My Best Friend's Life

by Shari Low

‘Oh, okay, but Jude, promise me that if I tell you, you won’t judge, laugh or ever remind me that I said any of this.’

  He nodded as he reached down, grabbed a glass from the cupboard underneath him and poured himself some juice from the carton Ginny had left on the countertop. ‘Shoot.’

  She alerted her vocal cords that speech would be the best way forward but her gob refused to cooperate. Oh, for God’s sake. She was a grown woman. She had done more wild things in the last fortnight than she’d ever done in her life. She’d had sex, she’d dreamt about sex, she worked in the sex industry, now at least she should be able to talk about sex. And relationships. And feelings. And all the things that she’d spent the last dozen years suppressing. It was time, finally, to grow up.

  ‘Okay, first of all, the other night was, erm, amazing.’

  Jude nodded. ‘It was. Do you know your face is beaming?’

  ‘Shut up or I’ll cry and make you feel bad,’ she warned him, dipping her fingers into his juice and then flicking him with orange. Well, she couldn’t expect to grow up too quickly.

  She steeled herself. ‘As I was saying, it was amazing, but don’t worry because I’m not going to get all clingy and needy. I know exactly what it was and it was great sex.’

  ‘Great?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry, fantastic, mind-blowing–very, very best ever.’

  He was chuckling as he nodded. ‘Better. Okay, you can carry on now.’

  ‘But, trust me, I realise it’s not the beginning of a love, hearts and flowers romance and I don’t want it to be. I’m still not sure how I feel about Darren, or about home. Or whether I want to be back there, or here, or somewhere else. It’s like I’ve reached a crossroads and I’ve no idea which way to go.’

  ‘Is it getting you down?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Jude, it’s great. Sorry, fantastic. I’ve spent so long living under the boredom threshold that this feels like some kind of euphoric liberation. But it’s one that’s come with strange side-effects.’

  ‘Like…?’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about sex.’

  He held up a hand to high-five her. Despite it being on the Simpsons side of immature gestures, she reciprocated. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he congratulated her.

  She was gushing now, relieved to finally be able to share her innermost doubts, fears and orgasmic ambitions.

  ‘And I know it’s crazy, but I just want to put normal life on hold while I indulge in all the fantasies I didn’t even know that I had. Is this getting too weird yet?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope, you’re fine. Horny, but not weird.’

  Ginny laughed and put her face in her hands. ‘Aaargh! This is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m saying this stuff. And I’m only telling you because, well, you’ve seen me naked.’

  ‘And I thought it was for my empathetic listening skills.’

  She pulled her shoulders up straight. ‘So. Erm. Right. So when you came in, I was having a daydream about…’ Her hands flew to her reddened face again. ‘Sex,’ she squeaked from behind her fingers, ‘with…another woman!’

  ‘Nooooo!’ He was laughing again, delicious, joyous bursts of laughter. He looked heavenward, talking to some celestial being. ‘God, I love my life.’ He refocused on Ginny. ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘Destiny. From the Seismic. Have you met her?’

  He raised his eyes to heaven again. ‘God, I really, really love my life.’

  She picked up a satsuma from the fruit bowl and threw it at him. ‘Hey, stripper-boy, pay attention to your confused friend. I’m having a life crisis and a sexuality meltdown. What’s going on with me? I’ve never in my life wanted to share anything more than a bottle of wine with a female and now I’m thinking sweat and tonsils. What’s going on with me? I’m becoming obsessed.’

  ‘You’re becoming bi-curious,’ he corrected her. ‘It’s normal, especially when you work in our industry. Last time Roxy and Felix broke up for a few weeks she went to Lanzarote for a fortnight with Mimi–double room.’

  ‘Really?’ Ginny was gob-smacked. Roxy had told her she’d gone on that holiday alone, for two weeks of rest, reading and reflection. Damn, she should have spotted that lie a mile off–Roxy had spent a lifetime avoiding all three of those activities.

  ‘Absolutely. But she went back to Felix as soon as she got back because she said she couldn’t live without it.’

