Brand New Friend (25 page)

‘Not for a while,’ replied Rob. ‘We’re both pretty good at saving so money’s not the problem. It’s the organisational stuff that’s the pain. In the meantime we’ve decided that getting engaged is too good an excuse for a party to miss and so we’re throwing a bit of an impromptu do at ours at the end of the month. Ashley’s got it sorted on the catering front and the boys are coming up from London so you’ll meet them. It should be a laugh.’

‘It sounds it,’ said Jo, evenly. ‘I’ll be there.’ She looked at her watch again. ‘Time’s running out.’ She knocked back the last of her drink and got up. ‘Let’s go and get the tickets.’

Together they made their way to the box office where they bought two tickets for a Polish film Rob had never heard of but Jo had seen a vaguely positive review about in a Sunday newspaper. As he took his seat next to her and the lights went down, Rob realised he didn’t care about the film: he was just relieved to be in the dark watching a film in a language he couldn’t understand because it meant that – for the duration of the film at least – he could be alone with his thoughts.

And by the end of the film Rob had come to the conclusion that the mistake of sharing a bed with Jo was no longer anything to feel guilty about. They had proved to themselves and each other that nothing was going on between them. He had moved on and so had Jo. And now they could get back to doing what they did best: being good friends.

Which was what they did. During the run-up to the engagement party they went to the Lazy Fox, called each other at work, made trips to the cinema and saw bands just as they had before. And as far as they were concerned everything was back to normal.

‘Jo,’ said Rob. ‘This is Phil.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Jo.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ replied Phil. ‘Rob said you’re an author.’

‘He’s exaggerating,’ said Jo, grinning at Rob. ‘I’ve sent a few copies of a book I wrote years ago to some literary agents but that’s all. Rob seems to think I might get lucky.’

‘Well,’ replied Phil, grinning, ‘never let it be said that Rob doesn’t have a good eye for talent.’

‘Ignore him,’ said Rob, scowling at his friend. ‘He thinks he’s the Don Juan of Tooting.’

Jo laughed. ‘How are you liking Manchester?’ she asked.

‘A lot,’ said Phil. ‘It’s like London but more compact.’ He laughed and then added, ‘Has Rob told you about last night yet?’

‘What happened?’

‘It was a good night but it all got a bit lairy towards the end – you know what large groups of men are like when they get together. But it wouldn’t have been like that if you’d come. What happened?’

‘I’ve had a rough week,’ said Jo, ‘and I thought I’d better save myself for tonight.’

‘Wise choice.’

‘Do you want a drink?’ asked Rob, noticing that Jo was without one.

‘A vodka and tonic would be great,’ she said.

‘Right.’ Rob turned to Phil: ‘Can you look after her while I sort her out a drink?’

‘Of course, mate,’ said Phil. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

It was eight thirty on the evening of Rob and Ashley’s engagement party. Their Victorian terraced house was now groaning under the strain of their immediate family (parents, brothers and sisters), their extended family (aunts, uncles, their various ex-wives and ex-husbands, cousins, second cousins and their partners). The majority of the guests, however, were made up of their friends – from school, college, university, work and elsewhere. Ashley had spent most of the evening introducing Rob to friends of hers whom he had only known by name, ranging from people she had met on her first day at Brownies to those she had come across during her medical career.

He was pleased that all of his London friends were there. They had arrived on Friday night (minus wives and girlfriends) armed with sleeping-bags. Once the living room had been turned into a makeshift campsite, Rob had ordered taxis to take them into town for what became known as ‘The Big Night Out In the North’. Jo was supposed to have come too but just as the boys headed into the Old Wellington, she called Rob to say that she wasn’t feeling well but promised to be at the party. Disappointed but buoyant, Rob had led his mates on a barhopping spree, and then to the best curry house in Rusholme. They had ended the evening with dancing, and more drinking, at Sankey’s Soap on Jersey Street. And as they rolled up outside Rob and Ashley’s just after six the following morning, they all agreed that it had been their best night out in years.

‘Rob tells me you and he are pretty close,’ said Phil, giving Jo his full attention.

