Brand New Friend (13 page)

7.
   She had seen the film
Dirty Dancing
a staggering 526 times, owned four copies of the video (three were still in their shrink wrapping) and two copies on DVD.

8.
   She was afraid of heights.

9.
   As a teenager, her favourite member of Bros was Matt.

10.
  She had missed her university graduation ceremony and ball because on the day she had been taken to hospital with acute appendicitis.

‘So,’ said Jo, as the barman called last orders, ‘how am I doing?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Rob, confused by her question and the numerous pints of Guinness he had drunk.

‘You told me earlier that you didn’t have any friends, right? Well, I’d like to apply for the position.’

‘As what?’ asked Rob.

‘Your friend. I’m doing a great job, aren’t I?’

Rob laughed. ‘You’re doing . . . okay, I suppose.’

‘Only okay?’ she exclaimed.

‘Okay, you’ve done well,’ said Rob, and stared into the bottom of his glass. ‘But, come on, you must know we can’t be mates, surely.’

‘Why not?’ protested Jo.

‘Because we can’t,’ said Rob, uncomfortably.

‘
Because we can’t
,’ repeated Jo. ‘That’s no reason, is it? That’s just you using a whiny voice to say nothing. Give me a proper reason.’

‘I can’t believe you’re making me spell it out.’ Rob laughed. ‘The reason I can’t be mates with you is because . . . well, because you’re a bird.’

‘And that’s it?’ said Jo. ‘I’m a
girl
therefore we can’t be mates? I don’t fancy you, if that’s what you think.’

‘I’m not saying you do fancy me. I just—’

‘You just what?’

‘I don’t think my
partner
would be too happy about it,’ said Rob, eventually.

Jo sighed theatrically. ‘I think you’ll find that we established last time when we met that your girlfriend is a bit of a hottie so it’s not like you’re going to swap her for me. And, anyway, even if I
did
want to jump your bones – which I don’t – I couldn’t. At least, not tonight.’

Rob’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Why?’

‘Because I haven’t shaved my legs.’

‘I haven’t shaved mine either,’ joked Rob.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said, then lowered her voice so that Rob had to lean closer to her. ‘I haven’t shaved my legs tonight and I didn’t shave them last night or the night before that. In fact, I haven’t shaved them since I first split up with Sean – a couple of weeks ago. It’s like some sort of world record of disgustingness.’

‘Is that all?’ responded Rob. ‘I’m not even moderately rattled by that revelation.’

‘You would be if you saw them,’ said Jo. ‘I’m a bit sickened every time I catch sight of them. I get out of the bath looking like I’m wearing skin-tight mohair trousers. I’ve never gone so long without shaving my legs. Not even when I went backpacking in Thailand.’

‘Why have you stopped?’ asked Rob.

‘At first because I was in mourning for my now deceased relationship but now it’s more as a safety device.’

It was as if she was speaking in a strange language. ‘A safety device?’ he echoed.

‘To stop me rebounding into some random bloke in a moment of desperation,’ she explained, elbowing Rob in the ribs. ‘Believe me, no matter how much I drink tonight or any other night I’m not going to take my clothes off in front of anyone –
and I do mean anyone
– with legs like mine.’ She laughed and squeezed Rob’s arm. ‘Admit it, you’re revolted, aren’t you?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Not even a little bit?’

Rob shook his head. ‘Not even a little bit.’

‘Anyway,’ said Jo, ‘it’s not just you who needs friends right now. I do too.’

‘You’ve lived in Manchester for well over a decade,’ said Rob. ‘You must have friends here.’

‘Are you trying to make me sound inadequate?’ Jo rolled her eyes. ‘I was just about to open my heart to you but I don’t think I will now.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Rob. ‘It’s just that, well, I’d have thought someone like you would make friends easily.’

