A Friend of the Family (32 page)

This is it, he thought as he watched Becky walking into the pub to get another round in, this is my perfect sort of night. Unplanned and spontaneous, a mild spring night, cold lager, a lively pub and a gorgeous, funny, sweet-natured girl. This was what being young, free and single in the city was all about. And this was exactly what Gervase must have meant when he’d talked about life’s ‘pattern’. Ned had been good and good things had come to him. And about bloody time too. He felt the lager gently suffuse through his body, loosening up his limbs and his mind, and he felt himself swell up with pure potential. Summer was just beginning, he was home, he was free from Monica, free from everything. It was all out there, he thought, looking around him at the restaurants, clubs and people, everything he wanted was out there and it was beautiful. He just had to be brave, grab it, have it, look after it.

‘There you go, ducks,’ said Becky, walking out of the pub and plonking two dewy pints of lager on the table in front of them. Ned smiled at her and she smiled back. She had lovely teeth and her eyes crinkled up when she smiled. This was so nice and normal, he mused, so healthy compared to running away with Mad Monica or fantasizing about his brother’s girlfriend. Being with Becky made him feel like a proper human being, not some scrag-end of humanity left out for the bin men, someone who was only fit for weirdoes, psychos and other people’s women.

‘Cheers,’ he said, picking up his pint and clinking it against the side of Becky’s. ‘Here’s to…
possibilities
.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Becky, ‘I can’t think of a better toast. To possibilities. Cheers.’

Ned looked at Becky and she looked at him. Neither of them looked away. This was it, thought Ned, this was it. New job, new girlfriend. His new life started here.

Bring it on…

Ned walked Becky to Tottenham Court Road after the pub closed. It was properly cold now and they walked down Oxford Street close together, their bare arms touching, to keep warm. They were both nicely drunk and in high spirits as they walked, still chatting and laughing and getting on like old mates.

‘So,’ said Becky, ‘which is your favourite Oxford Street?’

‘Shit,’ said Ned, ‘that’s a tough one. I think Sydney Oxford Street – it’s less tacky. What about you?’

‘This Oxford Street – definitely.’

‘Why?’

‘’Cause it’s longer. Got more shops on it. And it’s in London.’

‘So d’you prefer London to Sydney then?’

‘I wouldn’t say I prefer it. Sydney’s such a great place, all my friends are there, the food, the weather – it’s a fantastic city – but being in London, it’s like being in a bit of history. It’s like everywhere you walk, you know that someone important’s probably walked on the same paving stone as you. Like this one,’ she stopped and
pointed at the paving stone she was standing on. ‘Anyone could have walked on this – Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Laurence Olivier, Princess Di – and for centuries before that, too – kings and queens and discoverers and explorers. And just the sense of recognition here. The red buses, the registration plates, the road signs, the policeman – they’re all so familiar, you know, you’ve seen these things a million times in films and on the TV. That’s what I love about London; it’s that sense of being in the epicentre of something, not on the periphery. I love it. I love London, I really do.’

She grinned at him and he thought to himself that he wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted to kiss anyone in his life.

‘My surname’s London, you know,’ he said, smiling proudly at her.

‘Really?’

‘Uh-huh. If you married me you could be Mrs London.’

‘Cool,’ she laughed. ‘Rebecca London – I like that.’

Ned smiled to himself and they carried on walking.

They stopped at the top of the steps down to Tottenham Court Road Tube.

‘How are you getting home?’ said Becky.

‘I’ll walk up to Holborn. Get the bus.’

‘You’re not getting the Tube?’

‘Er – no,’ he laughed. ‘I live in Crystal Palace. There is no Tube. Bus takes me straight to my door.’

‘Well, thanks for walking me – that’s really sweet of you.’

‘It was my pleasure.’

‘And see you tomorrow, yeah?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Have a safe journey,’ said Becky. ‘N’ night.’ And then she leant in towards him and at first Ned thought she was going to kiss him on the cheek, so he tried to turn his cheek towards her, and then her face moved a bit and he felt his lips brushing against hers and it felt so good, and he wanted to do it so badly, had wanted to do it all night, that he moved his mouth directly on to hers and started kissing her. It was all so confusing that for a second he didn’t even notice her trying to pull her arms from his grip or the fact that she was wriggling like a worm.

