Just Friends

by Holly McCulloch

  ‘OK, fine. He did have a good body. And you are coming.’

  But I barely hear her answer, because somehow, in between thinking about Rupert and worrying about Peter, I’m now wondering what it would look like if Peter’s shirt rode up a little when he stretched.

  Having accidentally won a game, I retire to the kitchen and refresh my glass.

  ‘So?’

  Mia barges in behind me.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘What’s this about you and Peter going out?’

  I busy myself at the sink. ‘We’re not going out. He has a work thing and doesn’t want to go by himself.’ I look around the kitchen. It appears we are alone but I have no idea how sound travels in this apartment, so I make a shushing motion and hope that Mia gets the point.

  ‘I think it’s a date and you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. What are you going to wear?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Well, that will cause a stir.’

  ‘I don’t actually mean “nothing”, Mia. I haven’t thought about it because it’s not a date.’

  ‘Have you read the research I gave you?’

  ‘No.’ It’s currently gathering dust on my windowsill. I keep ripping more and more strips off the top sheet as makeshift gum wrappers.

  ‘Well, you should. But honestly, I think it could be as simple as getting drunk and shagging him.’

  I look through to the lounge. Peter has taken my spot next to Rahul. In an unusual turn of events, it looks like they’re preparing for a second game of Racing Demon.

  ‘I hate to tell you this, but you’re really going to have to get over your obsession with me and Peter. Even if I did fancy him, he doesn’t fancy me.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

  I shush her and motion to all the other people in the next room.

  She continues in an angry whisper. ‘Let’s look at his recent behaviour. He spent the whole of my wedding staring at you. He built a business plan for you in his free time, despite the fact he gets paid to do that during the week. At my birthday drinks, he brought someone else with him, but nevertheless proceeded to spend more time talking to you and looking out for you than for her. And he’s just asked you out on a date.’

  ‘You’re seeing what you want to see.’

  ‘Yeah, well, right now I see an idiot.’

  I’m still not used to pregnant Mia. I’m not sure what to say.

  ‘Oh God. Sorry.’ She dabs at her eyes. I don’t know how we arrived at tears so quickly after insults, but we did.

  ‘Don’t be.’ Her comment did sting, but I’m going to choose to ignore it. The tears are more shocking. ‘Pregnancy makes you really straight-talking. I kinda like it. I kinda fancy you right now.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Once again, Mia was right. I should have thought about what to wear. But I didn’t, which is why I now find myself in a dress that I panic-purchased earlier in the day, despite the fact it’s far too expensive for my budget. I feel extra guilty as I rang my mum in the shop, forcing her to share my anxiety about the cost.

  She’s already put the money in my account.

  And it is a beautiful dress, even though it isn’t quite me.

  It turns out the ‘work function’ is actually a really weird, super niche awards ceremony hosted by a comedian who used to appear on televised panel shows. According to Peter, the company he works for bought a whole table but only his team were obliged to go, and funnily enough they were finding it hard to fill the other seats, meaning everyone in his team – including the intense speed dater, Al – has been obliged to bring a plus one.

  I’m so intrigued about Al’s plus one that I almost forget how extremely awkward I feel about the whole thing. Almost. But now is not the time to let Dream Peter back into my head, especially not as I can now see Real Peter.

  He looks a little nervous this evening. Handsome, too, in a dark-grey suit.

  I reach out to him. ‘Hey.’ I give him a quick hug. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m good. Are you good?’

  ‘Yes, I’m really good.’ I try to use a calming voice because he really does look nervous. It’s an odd role reversal. I hope he is OK. We haven’t quite let go of each other yet.

  ‘Bea, you are beautiful.’

  I turn pink and finally let go of him. I squirm a bit.

  I’m particularly bad at receiving compliments in normal life, let alone at a fancy do where I feel like a total imposter in my new dress, my new shoes and my favourite underwear.