‘I used to have the best bunch of friends in the world,’ she explained. ‘They were great but – well, then I met Sean and I did that thing girls do sometimes.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Make their boyfriends the centre of their world. His friends became my friends. His friends’ girlfriends were the people I spent my time with. But now it’s all over I’m out of the loop. No one likes an ex-girlfriend hanging about making the place look untidy, do they?’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Rob. ‘Friends can be hard to come by – especially when you’re our age.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Jo. ‘I went out with my old friends last night for the first time in ages and it was . . . well, it was . . .’

‘Like going out with a bunch of old-age pensioners who can only talk about careers, weddings, babies and house prices in South Manchester?’

Jo laughed. ‘You know them too, then.’

‘Yeah,’ said Rob, grinning. ‘And plenty of people like them.’

‘Here we are,’ said Jo as the minicab pulled up outside her house. ‘Welcome to Casa Richards.’

It was now close to midnight as Jo and Rob peeled themselves out of the cab, paid the driver and stood staring at the entrance to her house on Birdhall Grove. Half an hour earlier, when they had been ejected from the Lazy Fox, Rob had suggested that they get something to eat from Panico’s on Barlow Moor Road, but Jo had said Abdul’s on Stockport Road did the best post-pub doner kebabs in the north of England: they could get a minicab over to Levenshulme to get one. Without a second’s thought Rob had said, ‘Why not?’ and they made their way to the Buzzy Bee office on Keppel Road and ordered a car to take them to Jo’s via Abdul’s. Five minutes later the two were in the back of a maroon Vauxhall Nova.

If Rob had been single and this had happened in any other context he would have been rather pleased with himself. It was late at night and an attractive girl was practically begging him to go back to her place for ‘coffee’. But Rob didn’t want to have ‘coffee’ with Jo. Or ‘tea’. Or even ‘tap water’. Part of him was afraid that if he went back to her place, his resolve to eat his takeaway, hang out with her for a while, then go home would fade fast. If he was open to temptation for long enough he knew that, even if her legs were as hairy as she claimed, there could come a moment when he might think it was a good idea – metaphorically speaking – to get out the Nescafé. Which would only end in disaster.

But Jo hadn’t mentioned coffee. In fact, he was sure that ‘coffee’ was the furthest thing from Jo’s mind. All she had indicated to him on their journey to Abdul’s was that she was having a nice time hanging out with him and didn’t want it to stop. And Rob felt that way too.

It had been a long time since Rob had had as good a night out as this one had been. And that it was all thanks to a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend didn’t seem relevant. But once he was standing in front of her white uPVC front door he wondered if he had been fooling himself. Was this entirely innocent? Had they been flirting? Or were they just two people who got on well? Then, of course, there was Ashley: what would she think if she saw him right now? How would she react if he told her how his evening had unfolded? Would he ever tell her the truth? But the really big question was, what was he going to do next?

Jo opened her front door and stepped inside. Rob followed – ninety-nine per cent sure that he doing the right thing and one per cent wondering if he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

A soft foot on Rob’s left calf triggered his journey from sleep to semi-consciousness. He cracked open an eyelid. The left side of his face was buried in a pillow so he scanned the room with his right eye. He could see an unfamiliar wardrobe with a pine frame and dark blue doors, both ajar, and an alarm clock that told him it was 06.08 a.m. He closed his eye and rested it while he took a few slow, deep breaths and tried to recall why he felt so rough.
Am I ill? Or . . . have I been drinking? That’s it. I knew I’d get it eventually.

His stomach gurgled vociferously.

Next Rob asked himself,
Can I move my tongue? Lack of tongue mobility is always a good indicator of alcohol abuse.

Just as he’d feared, his tongue was so dry that it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was forced to call for help. With considerable effort he sent a signal from his brain through his arms to his hands and his fingertips. But before they made their way to his mouth they had to let go of whatever they were holding. He brought up his hand to his face and stared at a small card: ‘Carlton Minicabs’. Confused, he put it down and proceeded to separate his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Now he did not doubt that he had been drinking – a lot.

The foot nudged his leg.

