Closer to You

by Adam Croft

  ‘Yeah. Well, let’s look to the future, shall we?’ I say.

  ‘Of course. What’s he like?’

  ‘Tom? He seems really nice. Very open and honest. He told me all about himself, which I liked. Clearly got nothing to hide. He’s gorgeous too, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Cath says, giggling.

  ‘He’s a proper gentleman, too. Polite, respectful. He even offered to pick me up and drop me off home from yours later, so I didn’t have to walk back in the dark.’

  ‘Blimey. What did you say?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, so I told him that was lovely of him to offer and I’d see how things went and let him know. Didn’t want to commit, but didn’t want to seem like a bitch either.’

  Cath shrugs. ‘Then say yes. It’s hardly commitment to cadge a lift home, is it? And anyway, it gives me a chance to meet him.’

  I smile. Cath’s always had good instincts. She’s rarely wrong about things. I take her at her word, and I send Tom a message to see if the offer of a lift is still on.

  We spend the next hour and a half trying to finesse the table plan, before I accept Cath was right: it’s impossible. Somehow, somewhere, someone’s going to be upset.

  When the buzzer rings to let me know Tom’s come to pick me up, I’m feeling more than a little relieved. My head’s banging from trying to organise Cath’s seating plan, and half a bottle of wine isn’t helping matters. Cath buzzes him up, and I get up and open the door to let him in.

  ‘Ah, got the right flat then,’ Tom says as he reaches her floor and steps inside.

  ‘If you didn’t, then I didn’t either,’ I say, my little quip having sounded hilarious in my head but less so out loud. ‘Tom, this is Cath. Cath, Tom.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Tom,’ Cath says. ‘I’ve been hearing a lot about you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Tom says, looking at me. ‘All good, I hope.’

  ‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘I’m yet to discover the bad bits.’

  ‘He hasn’t told you that he’s a psychopathic murderer yet, then?’ Cath says, laughing. ‘String of ex-girlfriends buried in the back garden?’

  Tom doesn’t seem to pick up on the humour. ‘You ready, then?’ he says.

  ‘Uh, yeah. I think so.’

  ‘Cool. I’ll wait in the car, then.’

  As Tom turns to leave, Cath calls out to him. ‘Bye, Tom! Lovely to meet you!’

  ‘Yeah, you too,’ he says as he disappears back behind the door and down the stairs.

  ‘He seems… nice,’ Cath says, with a look on her face that tells me she’s not being entirely honest.

  5

  ‘What was that all about?’ I ask as we get into the car.

  ‘Nothing. I just didn’t think it was very funny, that’s all.’

  ‘She was only having a laugh,’ I say. ‘It’s just her sense of humour. You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Sorry, but it’s not the sort of thing I find funny. You know what Erin did. It’s not the sort of thing to joke about.’

  ‘She doesn’t know about that, Tom. I didn’t tell her anything about Erin leaving you, obviously. And she wouldn’t have joked about it if I had.’

  Tom sighs. ‘Alright. I said sorry. It was just a bit close to the bone for me, that’s all. I’ll apologise to her and explain. Did you get your planning done?’ he says, changing the subject.

  ‘Sort of. The seating plan’s still causing problems. We need to get that all sorted before we can move onto anything else. She’s still got some invitations that haven’t gone out.’

  Tom raises his eyebrows. ‘She doesn’t sound very organised.’

  ‘She’s not,’ I say, chuckling. ‘That’s why she relies on me.’

  Tom nods. ‘Not too much, I hope?’

  ‘I dunno. What’s too much? Friends are supposed to rely on each other, aren’t they?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but not if one of them’s taking advantage of that. As long as you aren’t just working as a free wedding planner for her. Those people cost a bomb. I should know.’

  ‘Did you and Erin have a wedding planner?’ I ask.

  ‘Yep. Cost an absolute fortune. And her only real skills were being organised and having some time on her hands. I can imagine it must be quite handy for her, having you as a friend.’