By the time he did, it was too late.

‘Nid!’ she said when she’d finally managed to pull herself free from his embrace. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Shit, Becky. I don’t know. I thought… I thought you were trying to kiss me…’

‘On the cheek, mate – on the cheek!’

‘I’m really sorry, Becky. It’s just I’ve been wanting to do that all night and I’ve had a few drinks and I thought… Christ – I’m really sorry. I’ve really blown it, haven’t I?’

‘Nid,’ she said, resting her hands on his forearms, ‘there was nothing to blow.’

‘Eh?’

‘I mean, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression and everything, but I don’t fancy you.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No. I think you’re absolutely adorable. You really are a lovely bloke. But – you’re not my type.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah. Look. I’m really sorry. I really am. It’s nothing personal, honestly. It’s just, you’re a bit young for me.’

‘Young? But I’m four years older than you!’

‘Yes. It’s not your age – it’s you. I like my men a bit more…
manly
.’

‘You don’t think I’m manly?’

‘Well, you look manly – well, sort of manly. But it’s just the whole living-at-home, temping thing. I’m looking for someone with a bit more of a life going on? You know? Like with their own place, maybe, and a proper job? Does that make me sound shallow?’

‘No,’ said Ned, bowing his head and staring into the pavement waiting for a large hole to form and take him away from here. ‘It’s fair enough.’

‘God, Nid. I’m so sorry. I really hope it wasn’t anything I said or did. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression.’

‘No,’ said Ned, wanting just to start walking now and not stop until he’d purged himself of this hideous feeling of humiliation growing inside him like a tumour. ‘No. It wasn’t your fault. It was me. I… er… Look, I’m really, really embarrassed, so I’m going to go now. OK?’

Becky nodded and threw him a look of such pity that Ned wanted to be sick.

‘Thanks, anyway. Thanks for a lovely evening.’

‘You, too, Nid.’

Ned turned and started to walk away, conscious of
the fact that Becky was still standing at the top of the steps, watching him leave.

‘Nid.’

He turned around.

‘I just wanted to say. You’re a really great bloke. One of the nicest I’ve met since I’ve been in London. You’ll find someone great. I know you will.’

Ned forced a smile and a nod and then turned and walked slowly and heavily towards High Holborn and the number 68 bus stop, cursing Gervase and his fucking ‘pattern’all the way.

Tony Has a Good Week

‘Ninety-five kilos, Tony. Well done! You’ve lost two kilos!’

Everyone in the group looked at him proudly and gave him a heartfelt round of applause.

‘How much is that in pounds?’ he whispered into Jan’s ear.

‘That’s about four and a half pounds.’

‘Is that good?’

‘It’s excellent, Tony – it means you’re under fifteen stone. Well done!’

Under fifteen stone, thought Tony, a smile playing on his lips. Fourteen stone something. Fantastic! He took his seat in the circle and smiled around the group. Everyone looked like they were really pleased for him and he felt himself swelling up with pride. He was a winner!

Not that his weightloss had anything to do with following Jan’s notes, counting calories or pounding away at the gym. No – his weightloss was due entirely to the emotional maelstrom that was whipping through his life at the moment. After spending so many years in an emotional wilderness, Tony could barely cope with
the variety and strength of his feelings since Wednesday night.

The first and most overwhelming emotion had been his hangover the next morning when his alarm had gone off at six-thirty. Quite the most revolting sensation of his life. His tongue had been covered in what felt like a thick layer of garlic-infused brandy and his head felt like a family of oversized beetles with pick-axes had moved in and were slowly chipping away at his brain. The other emotions had had to queue in line waiting for his hangover to dissipate before they could make themselves known. Once he’d showered and had some coffee he was aware of a strange sense of elation. He felt lighter and younger and full of some kind of burning energy.

Ness had come downstairs in his dressing-gown and wrapped him up in a sleepy embrace, then she’d taken the Nurofen from the kitchen cabinet and popped four little capsules out of the blister pack – two for her and two for him – and passed his to him silently with a glass of water. He’d watched her moving around the kitchen, graceful and willowy, her ringleted hair hanging down her back, and had had to control another surge of desire.

