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure I wanted to . . . take things further, but after tonight’s fiasco I’ve decided to give it a go. Anyway, they’re really nice, and I think you’ll like them.’

  ‘That’s brilliant news,’ said Ashley, ‘the best ever. I’m so pleased for you.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Rob.

  ‘What’s this new friend of yours called?’ asked Ashley.

  ‘Jo,’ said Rob. ‘Jo Richards.’

  That was it. It was out there. Rob held his breath as he waited for her reaction.

  ‘Well, tell Joe from me that I’m really pleased you’ve managed to find someone you think you might be friends with,’ replied Ashley. ‘Honestly, babe, I just want you to be happy.’

  Part of Rob felt so guilty about deceiving her that even now that he had technically told her about Jo he still felt the need for further clarification.

  ‘So, you’re cool with it?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ said Ashley. ‘Really, sweetheart, you don’t need my permission to make new friends.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rob. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were cool with it, though.’

  ‘I feel terrible hearing you say that,’ said Ashley. ‘I feel like I’ve castrated you or something. You’d have never asked my permission to make new friends in London. You’d have just got on with it and I would’ve had to learn to like their colourful personality quirks. Listen, babe, you’re your own man. I know how much your independence means to you. Just do what makes you happy.’

  Rob was well aware that he was employing the worst kind of Homer Simpsonesque reasoning to deceive her, but she had made a more than convincing case for why he shouldn’t feel guilty. She was right. This wasn’t about Rob making friends with a woman: it was about Rob needing to be an independent being. Since he had moved from London, he had felt as though nothing in his life was his own any more. And Ashley was right, too, about him feeling emasculated: in Tooting he had been king of his castle, but in Chorlton he felt like the biggest eunuch on the block. When they went out locally with friends he wasn’t Rob Brooks any more, he was ‘Ashley’s boyfriend’. His own sense of self was gradually being eroded. Who was Rob Brooks if he wasn’t having meaningless conversations about television, music or film? Who was he if the only people he socialised with didn’t understand his outlook on life? Who was Rob Brooks if his girlfriend had the right to veto his choice of friends? To Rob, the answer was simple: Rob Brooks was no longer Rob Brooks. He was becoming someone else and that, more than anything, convinced him he was doing the right thing. ‘After all,’ he said to Phil the following day, when he had finally come to terms with his decision, ‘if a man can’t even choose his friends without his girlfriend getting involved there’s a strong possibility that he isn’t much of a man in the first place.’ And so over the following weeks, as Rob began to see Jo more regularly, he did not feel guilty about what he was doing because, in his mind, it was the right thing.

  Platonic dating

  (1a) An evening round at Jo’s watching Dirty Dancing

  It was just after ten p.m. the following Wednesday, and as Ashley was working yet another night shift Rob was round at Jo’s house, sitting on the battered seventies-style tan leather sofa having just watched Dirty Dancing on DVD for the first time in his life.

  ‘Isn’t it just the best film ever?’ asked Jo, turning off the DVD player. ‘When I was a kid my parents used to take me on holiday to Woolacombe Bay every summer and I used to dream of being taught some basic moves by the hotel’s dancing instructor. But they never had one at the places we stayed at and even if they did I knew they wouldn’t be as sexy as Johnny Castle.’

  ‘So that was Dirty Dancing?’ said Rob. ‘That was the life-changing film you’ve been going on about all this time?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Jo wiped away a tear. ‘Didn’t you think it was brilliant?’

  ‘Can’t say I did. It didn’t get me at all.’

  ‘How can it not have got you?’ asked Jo, incredulously. ‘Have you no heart? She’s a seventeen-year-old girl, she’s holidayed in the Catskills, learned lots of things about life and the mambo, and fallen in love for the first time. How can you not feel all warm inside after that?’

  ‘Easily,’ said Rob. ‘Well for starters, it’s called Dirty Dancing, right? So how come the dancing wasn’t that dirty then? It wasn’t even risqué. Some greasy-haired bloke rubbing himself up against a scrawny seventeen-year-old girl to some old-time music is hardly the raunchiest dancing, is it?’

  ‘It was risqué for 1963 when the film’s set.’ Jo sighed in exasperation. ‘In 1963 that was probably as dirty as dancing got.’

  ‘I think it’s because I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl,’ said Rob, ‘but a thirty-three-year-old bloke. It wasn’t aimed at me.’

  Jo looked scandalised. ‘I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl.’

  ‘Technically, no. But I think – with the exception of Ashley – there’s a fourteen-year-old girl in every woman.’

  ‘Why with the exception of Ashley?’

