No, We Can't Be Friends: A totally perfect romantic comedy

by Sophie Ranald

  ‘Yes, it was. But you know what, deciding enough was enough was the biggest relief. To just step away from all that charting and all those clinic appointments and all that fucking hope – God, I never want to go back onto that treadmill.’

  I nodded and took another sip of my bubble tea. It was tepid now and tasted even worse. I wondered whether, if things had been different with Myles, I would have ended up on that treadmill, too. I wondered whether I might still end up there, on my own, or whether, like Bianca, I’d have to lay that dream aside forever and move on. At least you’ve had one child, I thought, but I knew that saying it would be even worse than saying a second might, somehow, magically happen.

  So I kept quiet, inwardly kicking myself for all the times I’d sneered at Bianca’s faddy ways and for never considering that her spiky exterior might be a defence against deep pain.

  ‘Anyway, so I needed a project,’ Bianca went on. ‘Having a baby wasn’t happening. Designing your house wasn’t happening. My career – oh God, Sloane, it’s pretty pathetic really. Michael’s the breadwinner. His bog business brings in more than enough money for us all. But when the fertility treatment started costing so much money I felt I had to do something, and interior design is the only thing I know how to do, really. So I set it up and opened the shop and, if I’m honest, it’s ended up costing us money. Michael doesn’t mind because he loves me and he knew I needed something that was just for me. But it’s a hobby more than a business.’

  ‘I totally understand,’ I said. ‘I can imagine that when you’re going through what you’ve been through, you need something – anything – to fill the space around it. You poor thing. Is that why you contacted Vivienne?’

  ‘Vivienne? Oh, God, no. That wasn’t me – that was Charis.’

  ‘Charis?’

  ‘Well, you know she’s started that YouTube channel, where she does Skype interviews with famous people? She’s had our MP on there, and a woman who raised twenty thousand pounds for period poverty action by baking biscuits shaped like vaginas, and one of the dancers from Strictly. She wants to get Meghan Markle, eventually. I sometimes wonder if I’ve got the next Fiona Bruce on my hands.’

  For a second, I let myself imagine Charis taking Boris Johnson apart on live television, and wished I could see it.

  ‘She’s certainly full of ideas,’ I said.

  Bianca glowed with pride. ‘Isn’t she? But even I wasn’t expecting her to contact Vivienne Sterling. Michael showed Charis an old film of hers – totally age-inappropriate, but what can you do, with a child who’s so advanced? – and she found Vivienne’s address online. Turns out she’s still on the public electoral register, and even in the phone book, which hardly anyone is any more, and she wrote to her.’

  ‘Charis sent Vivienne fan mail? She must have been over the moon.’

  Bianca laughed. ‘She certainly was. And she wrote back, such a charming letter. Charis showed it to me – it was the first I knew about it all – and so I wrote back, apologising for the intrusion but putting my number in the letter in case she was willing to go ahead with a vlog for Charis.’

  I could see where this was going.

  ‘And Vivienne rang you.’

  ‘She did. She was – well, she was a bit tired and emotional, as they say.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said, feeling a fresh surge of guilt that I hadn’t done more for Vivienne myself.

  ‘And the next day I went round to see her, and you know what I found.’

  I nodded. ‘She wasn’t in a good place.’

  ‘It was loneliness, more than anything else. She’s not a hoarder, really – she’s just let everything get on top of her. And she was drinking way too much, obviously.’

  ‘At the party the other night, she seemed fine and then suddenly she was really out of it.’

  ‘That would be because she’s cut down so much, since Charis and I started going to see her. You know how Charis gets on with people from all walks of life. She adores Vivienne. Vivienne’s got her reciting Shakespeare and all sorts. Sometimes I think she might have a career on stage herself. With her looks, she could really go far. In fact, I’ve been taking her to performance classes every Wednesday afternoon, instead of her Mandarin. They’re really impressed with her and she’s to play the Christmas fairy in the end-of-year show.’

  I gritted my teeth and suppressed an eye-roll. That was the thing with Bianca – she’d come up with something entirely surprising and then straight away revert to type.