  I sit and think about this for a moment. I’m not quite sure where all this has come from, but it does make me think. Cath does very little without me nudging or prompting. She’s already miles behind in her wedding planning and she wouldn’t be this far along the road if it wasn’t for me.

  ‘It’s just what friends do,’ I say. ‘She’s been there for me plenty of times. She’s always a good listener and judge of character. Her instincts are always right. That’s helped me out a lot over the years. We work well together.’

  ‘Good,’ Tom says, although I sense from the tone in his voice that his reaction isn’t altogether positive. ‘Just as long as she’s not taking advantage of you.’

  I smile. It’s sweet that he’s looking out for me, but he really doesn’t need to. Cath and I are chalk and cheese, but we’ve been close friends for years. She’s always had my back, and it’s encouraging to know that Tom has mine too.

  The monarch butterfly is a curious creature. As a caterpillar, it eats only milkweed — a plant that’s poisonous to just about every other animal on the planet, but which forms the sole diet of the monarch caterpillar. They’re completely dependent on this toxic plant.

  Once it emerges from its chrysalis as a beautiful monarch butterfly, it no longer needs the poisonous milkweed. Not only that, but it has stored and channeled the poison into its wings — the very things that give it flight.

  That’s why the monarch is so successful. It’s learned to not only ignore the poison and be unaffected by it, but to store it up and use it against its own predators.

  We can take a lot of lessons from the monarch butterfly. It’s a beautiful, delicate creature. It flutters silently through our gardens, not wanting to harm a soul, yet possessing the power to end lives.

  Everyone always thinks they’re good for people, but most don’t realise they’re toxic too. Like you, Catherine Baker.

  I know who you are. I’ve done my research. Fortunately for me, you’re one of those people who thrives on gushing their lives onto social media — without even bothering to lock down their privacy settings, of course. #unfortunate.

  You’re no good for Grace. You’re toxic. You depend on her to carry out basic functions of your own life. You’re pathetic. You’re a drain on her soul.

  Worse than that, I can see you’re going to be a problem. Grace might think you’ve got good instincts, but I can promise you now they aren’t a patch on mine.

  If you were so perfect, she’d have been happy long before she met me. But she wasn’t. She was missing something. She was missing me.

  6

  Friday 6 December

  It’s been a while since Cath and I have been out together for a drink. We used to do it regularly when we were younger, and again when Matt left and I needed the friendship — not to mention the alcohol. But things have died down on that front in recent months. I’ve not even seen her in almost two weeks, since the night we tried to fix her seating plan. I get it. I’ve been busy with work, she’s been busy with the wedding preparations.

  I’ve been seeing more and more of Tom, too. In fact, we’ve ended up spending most evenings together recently. It’s faster than I’d usually move things, but it just feels right. It seems natural. That’s why I invited her out tonight. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.

  First, the topic of conversation turns to the wedding, as it always does.

  ‘We think we might have finally sorted out the seating arrangements,’ she says, suddenly producing a sheet of paper from the depths of her bag and thrusting it at me. ‘What do you think? It should keep everyone happy, although there’s probably something I’ve missed.’

  ‘It looks good,�
�� I say. ‘Well done. Must be a load off your mind.’

  ‘It’s one load off it, yes. Plenty more where that came from, though. Just you wait until it’s your turn. Shit. Sorry. That was insensitive. But no-one tells you how much people try to interfere and offer their thoughts and opinions all the time, even though they’re telling you it’s fine, it’s your decision, it’s your day, it’s what you want that counts. But if you could just make sure this, that and this happens, everyone would be awfully grateful.’

  I want to tell her that at least her fiancé is going to turn up on the day and not leave her with a fully-planned and mostly-paid-for wedding, not to mention a broken heart. I can’t begrudge Cath feeling stressed out about it all, though. And I certainly can’t begrudge her a lifetime of happiness.