  ‘Because she once told me that when she first saw Dirty Dancing with her schoolfriends she was the only one who didn’t like it. She said it was – I quote – “stupid”.’

  ‘Each to their own,’ said Jo, with a shrug, but Rob could see that she really wanted to say, ‘How can anyone call thems
elves a woman and not like Dirty Dancing?’

  (1b) The conversation with Ashley afterwards

  Ashley: So what did you get up to last night?

  Rob: I went round to Jo’s and watched a movie.

  Ashley: Oh, yeah? Which one?

  Rob: I dunno . . . wasn’t my choice . . . Some film about dancing.

  Ashley: Was it any good?

  Rob: Not really. [Pauses.] Fancy going out for dinner next week? Somewhere posh?

  Ashley: That sounds great. What have I done to deserve it?

  Rob: Nothing. I just fancied treating you as you’re not on nights.

  (2a) A gig at Matt and Phred’s Jazz Club

  It was a Friday night and Rob and Jo were at packed-out Matt and Phred’s Jazz Club on Tibb Street to see some live music. When Rob had booked the tickets a few weeks earlier Ashley had agreed to come with him but her work rota got in the way so Rob had brought Jo instead.

  ‘Who’s this guy we’re seeing tonight?’ asked Jo, looking at the empty stage in front of her.

  ‘Josh Rouse.’

  ‘And he’s British?’

  ‘No, he’s American.’

  ‘And this tour is to promote his debut album?’

  ‘No, he’s made three – Dressed like Nebraska and Home and this one, which he’s promoting now. Under Cold Blue Stars.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jo. ‘Is he famous?’

  ‘He’s not in the charts, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘So what does he sound like?’

  Rob shrugged. He hated putting labels on music but he knew he’d have to for Jo or she’d stand there perplexed for the next few hours. ‘It’s sort of an alt-country-grown-up-pop sort of thing.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Jo. ‘What’s alt-country?’

  ‘Alt-country is . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he laughed and said, ‘Trust me, you’ll like him.’

  (2b) The conversation with Ashley afterwards

  Ashley: How was the gig?

  Rob: Great. He played a lot of stuff off the new album, which sounds really cool.

  Ashley: And what did Joe think?

  Rob [pauses]: Jo thought it was great too.

  (3a) An evening in the Lazy Fox

  It was ten to ten on the following Thursday evening. Once again, Ashley was working a night shift, which was why Rob and Jo were sitting in what they now considered to be ‘their’ spot in the Lazy Fox. They had arrived at the pub at just after eight and the conversation had included a long list of weird and wonderful websites Rob had discovered, the highlights and lowlights of Denzel Washington’s acting career (Rob’s highlight: Training Day – ‘I love it when good cops go bad’; Jo’s lowlight: The Bone Collector – ‘The silliest film I’ve ever seen’), and the news that Jo’s cousin Jenny was pregnant (‘Yet another thing for my mother to be disappointed in me about’).

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Rob.

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Ever since the night I met you at that party, you’ve never said any more about the novel you told me you’d written.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jo. ‘I know.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because there’s nothing to say. I wrote a novel. It wasn’t very good and it didn’t get published.’

  ‘But you sent it to a publisher?’

  ‘No,’ said Jo. ‘It was too rubbish. There was no point.’

  ‘But how do you know it was rubbish?’

  ‘Because I read it and it was.’

  ‘Did anyone else read it?’

  Jo paused. ‘Well, my brother Ryan took a look at it but . . .’

  ‘What did he think?’

  Jo smiled. ‘He told me it was the best thing he’d ever read.’

  ‘Maybe it really is good.’

  Jo shook her head. ‘Ryan only said it was because that’s what big brothers do – the nice ones, anyway.’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t just saying it to be nice,’ said Rob. ‘Maybe he really thinks it’s good.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘When do I get to read it?’ asked Rob.

  ‘Look,’ said Jo, ‘I know you’re trying to be nice and I don’t want to be rude but that’s not going to happen, okay?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts,’ said Jo, firmly, then stood up, making it clear that the discussion was over. ‘I’m going to the bar to get another drink. Do you want one?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Rob, wondering why her book was such a sore subject. ‘I’ll have another Guinness.’

  ‘One Guinness coming up. And when I get back can we talk about something else?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rob, confused by her mood change. ‘Of course.’

  When Jo returned to their table, with a packet of prawn-cocktail crisps between her teeth and a pint of Guinness in each hand she was back to normal. She put down the drinks, tore open the crisps and immediately ploughed into an in-depth discussion of the film director Ken Loach: she’d cried virtually non-stop for two days after seeing Ladybird Ladybird. ‘I haven’t watched a Ken Loach film since,’ she confessed, grinning, ‘and he’s one of my favourite directors.’