  ‘That’s amazing. You must be really proud. So it was you who did all the stuff in Vivienne’s house?’

  ‘Oh no, not at all. It was mostly her. She just needed a bit of a hand getting started. The second time I went round there, I took along a few bin bags and a bottle of bleach and some Marigolds, and just dropped some gentle hints, you know, that she could do with a little bit of a spring clean. And we sort of went from there. It was only once the worst of the mess was sorted that I’d allow Charis to visit, of course. I mean, I know exposure to germs is good for developing children’s immune systems, but there’s that and then there’s – well, that.’

  ‘But… I mean, it was like a complete transformation. In about two months.’

  ‘Once Viv got her head around it, there was no stopping her. You’ve seen her garden. She’s got limitless energy. And I brought a few bits from the shop, and from clients’ houses that weren’t wanted any more, and once she saw it starting to take shape it really inspired her. It’s a proper home now, isn’t it?’

  ‘It really is. I hope she stays so positive. I’ll visit myself, of course. And she’s going to be coming into the office later on in the week, because a director we work with wants to meet with her to discuss a potential part in a show he’s casting. He’s on a tight budget, he says, but Vivienne’s name is still quite a draw card and he’s keen to work with her.’

  And I’d practically bitten his hand off when Craig had called to ask me to ask about Vivienne’s availability.

  ‘She mentioned she was looking to get back into work. Keeping busy – that’s the thing. It’s so important for all of us, isn’t it?’

  I had another glimpse of the pain and loss Bianca must have been through; the heartache she must have felt when she realised that her family was only ever going to be herself, Michael and Charis. I thought of her filling her days with her unprofitable shop, her elaborate renovations of her and other people’s houses, how maybe her determination to create perfect homes was a compensation for what she’d seen as her failure to create the perfect family.

  And I thought that Bianca coming into Vivienne’s life was probably the best thing that could possibly have happened to them both.

  ‘Honestly, I can’t thank you enough for helping Vivienne. You’ve made a massive difference to her,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, please! Don’t mention it! She’s part of my life now – mine and Charis’s. She might have started off being a bit of a project for me, but she’s become a real friend.

  ‘Now, I really must dash, Sloane. Charis has Kumon maths at three and then her riding lesson, and then we’re going to make a carob and date cake for her to take to the school bake sale tomorrow. It’s been lovely to see you looking so well. We must do this again – it’s been such fun.’

  And she whisked out, leaving me to pay for our lunch, which I found I didn’t mind at all.

  Twenty-Nine

  My little Mini was the perfect car in many ways, but it certainly wasn’t designed for moving house. Even pared down by the numerous trips I’d made to the charity shop over the past two weeks, my clothes still filled its tiny trunk almost to bursting. A tower of shoeboxes was piled on the back seat. On the front seat next to me were my laptop and tablet, a leather case holding a few bits of jewellery, and a framed photo of me with my dad.

  In the hired van behind me were my restored armoire, my larger suitcases, my KitchenAid mixer, boxes full of books, pots and pans, as well as all the other things I’d acquired durin
g my life with Myles that I felt were neither his nor ours, but mine.

  It was late November and, at four in the afternoon, already almost dark. A thin drizzle was falling, and my little car’s windscreen wipers valiantly swooshed the water away. Although the sky was gloomy, the rain reflected every point of brightness: the traffic lights and street lamps, the glowing shop windows and, most of all, the Christmas lights that were strung, sparkling, across the high street, so it looked like the whole world was dressed for a party.

  I turned the Mini left into Langdale Street and parked behind the Mazda, with its vanity plate that just about spelled Bianca. Behind me, Piotr and Gavin got out of their van. I unlocked the front door just as Bianca was climbing down off her ladder, wiping her paint-stained hands on an even more paint-stained sweatshirt. From her perch at the top of the stairs, Beatrice watched her suspiciously.

  ‘I got the last coat on just in time,’ Bianca said. ‘It’s not quite dry yet, but it’ll only take a couple of hours. You gentlemen will need to take care when you move the furniture in.’

