Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play

by Danny Wallace

She looked unimpressed with the length of time it had taken Simon to crack one of life’s eternal mysteries. I should have told her he had a dog to look after as well. If Einstein had had a dog, or a local carvery to run, he’d have got a lot less done. And you’d probably always find hair in the soup.

  “Hey… can I tell you something weird?” said Anil, and we all turned to listen. “I guess now Simon’s warmed you up with a bit of weirdness, it’s okay for me to tell you this…”

  “What was weird about that?” asked Simon, genuinely confused.

  “You’ve solved time travel!” I said.

  Anil waved this away and began to speak.

  “Now, like I say, this is weird, but… the other day, in Huddersfield, I was on my way home from work. I don’t know why, but I took a different route from normal. I was waiting for a bus to pull out at a junction, and I was sort of lost in my thoughts…”

  But Simon solved time travel! was all I could think.

  “And then I saw this bloke coming out of a pub. He looked like a Sikh guy, with a beard but no turban on, and when he saw me, he sort of saluted at me. I thought he was saluting at someone behind me, and so I checked, but there was no one there…”

  He wasn’t even any good at maths!

  “And then when I look back round he’s right there—right next to my window. He knocks on it, and asks me to wind it down. So I do…”

  And this is where Anil caught my attention. Because I suddenly realized what he was saying was weird. Because what he was saying—or at least a variation of it—had once happened to me…

  “… so this stranger, he says to me, ‘You’re worried.’”

  “That’s odd,” said Simon, which just goes to show how odd it must have been.

  “It was odd. But it gets odder. He says to me, ‘You’re wondering whether you should stay in your current job, or move somewhere else.’ And I had been. I’d just been thinking that. I was thinking, should I stay here in Huddersfield, or should I move to London, or Chicago…”

  I noticed Nikol leaning in slightly. She was fascinated.

  “… and then he says, ‘Show me your hand,’ so I show him my hand, and he says, ‘No. The one you write with.’ So I showed him the other one, and he said, ‘Some important things will happen to you soon. On a Saturday next month, you will meet with an old friend, and have a happy time.’”

  We all looked at each other, slightly dumbstruck.

  “‘… and this will lead you to opportunities away from your current job.’”

  “Oh,” someone said.

  “‘… and then, after that, something important will occur between you and someone with the initials E.J.’”

  “So who’s E.J.?” asked Simon.

  “Elton John!” said Michael. “It could be Elton John! Something important is going to occur between you and Elton John!”

  “My ex-girlfriend’s initials are E.J.,” said Anil, and we all realized that made far more sense. “This guy, he was speaking in Punjabi but I understood most of it, and it was just… unusual…”

  And it was. A very similar thing had happened to me a couple of years before. I’d been going through an odd time, staying in, not doing much, and a stranger had muttered a few words that had struck a similar chord… and that stranger had been right. What’s more, my stranger had also been Asian. Also had a beard. It sent a chill down my spine. Since I’d started telling people about it, I’d heard similar stories of similar experiences happening all over the world, but this was the first time it had happened to a friend. I was about to say so, when Nikol suddenly and confidently uttered a sentence I don’t think anyone had been fully expecting.

  “My grandmother is gypsy witch.”

  I’m not sure you’d been expecting that, either.

  “She is every day collecting wood in the park. She lives in the town now but she used to live in forest. I would run for years in bare feets around the forest and seeing no one for three or four months. I know about these things…”

  I looked at Mikey. He closed his eyes and nodded.

  “The left hand is the past. The right hand is about what is gonna really happen in the future if you can make your own destiny.”

  We all looked at our hands. As if somehow any of us would suddenly spot our destiny nestling between two fingers and a mole.

  “A mate of hers read my veins once,” said Mikey, and we all said “Oh” like that was the most normal thing in the world.

  “What I mean,” said Nikol, “is perhaps this man, he knows what he is saying. Perhaps he is telling you your destiny is in your hand.”