  ‘What–his thingy?’ she asked, her eyes gesturing below his waistline.

  ‘Nope, his credit card. And Ginny, if you’re going to embrace this whole sexuality thing you’re going to have to stop calling it a “thingy”.’

  ‘I know! God, I’m so rubbish at this.’

  He reached over and stroked the side of her face, his mood switching back to concern. ‘Are you sure you’re okay about all this? I mean, it’s a lot to take in, all the changes and the new stuff. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  She took his hand and kissed it, then released it with a firm pat. ‘I’m fine, I promise. It’s…kind of exciting. In a crazy, unbelievable kind of way. I’ve spent my whole life behaving myself so this is my adolescent rebellion, just a little later than normal.’

  ‘Cool. As long as you’re okay. And if you’re not, you know that you can always talk to me.’

  ‘Thanks, Jude.’

  There were a few seconds of silence as she contemplated how much she liked this man in front of her. Other than Darren, she’d never felt this comfortable talking to anyone. Hold on, that wasn’t true–she’d always felt really comfortable with Mitch. She felt a sudden pang of longing for home.

  ‘So are you going to tell Destiny about the fantasies?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s one thing thinking these things but another saying them out loud.’

  ‘Well, you know you can always practise on me?’ he offered, with a glint in his eye that told her he wasn’t doing this purely in the capacity of a good listener.

  Their eyes locked and she knew he was teasing her again, daring her to step up and be bolder than she’d ever been. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Okay, so Destiny and I are on my bed. And we’re naked. And I’m kissing her and feeling her…Jude, why are you taking your top off?’

  He tossed his T-shirt to one side, pushed himself off the stool and walked towards her.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Probably the same reason that you’re taking yours off.’

  Her shirt had careered through the air and landed in the sink. Shit, it was dry-clean only.

  She reached out and grabbed his waistband and pulled him to her, his torso pressing against hers, her mouth coming to rest by his ear.

  ‘So then I kiss her ears…and her neck…and move down to her…’

  ‘Rrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.’

  The noise of the telephone cut through.

  Jude gasped in her ear. ‘Just leave it. So you were saying…’

  ‘Rrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.’

  ‘And then I…’

  ‘Rrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.’

  The clicking noise indicated it had switched to the answering machine and then came the sound of Roxy, provocatively announcing their absence and encouraging the caller to hang up, leave a message or send indecent cosmic thoughts. Even protests from her mother hadn’t forced her to change that bit.

  Beeeeep.

  ‘Ginny? Ginny, this is Darren.’

  Ginny’s reflex knee-jerk devastated the mood, the ambiance and Jude’s testicular health.

  ‘Shit, sorry, sorry!’ she stammered as he buckled in two. The next actions were purely reflex: his hands instinctively went to his vital naked bits, as if checking for amputation, while her hands instinctively went to her vital naked bits as if Darren had just walked into the room.

  ‘I’m in London and I wanted to see you. We need to talk, Gin. Can you meet me in an hour? I’ll be in the coffee house, the one we went to that time we came to visit Roxy. The one across…�
�

  ‘Bollocks! Across the street!’

  Despite the fact that said street was at the opposite side of the apartment, she dived over and pulled the cord on the blinds, sending them crashing downwards.

  ‘I hope you get this in time, Gin. If not, call me on my mobile and maybe we can meet up later.’

  The line went dead, leaving only silence and the noise of Jude groaning in pain. ‘Jude, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Once they return to the position they’re meant to be in.’

  His voice came out somewhere on the wrong side of helium. He took a few deep breaths then gently eased himself upright, before he did that bloke thing of puffing out his chest and pretending that he wasn’t in the least bit of discomfort.

  Oh, he was adorable. But, shit, Darren! Focus. Focus.

  ‘Are you going to go?’

  She nodded hesitantly. ‘I think I have to. It’s time I faced him. To be honest, I want to see how he makes me feel now. You never know, I might tell him everything I’ve told you and see whether or not the shock kills him.’

  Jude reached over and took her hand again, his face a mask of solemnity.