  I thanked her for the millionth time, then hurried back out to my car. Together, the movers and I formed a kind of human chain, ferrying my belongings in and finding places for everything like some kind of giant game of Tetris.

  At last, the van and my car were both empty. I handed over a wad of cash to Piotr and thanked him, too, and stood in the doorway as they drove off, warm from my exertions.

  ‘It’s starting to look like a proper home,’ Bianca said approvingly. ‘That pale pink was an inspired choice. It really warms up the room.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s the beauty of living on my own,’ I said. ‘I can have what I want. And Eileen said it was okay for me to decorate, especially as I’ll hopefully be able to make her an offer for the place once the sale on Myles’s and my house goes through.’

  ‘I’d better head off,’ Bianca said. ‘We’ve got people coming for dinner, friends of Michael’s. Are you sure you won’t join us? Paul, who plays squash with Michael, is newly single, you know, and he’s ever such a catch. He runs his own software company and he’s got a holiday home in France.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s really kind of you, but I just don’t think I’m ready to jump into a new relationship so soon. I need some time on my own, to settle down and figure out who I am again. I’m not looking to date just yet.’

  Bianca didn’t know, of course, about the night I’d spent with Edward, or the night he’d spent at mine. Or, in the interest of full disclosure, the other night at mine. And the one after that…

  And she didn’t know about the conversation we’d had the previous day.

  He’d got up before me, and I’d woken up to the fragrance of fresh coffee – a high-end bean-to-cup machine had been my second, and most self-indulgent, purchase for the house – and freshly showered man. I gently pushed a purring Beatrice aside and sat up as he walked into the room.

  ‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he said. ‘And good morning, Sloane.’

  I laughed, and Beatrice jumped down off the bed and started twining herself around his legs. ‘Madam here says it’s long past her breakfast time.’

  ‘And long past ours. I borrowed your keys and popped out to the bakery up the road. It’s seriously good. I got cheese croissants and smoked-salmon bagels.’

  ‘You’re an angel, thank you.’

  ‘And I’ve made coffee. Want me to bring you a cup?’

  I shook my head. ‘I should get up. Give me a second.’

  I quickly cleaned my teeth, showered, pulled on jeans, trainers and a new leopard-print jumper, and found Edward in the kitchen. He passed me a plate of pastries and a steaming cup of coffee.

  ‘So here we are,’ he said. ‘Saturday, and the delights of London lie before us. We could go to Winter Wonderland and ride on the Ferris wheel and drink mulled wine. Or we could go to a movie. Or we could go and buy you a Christmas tree and decorate it. What do you reckon?’

  I tipped some cat food into Beatrice’s bowl and she plunged her face into it as if to say, ‘Finally! God, the service in this place!’

  I said, ‘I should really be cleaning the place. I’m moving the last of my stuff over from my old house tomorrow, and my friend’s coming to finish off the decorating.’

  ‘I could help. I’m ace at carrying things and not too bad with a paint roller either.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s an offer I normally wouldn’t refuse. But you’re right – let’s enjoy the day. Winter Wonderland sounds amazing. I’ll just straighten my hair and put on some make-up.’

  ‘You look perfect just as you are.’

  I kissed him. ‘I’m glad you think so, but I need five minutes.’

  I didn’t bother doing more with my hair than pulling it into a messy up-do, and I didn’t need much make-up, either – my skin looked as fresh and glowy as if I’d been slathering on expensive serum. So I did the bare minimum, then considered my shoe collection for a couple of seconds before deciding to leave on my trainers. We’d be doing a lot of walking, after all – I wasn’t going to kill my feet to please some idea in my own head of what was expected.

  We got the bus as far as the river, and walked slowly through the crowds of tourists in the chilly afternoon, hand in hand. It was a gloomy afternoon – one of those late November days when it seems like it hasn’t properly gotten light before it begins to get dark again. But the heavy cloud only served to make the glimmering ice-blue lights bedecking the trees look more magical, the glowing stalls selling gingerbread, candy canes and brightly painted wooden toys more inviting.