  Anil thought about it.

  “Well, he was right about the meeting old friends bit,” he said. “And it’s been good, hasn’t it? I mean, it’s so easy to forget about the past. It’s wrong to do that, and you should always right a wrong. I mean, you leave home, you go to university or whatever, you concentrate on new people, your whole world is new. And then, when that dies down and those people drift off and start having kids and whatever, you start thinking about the people that came before. And sometimes you realize that they’re the ones that matter. They were part of your early life, your real life, before you knew who you were or started pretending to be someone you weren’t…”

  We’d all been listening to Anil, rapt. He’d suddenly become quite wise.

  “So… all I’m saying is…”

  He held his glass up.

  “Cheers!”

  * * *

  We moved on soon after. The boys gave me a tour of Lough borough at night. We bar-hopped, and pub-crawled, and made our way to a club. And then, at one point, Mikey pulled me to one side.

  “I wanted to say something,” he said. “But now’s not the right time. Are you around tomorrow?”

  And we arranged a meeting.

  “Danny!” shouted Anil, interrupting us. “Simon’s solved the riddle of the Sphinx!”

  “What?” I said.

  “Have I hell!” said Simon. “That’s impossible!”

  And we laughed our tiny tits off.

  It was genuinely sad when Simon had to go.

  “I shouldn’t be late for Claire,” he said, and we hugged and said our goodbyes.

  “We’ll have to meet up again soon,” I said.

  “Definitely,” said Simon. But there was something about our goodbye that made me think it could be our last. I didn’t want that to happen. But I didn’t quite know what to say. So I didn’t say anything, and just let him walk away. But not before he’d said, “You know, this could have been awkward. It gets more awkward the longer you leave it, I think. But it’s rewarding, too…”

  I knew exactly what Simon meant. This whole Saturday had been great fun, much more fun than I’d thought it could be. I was with old friends, people who’d seen me grow up, and trip, and stumble, and embarrass myself. I looked at Anil and Mikey in front of me, and I remembered all the fun we’d had.

  This had been a good idea.

  Anil and I got in at 2 a.m.

  There was a note from Anil’s mum.

  I HAVE MADE THIS VEGETABLE CURRY.

  YOU BETTER EAT IT OR ELSE.

  We got some forks out and silently got to work.

  * * *

  The next morning—after several servings of Mrs. Tailor’s spicy North Indian breakfast pancakes—Anil and I met Mikey in the car park of the Toby Carvery in Loughborough. Simon would’ve been proud.

  It really was an excellent car park.

  “Listen… all I wanted to say last night,” said Mikey, “but which for some reason I couldn’t… was thanks.”

  “Thanks?” I said.

  “For what?” asked Anil, standing underneath the Toby Carvery sign.

  “When I was a kid, sometimes I wasn’t around all that much,” said Mikey. “I could’ve been a better friend. There were just… there were hard times…”

  Anil and I didn’t quite know what to say. Being kids, we hadn’t really known about the hard times. All we’
d known about were the happy times. The mucking-about times. The aniseed-ball and cartoon-time times. I guess it’s only when you’re an adult that you know what a childhood can be.

  Mikey hadn’t finished.

  “This has sort of been like banishing a demon, for me, this weekend. I don’t want to get too heavy… but I’ve always thought I could’ve been a better friend as a kid. Not just to you, but to all the people I cared about back then. And now maybe I can.”

  And we hugged.

  Because maybe we all could.

  At the station, Anil had something on his mind.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, while I packed away the substantial curry-based lunch Mrs. Tailor had made me for the journey. “What made you decide to ring me? What made you decide to come here this weekend?”

  “Oh—you know. I’m basically just updating my address book.”

  Anil didn’t seem convinced.

  So I thought about it.

  “The past, I suppose. I’d forgotten about all the good times. And then I opened up a box. And there it was.”

  Anil nodded, thoughtfully.