‘Yeah, we are,’ replied Jo, wondering if she was imagining that Phil was flirting with her. ‘He and Ashley have been really kind to me.’

‘They’re a good couple,’ said Phil. ‘I was sorry when he moved up here but it all seems to have turned out well . . . Would you like to meet the rest of the boys?’

She followed him across the room to the hi-fi where a group of men were arguing over which CD to play next.

‘Ashley made the mistake of telling them they could be in charge of the music,’ explained Phil. ‘You can’t say that to five men and hope there won’t be a major argument.’

Jo laughed. ‘How come you’re not arguing too?’

‘And miss talking to you? Never.’ He proceeded to introduce her to the others but then suddenly Woodsy, who had been carefully scrutinising the contents of the CD racks next to the hi-fi, pulled out a CD and waved it in the air. ‘Problem solved, boys,’ he said. ‘I’ve just found
Queen’s Greatest Hits.
’

Jo watched as Ian Two took it from him, scanned the CD’s track-listing, then dropped it into the CD player and shuffled through the songs.

‘Which one are you going for?’ asked Woodsy.

‘Which one do you think?’ said Ian Two, with a grin, as his finger hovered over the play button. ‘Gentlemen, prepare to rock!’

Within milliseconds of the first piano note of the intro to Queen’s classic anthem ‘Somebody To Love’, an infectious grin had spread across the men’s faces. And when Freddie Mercury sang the opening line, they joined in. Half-way through Rob came in and yelled, ‘You should have told me we were doing Queen!’ It was like one of those almost compulsory moments in modern romantic comedies where all the cast breaks into song, but now no one was in tune, only the boys were singing – everyone else in the room looked stunned – and it was happening in a living room in Chorlton instead of on a film set in Hollywood.

When the song ended, Phil wiped the sweat off his forehead and turned down the volume. Then they composed themselves, tucking in shirts and adjusting waistbands.

‘You lot are such good friends,’ said Jo, still laughing. ‘Good friends?’ repeated Phil, ‘we’re not good friends. We’re the best.’

It was ten o’clock and Jo had been dancing with Rob’s friends for half an hour. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had so much fun and met so many people with whom she had felt a rapport. She had already listened to so many of Rob’s tales about them (everything from the origins of their annual golf day through to why Ian Two could no longer bend his little finger) that Jo had felt she knew them well before she met them, but she hadn’t known how much she would like them. They made her laugh, they had interesting things to say and they were so laid back that she forgot she was the only woman among them.

She was about to take a breather from dancing (to yet another one of Woodsy’s musical selections: ‘The Only Way is Up’ by Yazz) and roll herself a cigarette when the music stopped and Rob clapped his hands. ‘Can I have everyone’s attention for a few moments? I’ve got a few things I need to say.’

Everyone stopped talking and gave him a round of applause.

‘Good evening, everyone,’ he began. ‘I just wanted to say a few words to put tonight into some sort of context, and to thank all of our friends and family for making the effort to be here. The first time I met Ashley I knew she was someone special but I didn’t know how special until tonight – because if the way I feel now that she has accepted my proposal of marriage is any indicator of our future happiness, my life with her will be everything I ever hoped for.’ He picked up the can of Carlsberg he had set down on a bookshelf. ‘I know you aren’t drinking champagne tonight – because my future wife and I are such cheapskates – but I’d still like you to raise whatever it is you’re drinking, be it beer, vodka or even PG Tips, in a toast to Ashley. My future wife.’

The room broke out in spontaneous applause, then toasted Ashley. Jo, her eyes fixed on Rob, smiled and raised her glass too. But it was only when the music came back on and conversation got going again that she realised she was crying. She put her drink on the mantelpiece and quickly left the room, desperately wiping away the tears that were beginning to roll down her cheeks. She made her way to the front door and outside into the night. Once in the darkness of the side entry, she finally let the tears flow freely.

‘Are you all right?’

Jo whirled around to see Phil standing a few feet away from her.

‘I’m not feeling very well, that’s all,’ said Jo, wondering if he could tell that she was lying. ‘I’ll call a taxi in a minute or two.’

‘Tell you what,’ said Phil, ‘why don’t I take you home? I could do with a bit of peace and quiet.’