  Maybe a small part of her is acutely aware of the Matt situation and perhaps she’s a bit worried the same might happen to her. She and Ben are devoted to each other, and it’s never going to happen, but it’s the sort of thing that would make anyone worry — even if only at the very back of their mind.

  ‘Seriously, the thing I’ve learnt is to just nod and smile,’ Cath says, as I realise she’s going off on one of her reflective ramblings. ‘Most of the time they forget the stuff they’ve mentioned anyway. They just want to suggest something, anything that makes them feel useful in some way, when what you actually want is to say “Bugger off and let me get on with it”, but you can’t say that because it’s a wedding and everyone’s meant to be happy and relaxed and everything’s joyous and wonderful. I’ll tell you what. There’s a reason why people who get married a second time choose a cheap registry office and a reception in the pub afterwards. Sometimes I wish we’d decided to do that this time. You still end up with a ring on your finger and a certificate in your hand. And that way you’ve got an extra fifteen grand in your back pocket, too.’

  ‘It’s not all about money, though, is it?’ I say. ‘It’s meant to be the biggest day of your life. You want to do it properly. No-one remembers the credit card bill twenty or thirty years down the line. They remember the photos, the event, the glamour. I know it’s hard work now, but it’ll all be worth it in the end.’

  ‘So they keep telling me.’

  It’s strange seeing Cath like this. She doesn’t tend to do stress. She’s always the calm, level-headed one who is able to see both sides in any argument and always latches on to the positivity in all situations. She’s not the sort of person to lose her head over something like this. I decide it might be best to change the subject.

  ‘So things are going well with Tom. We seemed to have hit it off brilliantly. Just sort of clicked, you know?’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Cath replies.

  ‘So, come on. What did you think of him? Honestly.’

  ‘Honestly? Well, I didn’t really get to see much of him. I thought his reaction was a bit… weird.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. It was all a bit of a misunderstanding. I don’t think he took the comment about the exes too well. Between you and me, he was married before. She took off with the kid and all their money.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Yeah. Don’t tell him I said anything, will you? It’s not something he likes to talk about, for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Of course not. I won’t say a thing. He knows I was only messing around, right? And that I didn’t know any of that?’

  ‘Yeah, he does. He already said he was sorry. Just one of those things. Must’ve caught him in a bad mood.’

  ‘Well hopefully I’ll catch him in a better mood next time.’

  ‘You will. I was thinking, maybe we can sort something out on that front. I was thinking about organising a night out or a meal or something. For the friends, I mean. It’s been so long since we’ve caught up, and we only ever seem to do weddings and christenings.’

  ‘There’s the barbecue coming up.’

  I chuckle. ‘True. Might be nice to do something before that, though. Something that isn’t just part of the annual routine.’

  The barbecue is an odd tradition, but definitely one of my favourites. One of our friends, Gareth, moved here from Australia a few years ago. He mentioned one time how Christmas in Australia was so different — mainly because it was the middle of summer over there. He said he missed having a barbecue on the beach, which was his traditional equivalent of our Christmas dinner. Ever since then, it’s been our own annual tradition for a group of us to head to the seaside on the weekend before Christmas. It’s always absolutely freezing cold, but that’s part of the fun. It means we all get a short trip away, it gives us an excuse to catch up and Gareth gets his barbecue on the beach. We tend to get a few odd looks from passers by, but we have a lot of fun. The location changes every year, but this year it’s Brighton.

  ‘I’ll arrange something,’ I say, stirring my drink with my straw. ‘If you’re up for it, that is. Doesn’t need to be anything big. Just a meal in a local pub somewhere. We should all make more of an effort to see each other.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Cath says, shrugging her shoulders. ‘You’re not going to hear me complaining about a pub lunch. At least it makes all the “we should do this again soon” platitudes seem less false.’

  ‘In fact, it’d be good to do that fairly soon, because I’ve been having a think about asking him to move in with me.’