Then he’d taken some tea up to Millie and she’d opened her eyes and smiled at him. ‘Feel revolting,’she’d croaked, ‘want to die.’She’d rubbed her eyes and tugged at her hair and Tony had wanted to pick her up and hold her and make her feel better. He’d had to go, then, leave Ness and Millie in his flat, both rumpled and sore and in a state of semi-undress, and his drive into
work had had a sort of surreal quality to it. He couldn’t quite believe what had happened the night before.

He’d kissed Millie.

He’d fallen out with Sean.

He’d told Ness he loved her.

And for that brief moment in time, he’d meant it.

The next few days of Tony’s life had felt strangely accelerated, like he was on speed or something. He’d gone to work, been super-efficient, joked with his staff, made decisions, forgotten to eat. At the weekend he and Ness had leapt around the place doing chores, shopping, shagging, socializing. He hadn’t felt the need to drink very much because he was so high on life. They’d borrowed the dog from Jo on Sunday and walked around Dulwich Common for about four hours and the dog had got tired before him. He felt liberated, he felt young again. The world suddenly seemed like a great big pot of possibilities. He couldn’t see any problems, only opportunities.

But the strange thing about the way he was feeling was that although it should have been happiness it wasn’t. It was some other kind of emotion entirely. He felt curiously disconnected from everything, vaguely numb. He felt like a character in a film, like everything was scripted and someone else had already decided what was going to happen so he may as well just kick back and relax. Thoughts of the consequences of what was happening in his life would flit through his mind occasionally, but he’d just ignore them, almost like they were the commercial break in between the action.

He phoned Millie three times that weekend, checking up on her, finding out what had happened with her and Sean, reassuring her,
looking after her.
They didn’t mention the kiss, but it was there in their conversations, almost like they were both waiting for the other one to say something. But that fact that neither of them did spoke volumes. They both knew what that kiss had really been about and in a way it had cleared the mists and brought them even closer together. Instead they talked about Sean and how he was still in Catford and whether or not Millie was going to leave him and how she was feeling and what was going to happen about the baby. Hugely, vastly, enormously important conversations about life and love and everything in between. But every time he put the phone down he’d almost forget what they’d talked about. Everything he did seemed to exist in a little bubble, independent of everything else. There was no connection between any of the elements of his life, no continuity.

He’d never felt better.

And now this. Fourteen stone something. Everything was tickety-boo. Life was regaining its golden hue.

He beamed around the room and everyone beamed back at him. He felt like he loved everyone, even Kelvin. Tonia gave him an extra special smile and a little wink. He blushed and looked at his shoes.

‘So, would you like to talk about your week, Tony?’ said Jan. ‘Any particular problems? Any triumphs?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘not really. I’ve just been following the rules. Being a good boy.’

‘So you’ve found it fairly straightforward?’

‘Yeah,’ he smiled, ‘must be beginner’s luck.’ He laughed and everyone else laughed and Jan turned to the next person. He listened raptly to the stories as they talked about their week. He totted up the combined weightloss as people got on and off the scales and calculated that between the eight of them they’d lost a whopping stone and a half – and that was including the fact that Kelvin had put on three pounds. He was so excited by this achievement that after the session he could barely wait to go to Bubbles with the group. He wanted to talk to people, to be sociable.

He found himself sitting next to Tonia again and this time he reciprocated her flirtatiousness.

‘So,’ she said, running her taloned fingertips up and down the stem of her glass, ‘weightloss seems to agree with you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, just that you seem a bit more
animated
than last week.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Last week I couldn’t help feeling like you were a bit distracted – had a bit on your mind. But this week, well, you’re just dynamic.’

‘Dynamic, eh?’ he smiled at her. ‘Well, I suppose I’m just having a good week.’

‘That’s good,’ she smiled at him. ‘Any particular reason?’

He thought about it for a moment and smiled. ‘No,’ he said, ‘just one of those weeks where nothing seems
like a problem, I suppose, where life suddenly seems really simple and uncomplicated.’