‘I couldn’t let you do that,’ said Jo. ‘Anyway, you’ve been drinking.’

‘Half a can of Guinness,’ he replied. ‘I think I over did it last night with the boys . . . and, well, these days my ability to recover from a bit of a session is somewhat diminished.’ He paused. ‘So?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Jo. ‘A lift would be great.’

‘Do you want to come in?’ asked Jo, as they pulled up outside her house. ‘I’m not really tired, are you?’

‘I’m wide awake,’ replied Phil.

Jo climbed out of the car and made her way up her front path, fishing in her bag for her keys to the front door. She heard the beep of the car’s central locking system and turned to see Phil coming up the path behind her.

All evening Jo had thought Phil might be flirting with her but she couldn’t tell why. Did he do it with all women, as a matter of course, or did he actually like her? In spite of her feelings for Rob she did find Phil attractive: it wasn’t just that he was easy on the eye (although he was); it wasn’t even that she found him charming (although she did). It was that being with Phil reminded her so much of being with Rob. Their personalities were different – Phil was far more laid back and exuded a lot more self-confidence than Rob – but she could see exactly why they were such good friends. And when Rob had introduced her to Phil something inside her had told her that they were on the same wavelength. It had reminded her of when she had met Rob at the party in Didsbury all those months ago, and felt as though she had known him all her life.

‘Welcome to my bachelorette pad,’ said Jo, opening the front door. ‘I apologise now for any random items of underwear, piles of to-do ironing and washing-up that you might come across on your travels.’

‘No worries,’ said Phil. ‘Sounds like Woodsy’s and my place in London.’

Jo led Phil into the living room, took off her coat, kicked off her shoes and began to roll a cigarette on the sofa. Phil made his way over to the shelves near Jo’s TV that housed her CD and vinyl record collection.

‘You’re such a typical boy,’ she said as he began flicking through the music. ‘That’s just what Rob did when he first came round here.’

‘We can’t help it. I think we’re both programmed that way. It’s always been the first thing we do whenever we go somewhere new.’

‘Like psychological profiling?’ asked Jo, studying her now perfectly formed rollie.

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘More like nosy neighbours.’

‘Well, before you start criticising – as I know you will – can I just say that my ex took most of the good CDs. All he’s left me with is the stuff from my student days that I didn’t sell or give away.’

‘It’s the vinyl I’m interested in,’ said Phil still flicking. ‘It’s like a blast from the past – you’ve got five Smiths albums.’

‘I loved them
so
much,’ said Jo lighting up her cigarette. ‘Morrissey was my complete and utter hero back then.’

‘And The Wedding Present’s
George Best
,’ said Phil, brandishing it eagerly. ‘A classic.’

‘They were my other favourites,’ said Jo. ‘At university I once went out with a guy just because he looked a little like the lead singer, Dave Gedge. He had the gruff Leeds accent too. But we split up after about a fortnight. The reality just couldn’t live up to the fantasy. That’s the thing about counterfeits – they’re just not the real thing are they?’

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘I suppose not.’ He returned to flicking through the records. After a few moments he stopped and pulled out another album. ‘Can I put this on?’ he said.

‘What is it?’ she asked joining him on the carpet near the TV.

‘The Sundays –
Reading, Writing and Arithmetic.
’

Jo took it from him, grinning inanely. ‘I can’t tell you how much I loved this album. It was the complete soundtrack to my late teens. I used to play “Can’t Be Sure” all the time.’

‘Well let’s play it then,’ said Phil.

‘Can’t,’ said Jo, flicking the ash from her cigarette onto her makeshift ashtray – an old tea-stained saucer by the fireplace. ‘I haven’t got a record deck. Mine broke years ago and Sean took his when he moved out.’

‘Never mind,’ said Phil grinning. ‘We’ll just have to think of something else to do.’

Jo put down the record and carefully rested her cigarette on the saucer. There was now no doubting that he was flirting with her. But she didn’t mind at all. In fact she was pleased because if she was thinking about Phil then she knew she couldn’t be thinking about Rob. And so without saying a word she leaned in towards Phil and kissed his neck and then his chin and then finally she kissed his lips.