  ‘You too. You couldn’t scrub up well even if you tried.’ That came out wrong. He’s frowning at me now. ‘I mean, you don’t need to scrub up because you always look good.’

  I hope I recovered that well enough. He really does look good.

  This is not helping me keep Dream Peter at bay.

  ‘Well, thank you for coming. Having you here will make the whole evening much more fun.’

  ‘Of course. I told you I owed you one.’

  ‘Quite, but I actually had fun at the fair. I worry that tonight will be full of highly awkward conversations. You’ve met Al –’ I nod – ‘so you know how odd he is. But he’s actually one of the more normal ones amongst us.’

  He holds out his arm for me to link with and we walk into the room.

  ‘I’m excited to meet your work friends.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes!’ We walk on a little further. ‘But I’m more excited about the free food.’ I feel Peter relax a bit beside me.

  Much to my dismay, when we reached the table we realized that we weren’t sitting next to each other. Instead, my name had been placed next to Peter’s boss on one side and Al’s date, a surprisingly normal girl called Beth who works for a charity, on the other. And thanks to the seating arrangements, with Peter’s seat being directly opposite me, all night long I’ve been forced to look at another person’s plus one fawn over him. She made him laugh once, and I had to suppress a pang of jealousy.

  Batting away the urge to punch her as she begins to pull him to his feet, I realize that she’s trying to get him up and dancing. Unlike me, she doesn’t know about Peter’s lack of dance skills. She’s about to be in a world of pain and I almost feel sorry for her feet. Having wanted to look at anything else all night long, now I can’t tear my eyes away.

  But he doesn’t go off with her. Instead, he moves away from her and towards me.

  ‘Dance with me.’

  ‘You can’t dance. And I’m far too sober. I’ll feel every accidental injury.’

  ‘I know, but that woman doesn’t care that I can’t dance. And I can’t be on the dance floor with her. She’ll eat me alive. It was bad enough at the very well-lit table. I dread to think what she would be like on the dance floor under the cover of semi-darkness. Save me. Please.’

  I look at her. There is a lot of determination in her eyes. She has an air of confidence that only continental Europeans have about them.

  Then I look at Peter.

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes. ‘You actually do look a bit scared.’

  ‘I’m more than a bit scared. I’m petrified.’

  He grabs my hand and we go to the dance floor.

  I have been close to Peter before, but as he pulls me to him, I don’t quite know where to put my hands. Everywhere suddenly feels too intimate.

  The awkwardness is replaced by pain when Peter steps on my foot.

  ‘Sorry.’

  I can’t help the sharp inhale but: ‘It’s fine, you’ve done worse.’ He definitely has. ‘Do you remember the time you gave me a black eye?’

  ‘Yes, yes I do remember that. But ceilidhs are notoriously violent.’

  ‘Violent? They’re choreographed dances.’

  ‘Yes, violent choreographed dances.’

  ‘Maybe with you around.’

  It’s only when the song has finished that I realize we danced the rest of the time in silence, my hands somehow finding their way up, pulling myself closer
to Peter, my head relaxing against him.

  The lull in the music helps me to clear my head. I step away and say the only safe thing I can think to say.

  ‘I’m going to go get a drink.’

  Once at the bar I’m able to breathe again.

  ‘He’s quite the catch, that one, huh? Are you guys going to try the long-distance thing?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I turn towards the voice and find myself looking at Al, who has cornered me at the edge of the bar.

  ‘The long-distance thing? I assume you’ll be doing the long-distance thing when Peter moves to Australia in January?’

  Peter is moving to Australia? In January? This coming January? Oblivious to my turmoil, Al keeps going.

  ‘I was quite annoyed when they offered him the placement over me. It’s a great opportunity to go and set up the new digital arm.’ He takes another sip of his drink. ‘Or I suppose you could move with him. I can’t remember from our five minutes what you do for a living. Will you be able to move with him?’

  I feel dizzy.

  ‘Oh, no, I … I’m not … We’re not—’

  ‘Of course, it’s only for a couple of years. They could fly by. Between you and me, I think the London office doesn’t really want to let him go.’