  Cath raises an eyebrow. Only enough to show interest, but I know Cath, and I know her instinct isn’t that this is a great idea.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, he’s been spending a fair bit of time at mine anyway,’ I say. ‘More and more, actually. And I’m relying on Mum and Dad to help me out with the mortgage still, and Tom’s being put up in one of his boss’s rentals, so it makes sense. I get some help with the bills, his boss gets his flat back, and we move things on to the next level.’

  ‘Quite soon, though, isn’t it?’ Cath says, in a tone of voice which ensures the question answers itself.

  ‘Maybe, but so what? If we click and we get on, what’s the difference between now and six months’ time?’

  ‘Erm, because he might be a complete idiot who you don’t want to live with?’

  ‘In that case I’m better off finding that out sooner rather than later, aren’t I?’

  Cath cocks her head and raises her eyebrows briefly. ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s not as if I’m going to be adding his name to the deeds or anything. It’s just a bit of help contributing towards the bills, gives me some company and means we get to see if we’re actually able to live together. Seems daft me floating around in there by myself, struggling to make ends meet while he’s stuck in his boss’s pokey flat.’ I can tell by the look on Cath’s face that she’s really not keen on the idea. ‘What is it?’ I ask her.

  ‘Nothing. I just think you’re rushing into things, that’s all.’

  ‘Come on, Cath. I’ve been on my own for months. It’s hardly rushing, is it?’

  ‘Yeah, and the first bloke to come sniffing around gets moved in within a fortnight. I know the whole Matt thing ruined you, but I don’t think this is the right way to get over it. You need to give yourself a bit more time. I don’t want you getting hurt again, Grace. I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.’

  In that moment, I’m not sure I believe her.

  7

  When I get home, I call Tom. I just need someone who’s on my side right now. I don’t mention the conversation I had with her about him possibly moving in. As far as I’m concerned, she’s ruined that for me and it’s impossible to get excited about the prospect at the moment. All I can see is her disapproving face.

  ‘How was it?’ Tom asks.

  ‘Oh, you know, the usual.’

  ‘Did you pass on my apology for the other week? I still feel terrible about that.’

  ‘I did. Apology accepted, she says. I think she’s got bigger worries on her plate right now.’ I figure it’s best to make less of an issu
e out of it than it needs to be. Once Cath gets to know the real Tom, she’ll have forgotten all about their first meeting. And Tom doesn’t need to know about Cath’s feelings. She doesn’t even know him yet.

  ‘Oh?’ Tom asks.

  ‘Don’t worry. The usual pre-wedding dramas. The huge, massive problems which actually aren’t an issue at all and which she won’t remember in a year’s time.’

  Tom chuckles. ‘She’s probably just freaking out. It’s a busy time. She wants everything to be perfect, I suppose. Can’t begrudge her that.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I say, perhaps a little too defensively. ‘But that doesn’t mean she needs to be a Bridezilla about it.’

  ‘Oooh, I haven’t heard that one before,’ Tom says. ‘I like.’

  ‘What, Bridezilla? Come on, you must have heard that term.’

  ‘To be honest, I tend to steer well clear of weddings these days.’

  ‘Ah. Yeah. Sorry,’ I say. Tom makes no mention of my almost-wedding, and this strikes me as perhaps a little insensitive, but I can’t blame him for thinking of his own situation first.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. We only had a small do, anyway. Village church ceremony, drinks reception at the village hall afterwards with a buffet. Not a whole lot to get worried about, really.’

  I smile. ‘Yeah, I think that’s probably how I’d want to do it. Especially after seeing the way Cath’s behaving over the Wedding of the Century.’

  ‘Why? What sort of things is she doing?’

  ‘Oh, just moaning basically. She’s making mountains out of molehills. Complaining about people offering to help, that sort of thing. She sounded a bit ungrateful if you ask me, especially after everything I’ve done to try and make it the best day of her life.’

  ‘Like you say. Probably just the stress. She’ll be fine after it’s all done.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But that’s not the point, is it? Weddings are a celebration. We want to be able to enjoy it with her.’