  ‘I think you’re right to meet him. But, Ginny, do you want my advice?’

  Her heart swelled at the generosity of this man who was so caring even though he’d just suffered the dual indignities of coitus interruptus and bruised bollocks. She nodded once again, preparing to take his suggestions on board, knowing that he was speaking from the heart.

  ‘Probably best lose the peephole bra–might put him off his train of thought.’

  It had taken her ten minutes to get ready. The first time. Then ten minutes the second time, and the third, and the fourth, and…It was exactly fifty-eight minutes later when, dressed in white Versace boot-cut jeans and a cream skinny-rib polo neck, she walked through the door of the coffee house. It was of the incredibly naff but comfy Friends variety–huge squashy sofas in varying shades of terracotta and orange, stripped wooden floors, dark oak coffee tables with smaller tables and matching chairs for those who preferred a more formal seating environment. Two identical waitresses, both tall, blonde, with perfect pouts and pert breasts, stood chatting behind a glass counter loaded with pastries and other fancies that contained at least a thousand calories per square inch.

  Ginny cast an anxious glance around the room. Immediately to her left was a group of what could only be called yummy mummies, complete with expensive highlights, Fake Bake tans, Ugg boots, the new-season Juicy Couture tracksuits and a menagerie of designer-dressed babies and toddlers. At the next table were two businessmen locked in conversation as they studied their laptop screens. On the couch were four teenage girls sipping smoothies, one of them gesticulating wildly while her arms jangled under the weight of dozens of silver bangles. For a split second Ginny had a flashback to the fifth-year study group and briefly wondered if Juliet was knocked-up yet.

  At the next table were two nuns and a priest. Although in this neighbourhood they could either be evangelists for the work of God or three stripograms waiting to scare the crap out of someone.

  Next to them, sitting in a battered leather two-seater sofa in the corner, cunningly semi-concealed by two large cacti and a coat stand, was Darren, watching her with an expression that could be anxiety, anger, confusion, or none of the above. God, had she ever really known this man? He certainly looked the same: wide shoulders, the cropped hair, the skin-tight khaki T-shirt and the camouflage combats. He could have been the prototype for a life-size GI Joe doll. Now there would be an Ann Summers product with potential.

  She was back on illicit thoughts again. Focus, Ginny, focus.

  She attempted a smile that probably came across as a demented grimace as she walked towards him, the sweat beads popping up on her palms.

  He stood up, and she couldn’t swear to it, but she sensed he was as nervous as she was. Luckily, a three-year-old boy with a handful of chocolate fudge cake chose that moment to streak across the room, smearing the walls, the chairs and a nun with brown goo.

  ‘Gaston, come back here this minute!’ his mother shrieked, before losing interest and turning back to a scandalous conversation about the president of the PTA who’d just been caught splashing the proceeds of the fundraising dinner dance on a fortnight in Bora Bora. Even their fraudsters were flash.

  Little Gaston stopped in his tracks directly in front of Ginny. She perused her white jeans, then his dirty fingers, and then bent down and whispered, ‘Don’t even think about it, shorty.’

  As he went shrieking back to his mother, Ginny suddenly wondered if sleeping in Roxy’s bed, wearing her clothes and shagging her flatmate had turned her by some freaky power of osmosis into Roxy. Then she realised that the fact she was sweating like a marathon runner and almost frozen with fear at the prospect of talking to her ex meant it probably hadn’t.

  ‘Hi.’ He spoke first, motioning her to sit next to him on the sofa. When she sat down there was eighteen inches of space between them–great, plenty of room for her to rock backwards and forwards in the foetal position if it turned nasty. In the meantime, she pulled her feet up, tucked them under her and swivelled her body around to face him.

  ‘You look great,’ he offered.

  ‘So do you.’ And he did. In fact, given her recent state of mind, if Darren was a stranger she’d be fantasising about shagging him by now. As it was…

  ‘This is really weird,’ she blustered. ‘Okay, I need to say this first–I’m really sorry, Darren, I know that I should have talked to you before I came here and I’m sorry that I didn’t and…’

  ‘No, I’m sorry I reacted the way I did–I hadn’t realised how controlling I’d become and…’

  ‘No, that’s okay. That was my fault too for allowing you to take charge and for just going along with everything and…’

  ‘What can I get you?’ A Croatian accent cut through their mutual-apology session.