  A barman comes over to take our order, but all I can do is stand there like a guppy, because, fuck …

  I don’t want him to go either.

  CHAPTER 29

  I fucking fancy my fucking friend and now that fucking friend is moving to fucking Australia.

  After Al let the news slip, I made up a very pathetic excuse about drinking too much prosecco and escaped home. I haven’t messaged Peter since, and he hasn’t messaged me with his news either. I wonder if that was why he looked so uncomfortable at the start of the evening. Meanwhile my thoughts remain very confused. This is precisely why dating friends is a bad idea. I’m sad enough that he’s moving away; imagine if anything had actually happened between us.

  Luckily, helping with Tilly’s wedding is proving to be quite a nice distraction. Apparently six bridesmaids weren’t enough to pull this thing off in time. We’re currently at a lunch-time cake-tasting appointment. I eat when I’m anxious. The samples have had to be replenished twice already.

  ‘Do you think the vanilla sponge is boring? Are people bored of vanilla? Or is it a classic for a reason?’

  I shovel another bite into my mouth to refresh my memory. Unable to answer, I shake my head.

  ‘No –’ I try to get out some words anyway – ‘it’s delicious. So light and fluffy.’

  She takes a tiny bite.

  The smiley baker sits down opposite us. ‘Have you decided?’ Being a cake baker must be the best occupation in the world. Imagine always being within easy reach of sponge. No wonder she’s so smiley.

  I look over to Tills.

  ‘Yes. Vanilla for the big tier, lemon for the middle tier and gluten-free carrot cake for the top tier.’

  The cake lady claps. ‘Perfect! A wonderful combination.’ She stands up again. ‘Let me go get my diary to write down all the details.’

  ‘Thanks for coming today.’ Tills faces me.

  ‘Are you kidding? Eating is the only sport I’ve ever excelled at.’ As if to prove a point, I take a bite of the chocolate cake. Part of me thinks she made a mistake with the vanilla, even though it is really fluffy. ‘Are you OK though? You do look quite tired.’

  ‘It’s just all this wedmin. I should have listened to you when you told me I was nuts to try and organize the whole thing in five months. I’ve had to cash in all the favours people owe me, and I think it’s all on track, but there are some things I don’t think I’m going to be able to do. I didn’t appreciate how many things there were to arrange. We’re only able to get this cake because another customer dropped out.’

  ‘Ooo! Interesting. Did you get the gossip? Is the wedding no longer happening?’

  ‘Bea, that is terrible!’ She takes another bite. ‘But no. Apparently the bride’s father is now making the cake.’

  ‘Well, more fool them. This is delicious.’

  I take yet another bite, despite the fact I now feel quite ill.

  Tilly frowns and gestures towards my fork. ‘I’ve only ever seen you eat like this when you’re anxious. What’s up? Are you stressed about my wedding too?’

  I swallow my mouthful. ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘If it’s not the wedding, then what is it?’

  Tilly doesn’t know Peter, so she would be a good person to talk to, but she’s currently so in love with being in love that I worry her advice won’t be subjective.

  ‘Honestly, nothing. There is nothing making me anxious.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Really.’ I cross my heart with the fork and fling crumbs everywhere. ‘I swear.’

  Tilly takes a sharp inhale of breath and I know she isn’t done with her interrogation.

  Luckily the cake lady comes back with her diary and a pen. ‘OK, where were we?’

  My phone alarm goes off and I jump, even though I was the one to set it.

  ‘Sorry.’ I turn it off and look sheepish. I have another session with the assistants that I don’t want to be late for. ‘I need to go.’ And not a moment too soon. Tilly still does not look appeased by my answers. ‘I don’t suppose you have a box for the rest of this cake …?’ I gesture at the leftovers and see Tilly look at me with slight disbelief.