  “Nice metaphor,” he said. “The Box of Life. Sometimes we’re too keen to put a lid on it.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “An actual box. I opened up an actual box and there was all this stuff from the past, and I’d been worried about what I was turning into, and that perhaps I’d forgotten what I was, and we talked about Loughborough, and… well. It was a nice weekend. It was a great weekend.”

  It was somehow less impressive than the metaphor Anil had imagined I’d wisely come up with, but it was the truth, and sometimes the truth is rubbish.

  “It was a great weekend. It’s a pity some of the others couldn’t have been here, too.”

  “Like who?”

  “I dunno. Peter Gibson.”

  Peter Gibson. Another name from the Book. Another address in need of updating.

  “Yeah, Peter…”

  “He was always drawing, wasn’t he? And he had that massive train set, too…”

  We both turned to see my train approaching.

  Anil looked misty-eyed for a second.

  “I wonder where everyone is,” he said. “You know. Not just Peter Gibson, or that albino kid. But the others. When you think about it, they could be anywhere.”

  We both turned and looked at the big map behind us. But then we turned back again, because it was a map of Leicestershire and, as such, not particularly inspiring.

  But I smiled.

  Because I had thought about what Anil was saying.

  And on the train home, I’d think about nothing else.

  July 26th, 2006

  Dear Andy,

  Many thanks for your letter of February 4th, 1989, and once again, apologies it has taken nearly twenty years to get back to you.

  I hope your school project on leaves is now out of the way. It would have been a real pressure to have that hanging over your head throughout the nineties and into the noughties, so I trust you’re all done, and you can move on with your life. If not, for God’s sake hand it in or you’ll get marked down.

  I am pleased you saw a dog.

  You asked how things are going for me… well, they’re going well. I went back to Loughborough for the weekend, and met up with Anil and Mikey and Simon. They are all well. Anil is an architect, Mikey is a chef, and Simon’s solved time travel. Perhaps you are now an expert on leaves. Or dogs! That would be exciting.

  I hope your pizza was good. What toppings did you have? Please try and remember, as it is good to have the full picture on these things.

  Daniel

  P.S. I’m aiming for a friend named Peter Gibson next, I think… I’ll keep you updated…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN WHICH WE LEARN THAT WHERE THERE ARE ACRONYMS, THERE IS HOPE (WTAATIH)

  My letter to Andy Clements had been one of great hope and optimism. I didn’t know whether he still lived in the same place. I didn’t know if he’d remember me, or ever thought about me, or even if he did and he had, he’d want to reply. Maybe he was a doctor, or a lawyer, or a stuntman, or a thief. Maybe he was no longer Andy—maybe he was Andrea. I was entering a whole new world here—a world of other people’s futures—and it was exciting.

  The first thing I’d done when I’d got home was open up my old address book and write in three new addresses. Anil’s. Mikey’s. And Simon’s. It felt good, doing that. Putting a line through the old ones. Inking in the new ones. It didn’t feel like making new friends. It felt like confirming old ones. As if I’d backed them up, somehow. Made them safe. Secured them for the future.

  I thought about the boys. It was great that Simon was a kind and affable manager. Brilliant that Michael had waved the army goodbye and done something else instead. Incredible that Anil was designing buildings. And wonderful that, like me, they seemed not entirely at ease with the world of the thirtysomething. I mean, Simon still had a Back to the Future III poster on his wall, for God’s sake. And Mikey? Mikey tries to cut his hair with an electric shaver.

  But what about the others?

  When I’d returned from Loughborough—after bringing a tired Lizzie a cup of hot chocolate and kissing her goodnight—I’d excitedly gone back upstairs and reopened the Box, looking for evidence and clues. As far as Peter Gibson went, I found just one letter of note, which I studied with all the tenacity of Columbo. Could this give me any indication about what he might be doing nowadays?

  COWABUNGA DUDE!