  At the end of the evening Rob walked Jo to the Buzzy Bee minicab office and while they waited for a car to arrive for her they talked about work, their plans for the coming weekend and when they might meet up next. Soon, she was in the back of a silver Ford Orion, and Rob was walking home in the rain, wondering why their exchange about her book had upset her so much.

  (3b) The conversation with Ashley afterwards

  Ashley: Good night out?

  Rob: Yeah, it was.

  Ashley: And how are things with Joe? Is he up to anything new?

  Rob [pauses]: Nah, Jo’s not up to anything new.

  Ashley: Hmmm. [Pauses.] What did you say Joe does for a living?

  Rob [pauses]: Jo works for a housing association in Moss Side.

  Ashley: That sounds interesting. What does he do?

  Rob [pauses]: Did you hear that?

  Ashley: What?

  Rob: Oh, I thought I heard a noise outside. Probably the nextie’s cat.

  Ashley: I didn’t hear anything.

  Rob: No? Oh, well. Must be me. [Pauses.] How’s your mum?

  Ashley: Fine. Nothing much to report. [Pauses.] Has he got a girlfriend?

  Rob [pauses]: Who?

  Ashley: Joe.

  Rob: No, Jo has not got a girlfriend.

  Ashley: That’s a shame. Does he mind being single?

  Rob [pauses]: Does Jo mind being single? Not as far as I know.

  Ashley: You should invite him round here and I could invite Bryony too – she’s single at the moment and definitely on the lookout for some new talent.

  Rob [quickly]: Believe me, it wouldn’t work.

  Ashley: Why? Don’t you think she’s attractive enough for Joe?

  Rob: Trust me. As lovely as Bryony is, I guarantee she is definitely not Jo’s type.

  Mates

  During all of these occasions, Rob was pleased to note that there hadn’t been the slightest hint of sexual tension between him and Jo.

  Nothing.

  It was as if he was blind to the fact that she was a woman and as if she was blind to the fact that he was a man. They were no more and no less than just good friends.

  Plans

  As childish as Rob’s plan had been, there was no doubt that its chief success had been in avoiding confrontation, thereby ensuring a peaceful home life. Thanks to his failure to correct Ashley when she used ‘he’, ‘him’ or ‘his’ in relation to Jo, and that he never referred to her with a personal pronoun, Rob could go about his business with her as he pleased. And while it didn’t make him feel good about himself, he no longer felt like a friendless loser. He had a friend and he was happy with her.

  Rob was now seeing Jo twice a week, depending on Ashley’s work and social timetable. When Ashley went out with her friends, Rob went out with Jo. If Ashley was
working nights and he fancied a bit of company he phoned Jo. As far as Rob was concerned, it made Ashley, Jo and himself happy. Ashley benefited from having a considerably less grumpy boyfriend, Jo benefited from feeling less lonely, and Rob had his little piece of independence.

  The knock-on effect of Rob now being in possession of a social life was that he felt more inclined to make the time he spent with Ashley seem special: he was more attentive, talkative and romantic than he had been in months. It wasn’t guilt that had brought about the change: it was Jo. Now that he no longer obsessed about his lack of friends he could see that he had neglected Ashley and, like any good boyfriend, he reasoned that he should make amends for it. He took her away on her weekend off, left notes around the house for her to discover when he was in London on business, and generally behaved like top-grade boyfriend material.

  Inevitably, though, with a plan as flawed as Rob’s, it was only a matter of time before something came along to threaten it. One Saturday in August, just a few weeks into his covert friendship with Jo, Ashley’s friends had been round for a barbecue after a scorching summer’s day. Rob had enjoyed the evening far more than he had expected to: Mia wasn’t as irritating as usual; Luke wasn’t as boorish; Lauren’s braying-hyena snort of a laugh, though still unattractive, didn’t make him want to scream. And even Neil, seemed slightly less . . . well, like Neil. None of it, however, had anything to do with Rob coming round to liking Ashley’s friends. It was all down to one thing: that he now had a friend of his own. With Jo in his life, he was not only becoming a nicer person to be around but also seeing other people in a better light.

  ‘Well, that was good,’ said Ashley, entering the kitchen with three empty bottles of Sancerre, a plastic carrier-bag containing empty beer cans and a couple of empty bottles of vodka. ‘Everyone seemed to have a good time.’ She made eye contact with Rob. ‘Even you.’

  ‘I did actually,’ said Rob. ‘I don’t know how that happened.’

  ‘I do,’ said Ashley. ‘You’ve been so much happier and more positive about life since you started hanging out with Joe. Don’t you think?’