Of course
, he said to himself,
I can ask Ashley to tell me what happened last night . . . Ashley . . . Why doesn’t that sound right? Ashley . . . is . . . Ashley’s what? Okay, let’s start with the basics. Ashley is . . . my girlfriend! Correct! Ashley is . . . a doctor! Correct again! Ashley works . . . in a hospital . . . and last night . . . she was doing a night shift . . . And what time does Ashley normally get back from a night shift? Just after nine in the morning . . . So? What do you mean ‘so’? If it’s just past six and Ashley doesn’t get home until nine . . .

As the message reached his brain that something was very wrong indeed, he clenched his eyes tight shut and screamed at the top of his lungs without emitting a single decibel:
Please don’t let there be a naked housing officer lying next to me!

An arm draped itself across his chest. He opened his eyes and looked at Ashley’s side of the bed . . . only it wasn’t Ashley’s side of the bed because he wasn’t at home. It was a bed he’d never seen before.

The bad news was that the person with their arm draped across his chest wasn’t Ashley.

The good news was that she wasn’t naked.

And neither was Rob.

It all came back to him. Some time after he had finished his kebab, Jo had opened the first of several bottles of wine. Then around one o’clock he had worked his way through her CD collection. At about one forty-five he vaguely recalled the two of them getting on to her mountain bike (Rob pedalling, Jo hanging on for dear life) and cycling from her front door along the hallway to the kitchen. At two he had been watching cable TV on the sofa. And then, around three fifteen, he had asked her if he could call a minicab.

The minicab card!
thought Rob.
I must have gone upstairs to find the number and fallen asleep on the bed. Nothing happened between us! Nothing!

Rob had never before been this pleased to have been so resolutely unsuccessful with an attractive woman. It was like getting a last-minute reprieve from a death sentence. As he climbed gingerly out of bed – discovering that he even had on his trainers – he went over the previous night again. They’d talked and laughed, and it had felt completely natural. Being with Jo had felt like being with Phil and the boys – in one evening she had become someone who knew him well enough to make jokes at his expense yet showed that she cared about how he felt. He’d never thought it could happen with a woman, but Jo had the potential to be not just a stop-gap drinking buddy between visits to London but the real thing: a one hundred per cent, full-time friend. But there was one thing wrong with her and he couldn’t think of a way to solve it.

Rob went down the stairs, picked up his jacket from Jo’s sofa, and headed for the front door. He stepped out into the early morning and fumbled for his mobile phone. When he found it he called the one person he trusted to come up with a solution to the situation he’d got himself into.

‘So what’s the problem, Bobman?’ asked Phil.

‘Who said there was a problem?’ replied Rob, as he passed a milk float trundling up Jo’s road. ‘Can’t a man just call his business partner every once in a while for a chat?’

‘Yeah, he can,’ replied Phil. ‘But not at half past six in the morning, mate. So, let’s get to the point. What’s going on? Something happen to you last night?’

‘How did you—’

‘Use your brain, mate. You’re calling me at six thirty a.m. and you’re not at home because I can hear traffic. Have you been out on a bender with your new Manchester mates?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Rob, who had hidden from Phil his lack of social activity since the move. ‘Nothing like that, it’s just, well . . . I need your advice as an impartial observer.’

Phil perked up immediately. ‘Bring it on.’

‘Well, there’s something I haven’t been telling you about life up here,’ began Rob. ‘It’s like this. All the time I’ve been here I haven’t . . . well, I haven’t made any new mates. I’ve been trying but it hasn’t worked out the way I wanted it to.’

‘In what way?’

‘I haven’t made any friends.’

‘None at all? But—’

‘Anyway,’ continued Rob, in a bid to move things on, ‘to cut a long story short, things came to a head on my birthday and, well . . . Ashley came up with this awful plan to find me someone to hang out with and—’

‘What was it?’ asked Phil.

‘What was what?’

‘The plan. Ashley’s big idea.’

‘Mate,’ replied Rob, sorrowfully, ‘believe me, you
don’t
want to know.’

‘Yeah, I do,’ said Phil, unhelpfully.

‘Fine,’ said Rob. ‘There’s a magazine up here called
City List
– it’s a bit like
Time Out
– and she placed an ad in it for me.’

‘Saying what?’