What My Best Friend Did (10 page)

We all chatted away for another hour before Bailey eventually checked his watch and said, “Right, ladies, I have to get back and finish this piece I’m doing on the Marathon Des Sables. It’s this crazy race people do across the Sahara—six days and a hundred and fifty-one miles. In that heat? Can you believe it? I was talking to this guy that did it and he said it nearly killed him, but talk about the ultimate endurance test … I might do it next year.”

Gretchen snorted. “Bet you five hundred quid you don’t.”

He offered her his hand, but at the last minute, before she could shake it, whisked it away and good-naturedly flipped her finger instead. “Thank you both for a really nice brunch.” He stooped and kissed Gretchen’s cheek, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a fat roll of bills. He flicked a ten onto the table and said, “That should cover me.” Gretchen reached for her bag but Bailey held up a hand. “Don’t worry about the change. Alice, I’ll get your number from Gretchen and text you those contact details, OK?”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. He waved cheerfully and I watched him walk out of the restaurant.

“He’s so full of shit.” Gretchen spoke through a mouthful of cold toast. “A hundred and fifty-one miles over six days. He’d never do that. He’s like Tigger—always bouncing into things thinking he likes them and then, oh, discovering he doesn’t. Sorry he went on so much about his traveling.”

“Not at all, it was interesting. Good chat, nice cakes and coffee. I’d say it was the perfect Saturday.” And I meant it.

“It is actually, isn’t it?” she smiled, reaching out and squeezing my arm happily. “Aren’t you going to eat that last bit of muffin? Oh come on, it’s tiny.” She leaned across me and swapped our plates.

“I thought your brother was very nice,” I said.

“Yeah?” She looked up. “Well, he’s single at the moment”—she winked at me—“want me to put in a good word?”

And in the gap where I should have said, “Well actually, you know I told you that I was very casually seeing one of my flatmates? That was a bit of a fib. He’s really my boyfriend of two years, we live together and he wants us to buy a house and get married, so no thank you,” my mouth said nothing. I waited for it to open and to hear myself saying the words but, to my surprise, it didn’t happen.

I didn’t say anything at all. I just sat there wondering if being evasive with the truth was the same thing as lying.

Gretchen waited. “You still involved with that Tom bloke? Or is that properly over now?”

“It’s properly over,” I said.

W
hat would you say if I told you I’d done a very bad thing?” I asked Vic in a low voice, unable to keep quiet a second longer.

“I’d say ‘Ooohhh, tell me more, birthday girl,’” Vic said, linking her arm through mine.

We were strolling lazily through the lush gardens of Versailles, bathed in warm April sunshine. Tom and Luc were chatting earnestly some way ahead of us and I’d been trying to broach telling Vic about my whopping and worrying fib for the last fifteen minutes. It was bad enough that I hadn’t told Gretchen the truth, but that I’d lied about my relationship with Tom to someone at all had been eating me up inside with confusion since the very moment the words had come out of my mouth.

“So Gretchen …” I began, and Vic immediately shot me a sideways look through narrowed eyes.

“Would that be poxy, stupid Gretchen who you’re always out with when I call? It’s such a crap name. Makes her sound like she’s Heidi’s little sister. Does she also keep goats?”

“Er no.” I thought of Gretchen. “That’s about as far removed from her as you could possibly get. You know, I get the feeling you don’t like her,” I teased.

“I totally hate her,” she shot back instantly, “for doing such a blatant snatch-and-grab on my best friend. It’s rude, is what it is.”

I smiled. “You’d actually like her a lot.”

Vic pondered that. “Nope,” she said, “I definitely hate her.”

“Sorry,” I said, shielding my face as I turned to look at her, “I forget, who was it that moved away and abandoned me for some smooth medical git? Oh, that’d be you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Vic grinned, but then her smile faded. “I do miss you though, Al,” she said. “Lots. Just because I’m out here doesn’t mean I don’t think about you loads and stuff. Don’t totally replace me.”

I squinted at her. “You don’t really think that’s what I’m doing, do you?”

“Sometimes,” she confessed. “Well no, not really, but lately you’ve been all ‘Gretchen this and Gretchen that …’ I spoke to Jess the other day and she said you’d blown off her and all of the other uni girls for dinner because you were snowed under with work again, but yet you seem to have plenty of time to spend with her.”

That was true, I did, but it was because Gretch was around a lot during the day to chat and meet up with when I had quieter periods, stretches of time when everyone else—like the uni girls—were at work or in meetings. It was just easy for both of us and nice company. There was no conspiracy.

“I don’t want you to be lonely without me,” Vic said quickly, “I just don’t want you to have a friend you like more than me.”

“Not possible,” I smiled at her. “And you know that.” I meant it too—I liked her and Gretch in completely different ways, but I privately resolved to make more of an effort to phone Vic.

“Tell me a secret she doesn’t know,” Vic said decisively, lightening the tone again.

“Well, that sort of leads me back to the bad thing.” I glanced ahead to make sure the boys were still out of earshot. “I met Gretchen’s brother over coffee and after he left, I told Gretchen I thought he was nice. I meant to talk to and stuff—he’s a travel writer and has been everywhere—but then Gretchen sort of hinted he was single and got all nudge nudge, wink wink, should she put in a good word?”

“What?” Vic looked puzzled. “She knows about Tom though, right?”

“Um,” I scratched my neck uneasily. “Sort of. She thinks I’ve been casually seeing my flatmate.”