  We could have caught another bus, or got the Tube, but we didn’t – we kept walking, in no hurry at all because it felt like we had all the time in the world. We were tourists ourselves that day in our adopted city, passing through Trafalgar Square, where the giant Norwegian spruce tree sparkled with thousands of golden lights; wandering the streets of Mayfair where the windows of expensive boutiques seemed to gleam with their displays of leather handbags, expensive soap and silk scarves.

  ‘I haven’t even started my Christmas shopping,’ Edward remarked. ‘I’ll end up doing it all online at the last minute, as usual.’

  ‘It’s the way forward,’ I said, remembering how in previous years I’d ended up doing exactly that, for all of Myles’s extended family, because if I didn’t we’d turn up at his mother’s empty-handed and it would be seen as my fault. ‘Are you spending the day with family?’

  He nodded. ‘Going up to my mum and dad’s in Manchester. My two sisters will be there with all their kids. It’s mayhem but we love it. My youngest niece is two now, so she’s just old enough to get the whole magic thing.’

  ‘And mean Uncle Edward isn’t going to spoil it by telling them that Santa isn’t real?’

  ‘God, no!’ He laughed. ‘My sisters would never forgive me. Besides, it is kind of magical, isn’t it, watching them come downstairs in their pyjamas and seeing their stockings all filled up and going, “He’s been!”’

  ‘You leave a piece of cake out for Santa the night before, right?’

  ‘Oh yeah. And a sherry, and a carrot for Rudolph. Last year my sister Rachel forgot to move them, and my brother-in-law was stuffing his face with raw carrot washed down with sherry at seven in the morning to conceal the evidence.’

  I laughed, moving closer to him and squeezing his arm. All that – that image of a perfect family Christmas, children turning their expectant faces up to the Christmas tree, their squeals of pleasure as they opened their gifts, them bouncing off the walls with sugar and excitement – was what I’d imagined creating for my own family.

  But I was enjoying the day too much to feel gloomy about what I’d lost. Soon, as twilight was beginning to deepen, we arrived at the Christmas carnival and Edward bought us hot mulled wine and pretzels so salty they puckered our lips.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked. ‘Ice skating? Rollercoaster? Ferris wheel?’

  ‘This is kind of pathetic,’ I ad
mitted. ‘But I’m shit scared of rollercoasters. I know they’re safe and everything, but I just can’t.’

  ‘God, I’m so glad you said that. I am too. Ferris wheel, then?’

  ‘That’s a far better idea.’

  We joined the queue, and soon we were seated in a pod, holding hands as the wheel inched us slowly upwards and the lights of the city spread out below us, blurred by the falling drizzle.

  ‘This reminds me of that first night,’ he said, ‘when we went to the Shard. Remember?’

  ‘Of course.’ I smiled, and I knew that, like me, he was remembering not just the breathtaking view, but those hours afterwards, in his flat, when our breath had been taken away in a totally different way.

  ‘I didn’t know then that it would be more than just one night,’ he said.

  ‘Me neither.’ I looked at his handsome, handsome, smiling face and felt the warm press of his hand on mine, and my heart felt suddenly heavy. ‘I didn’t expect this at all.’

  ‘Shall we go and get some dinner after this? I know it’s early but we’ll have lots to do tomorrow, with your movers and stuff.’

  ‘Edward,’ I said. ‘It’s so kind of you to offer to help. I really appreciate it. But I’m going to have to do this on my own.’

  He looked at me, the smile gone, his eyes steady. ‘When you say “this”, you don’t just mean moving furniture, do you?’

  There was a lump in my throat, and I tried to swallow it away. It didn’t work.

  ‘No. I don’t just mean that.’

  ‘Sloane, I know it’s soon. I know we’ve only seen each other a handful of times. I get that you don’t want to rush into anything and that’s not what I’m saying we should do. But we have a laugh together, right?’

  ‘We do,’ I said. ‘You’re amazing, you really are. But I… I’m not even divorced yet. I won’t be for a few months. And ending a marriage is a big deal. I just don’t know if I’m ready to start seeing someone else yet.’

  To his credit, he didn’t say, But you have been seeing me.