  Yes, turtle mania has hit England and turtle power has been at number 1 for three weeks! Sorry it took me so long to reply to your letter. Boy you live in an exciting area. No tramps on fire here!

  “No tramps on fire”? Was this an expression of the time, like “magic,” “wicked,” or, indeed, “cowabunga”? Or could it be a reference to the fact that shortly after moving away from Loughborough I had seen a tramp on fire, and told Peter about it in a letter?

  It’s been very hot here lately and on Friday 4th the temperature reached 99 degree fahernheit!! “Cor what a scorcher!,” the hottest in the midlands since 1911!

  So. The weather interested him. He was a fan of tabloid-style headlines. And he was a history buff!

  In the bank holiday we will be going away in our caravan to where they have tennis courts and a pool on site! Ha-hoo! Hoo-ray!

  He enjoyed caravanning. And sports. So much so he would say “Ha-hoo!”

  My paper round is going well, apart from the odd finger getting caught in letterbox’s! I have now had 8 pounds from the shop and can’t wait for Christmas tips!

  An interest in the media. Money-oriented. He had an odd finger.

  I have decided one day I want to be an architect in London.

  Bye

  P. Gibson

  Gah. And as quick as that, the trail ran cold.

  But still. It raised an interesting question. What would everyone be up to nowadays?

  When I was about fifteen, my form tutor announced with great excitement that we were all to report at once to the careers adviser, Mr. Stott, who had something remarkable to share with us.

  “We have a new piece of software in the department,” he announced. “It is able to accurately predict, based on your skills, abilities, likes and dislikes, your ideal job.”

  We all looked, as one, to the rather bruised and scratched beige computer which apparently now held all our futures within its blinking green monitor.

  “There is no need for guesswork anymore. By simply taking ten minutes to answer all the questions in front of you, the computer will compute the way your life should go.”

  I am not sure quite why we trusted Mr. Stott so much on this. Many of us had generally stopped taking him particularly seriously as a careers adviser since the day he’d announced his imminent departure as he’d suddenly realized—eight years into the job—that careers advice wasn’t the job for him.

  But today was different—because today i
nvolved technology. These were the nineties—things were moving on! By the year 2000 all jobs would be doled out by robots!

  Excited, but nervous, we entered our answers as best we could, and a mere eighteen hours later, the supercomputer had worked it all out.

  Justin Betts, a boy who was virtually all muscle and who would later be dubbed a hero by the local paper after single-handedly tackling a burly burglar, was told that his ideal career would be “midwife.” Chris Jones was told he should be a jewelry designer, Alec Lester an insurance broker, and Daniel Vincent was instructed to pursue a life in medical photography—an odd choice for a boy who once vomited after seeing a picture of a burned nipple.

  And me? Well, with my willingness to work as part of a team or on my own, my ambitions to study German at A Level, and my predicted grade D in maths GCSE, I was uniquely placed to excel as Britain’s newest “quarry manager.”

  I am not sure what it is about me that the computer thought would be so useful to the quarry management industry. I had mentioned neither an ambition to manage, nor a particular fondness for quarries. If I’m absolutely honest, I find quarries a little dull. And I wasn’t alone in my doubts. No one at school seemed particularly convinced by the results. Chris Jones decided he’d be rubbish at designing jewelry. To this day, I am told Justin Betts is yet to supervise a birth. And just two days later, Daniel Vincent loudly declared that he had seen his last burned nipple. When we left school, none of us really knew where we were heading.

  Which is what, I thought, while brushing my teeth and preparing for bed, would make finding out where everyone was so very exciting.

  If, that is, I would be allowed.

  Don’t get me wrong—I was definitely with the right girl. But what’s acceptable when you’re courting and what’s acceptable when you’re married are two separate things. Deep down, I knew Lizzie would be happy for me, reconnecting with my past, seeing old names and faces. It might even help her know me even better. But I also knew that this might take time. And there were window frames to paint.