  Darren shook his head. ‘I’m fine, thanks–still got my wheatgrass.’

  ‘Black decaf, please,’ replied Ginny, figuring it was best to avoid caffeine–any more stress on her nervous system could possibly be fatal.

  A few moments’ silence followed, as if the interruption had wiped their conversational slates clean, neither of them sure of where to go next.

  Ginny decided to re-break the ice. After all, she owed him that after he’d come all this way to see her.

  ‘I’m here for the Health and Fitness Exhibition at Earls Court,’ he blurted.

  Or maybe not. Bugger it, let him stew. Hadn’t the git chucked her first?

  ‘And I thought it would be good for us to talk. I’ve got stuff I really want to tell you so I’m just going to say it all, and don’t freak out, okay?’

  She nodded her head, her insides churning, her head racing. Oh crap, was this when he went ballistic, told her he hated her and that he never wanted to see her again? Or, worse, that he did want to see her again? Did she want that? Could it ever work again? Did he know she’d had sex with someone else? Would she have to tell him? Would keeping it a secret fill her with so much guilt and turmoil that she’d end up on Trisha, on a show entitled, ‘I’m a Mad Slapper and I Want to ’Fess Up’?

  He took a deep breath and then released it slowly, like he was trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs to bench-press three hundred pounds.

  ‘I’m really sorry about breaking things off the way I did…’

  Oh, shit, he wanted her back.

  ‘It was crap, Ginny, I just flew off the handle and lost the plot.’

  Yep, definitely wanted her back.

  ‘But, you know, I think it was kind of indicative of how unhealthy our relationship has been lately.’

  Er, maybe not. And had he been watching Dr Phil because he was coming over all ‘new man with emotional intelligence’, and it was, quite frankly, very strange.

  ‘I think we both know that we’d got into some kind of weird habit thin
g…’

  And now he realised that he wanted them to start again?

  ‘And I suppose it was so familiar, so comfortable, that neither of us could bring ourselves to break out of the lethargy…’

  But now he had? And that meant?

  ‘So you leaving was probably the jolt we needed…’

  To make us realise how much we love each other? Or don’t? And why am I having all these thoughts when I should just be paying attention to what he’s saying? And has he taken a breath since he started speaking? Oh, shite, his mouth is still moving and I missed that last bit.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, we had twelve great years together, Ginny.’

  ‘No, I mean “Sorry?” I didn’t hear that last bit.’

  He squirmed in his chair.

  ‘I think it was probably for the best, Ginny. I’m so sorry if that’s not how you feel, but to be honest, I really think that it’s time for both of us to move on. And I just wanted to see you today to say that properly, so that it didn’t end with an angry phone call.’

  A waitress put her coffee down and glided away. Ginny didn’t even notice, too busy staring at the man she’d loved since she was practically a child, absorbing and acknowledging the truth: that she didn’t love him any more. She wasn’t sure when that had changed, but it definitely had. Now there was sadness, but there was even more relief. She nodded slowly, her voice even and surprisingly strong–the old Ginny would have used Gaston for cover as she fled in terror from such a scene of emotional confrontation.

  ‘I feel the same, Darren. It was time. And it wasn’t your fault; it was just as much mine. But thanks for coming today–I’m glad we’re both thinking the same things and we can move on with no hard feelings.’

  In a funny way she had never been more proud of him than she was right now. She smiled tenderly. How sweet that he’d gone to all this trouble to make their parting on good terms, without negativity or remorse. She knew that now she’d always remember him fondly. He was a good guy, Darren Jenkins, and she’d never think otherwise. Shit, he was talking again.

  ‘Sorry, I missed that–what did you say?’ she asked.

  He stopped short, a vein on the side of his jaw pumping. Strange, that only normally happened when he was furious or really anxious. What had she missed?