  CHAPTER 30

  By the time reUNIon day rolls around, I am fully practised in the art of distraction. My flat has never been so clean. My wardrobe has been reorganized so it’s now colour coordinated. I can do a fishtail braid in my hair. I’ve made so many cards that I’ve almost completed my store Christmas orders already, and it’s only just October. I’ve also been actively not fancying Peter. Actively not fancying Peter has made me very productive.

  If I stop fancying Peter, I’ll stop feeling so confused, and I’ll feel better about him moving to Australia – I’ll only be sad as a friend.

  Unfortunately, my brain didn’t quite get the memo and chose Wednesday as the night to have another Peter dream. It was one of those dreams that seemed very real – no walking dolphins in sight. We were an item, and it all felt natural and familiar; it was even more disturbing than the sex dream.

  Even my phone is mocking me. He’s always in my ‘frequent contacts’, no matter how many other people I message, and even though Tilly has knocked him down a spot due to all of the wedding-related messages. Today’s drama was about the florist. I had to spend about an hour in the stationery cupboard talking to someone about the availability of dahlias.

  Almost as though he knows I’m watching my phone, a message from him pings through.

  Hey – hope you have fun at the reunion this evening. x

  I don’t message him back. It’s not as if there was a question in there anyway. Or any life-changing, Australia-related news either. Why hasn’t he told me? I can’t believe I’ve gone from avoiding Mia to avoiding Peter.

  I put my phone away, head up the steps and through the imposing wooden doors.

  I’m early for an event I don’t particularly want to go to.

  But I arrived early to help control the nerves. I don’t know exactly why I’m nervous, but I don’t need to make myself more nervous by being late and sweaty. I also need to find somewhere quiet, out of the way and a walkable distance from the venue to change my shoes.

  I wait for Mia in the loo downstairs. She says she’s ten minutes away. An uncomfortably long time to wait in the loo if anyone has seen you go in. But I’m here now, and so here I will remain.

  When she does eventually text me to say she’s on her way to the loo, I venture out of my cubicle and pretend I’ve been touching up my make-up.

  Hellos over and hands washed, Mia is keen to get going. ‘Come on, let’s head up before the queue for drinks gets too long.’

  My entrance is not exactly as I’d hoped (walking upstairs in these hee
ls and this fitted skirt isn’t easy) but we make it. However, my relief is soon over when we walk into the function room. If I named the top fifteen people I never wanted to see again in my life, at least twelve would be in this room.

  The only saving grace is that I think I can see the shoulders of Rupert MacDonald in the corner. I realize with shock that I don’t know if I would recognize him face-on, having positioned myself on the table behind him for three years straight, so when he turns around I’m none the wiser.

  We get our drinks – cheap wine for me, elderflower cordial for Mia – and then peruse the room. One skill I have proudly developed during my time on this planet is an instinctive understanding of where to stand for superior canapé access. Tonight is no exception.

  The only issue is that Harriet is already standing in the perfect spot. Harriet, my arch-nemesis.

  My dislike of her was instant. I think it was her voice that first alerted me to her existence; she sounded (and still sounds) alarmingly like some kind of bird. Disturbingly, she also always wore matching cardigans and tops. I don’t know how she did it. I also don’t know why she did it. I assume they came as a set, but goodness only knows where she found so many to buy. If memory serves, she was particularly fond of a pastel yellow. But most frustratingly she was also very intelligent, and would always show me up in our tutorials. She would be the first to take out the required reading from the library, she could remember even the smallest of details, and her vocabulary was second to none.

  Let’s not fool ourselves. I didn’t dislike her. I hated her.

  But everyone else seemed to love her, which of course made me hate her even more.

  I’ve remembered one more thing. She would write on paper from her ‘Daddy’s office’, insisting it was the best.

  Mia beams when she sees her. I shrivel and prepare my ears for an onslaught.

  ‘Mia, oh my goodness, you haven’t changed a bit! It’s so good to see you!’

  They do three ceremonious air kisses before Harriet turns her attention to me. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Harriet.’