“Why does she think that?”

“Because that’s what I told her,” I said and suddenly found I couldn’t look Vic in the eye. There was a pause. “And she asked me if I was still seeing him or if it was over and my mouth said it was over.”

“Alice!” Vic was shocked. “Why on earth did you say that? That’s an out-and-out lie!”

“I know,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t know why I did it and I’ve been driving myself nuts with worry about what it all means.”

“I don’t understand,” Vic said. “You didn’t just tell Gretchen you had a boyfriend when you first met her?”

I hesitated and realized that what I was about to say was not going to make me look good.

“I know this is really sad,” I confessed, “but when we were in LA, everyone was really cool and I got a bit swept up by all of it. I just wanted to seem a little less predictable and settled, a bit edgier … I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me how pathetic that is.” I held up a hand defensively as Vic pulled back slightly and wrinkled her nose at me. “You’d think I’d have grown out of that kind of crap at school, but I actually tried to be one of the cool girls. At age twenty-eight. I’m a complete tool.”

“Twenty-nine now,” Vic pointed out and sighed. “You don’t secretly fancy Gretchen, do you, and that’s why you told her you were single? This isn’t your way of telling me you’ve become a lesbian?”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious. Remember I told you me and Tom had been talking about mortgages and settling down and this horrible smug engagement party we were going to? I felt like the personification of a Boden cardigan.” I sighed. “I just wanted to play at being someone else, someone exciting, I didn’t think I’d wind up being friends with her, and by then it was too bloody embarrassing to come clean.”

“You tit,” laughed Vic. “I wonder if Madonna has this much trouble every time she reinvents herself? Look, it’s no big deal. It’s not like I don’t understand what you get out of being friends with her, Al—she’s fun, lively, glamorous, you don’t have a very deep or demanding friendship—and that’s great for you. You just get to have fun. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“But when she hinted about me and her brother hooking up, I actively said it was over with me and Tom,” I said. “You can’t tell me that’s OK. I feel so guilty about it I can’t even begin to tell you. What the hell was I playing at? That’s not like me—and now, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I keep thinking about him and I’m … feeling confused.”

“By ‘him’ do you mean your boyfriend of two years, Tom, who brought you out here for this surprise birthday trip because he thinks he needs to be more spontaneous and romantic—”

“He said that to you?” Shocked, I shielded my face from the sun again and squinted at her, feeling even worse.

Vic nodded. “Or do you mean the coffee bloke you obviously have a thumping crush on?”

“You think that’s all it is?” I said hopefully. “A crush?”

She pulled a face. “Of course! What does he look like?”

“Tall—”

“If you say ‘dark and handsome’ next, I’ll punch you,” she interrupted.

I ignored her. “He’s got light hair. He’s outdoorsy, obviously works out a lot. At the coffee shop he looked like he’d ridden a wave up to the door of the café and hopped off his board at the last moment, you know? I think he’s a bit edgy though—he’s a travel writer but he had this massive bulging hunk—”

“Oh la la!” Vic grinned.

“—of money,” I gave her a look, “in his back pocket. He’s got these really green eyes too, and a cute bum, and …”

Vic laughed. “Oh please! You just want to shag him, that’s all. Don’t beat yourself up about it! Everyone likes a bit of window-shopping now and then. I’ve got this crush on this bloke I see every day on the Metro and I’ve barely finished unpacking my stuff at Luc’s. He’s so my fantasy shag—although I’m pretty sure he must be gay, he’s that fit.”

“Really?” I said eagerly, relieved, checking again that Tom still couldn’t hear us. “Because I seriously can’t get him out of my head. I keep thinking about how nice he was—he’s creative, well traveled, interesting and”—I blushed—“he told me I had a lovely smile, but then he could just like flirting I guess. He’s funny too, Vic … We had this sort of spark, I’m sure we did.”

“Whoa.” Vic stopped dead in her tracks. “He’s funny?”

I nodded.

“And you had a spark?”

I nodded again and blushed like a fifteen-year-old.

“Oh shit.” She sighed. “Oh poor Tom. What’s this perfect man’s name then?”

“Bailey,” I said dreamily, and she went “Ha!” so loudly the boys turned around and I practically had to push her into a fountain to shut her up. “Their parents really hate them, don’t they?” she said, trying to suppress another snort of laughter. “Bailey … what kind of a name is that?”

“His,” I replied warningly and, wisely, she let it go.

“So are you saying you want to do something about it?” she asked eventually.

“Of course not!” I exclaimed. “He probably has a million women drop at his feet all the time. And he’s Gretchen’s brother! There are rules about that sort of thing.”

“I’d let you hook up with my brother,” she said.

“Vic, your brother is married with three kids.” I looked ahead at Tom and found myself wondering what it would be like to have Bailey walking there instead, talking to Luc. Then I felt awful that the thought had even occurred to me.

“If he were free, I mean. I don’t want
your
brother though.”

I pulled a face. “Don’t blame you,” I agreed. “My parents are going to have to pay some woman to take Phil on. Either that or move to a country where conscription is still legal. His exams start soon—God knows what we’ll do if he fails them. Mum and Dad are wetting themselves with worry, mostly that he’ll be living with them forever.”

“Why do you have to do anything about it if Phil fucks up? Let your mum and dad sort it out, it’s not your problem, Al. You need to be a bit more selfish.”

I fell silent. Vic occasionally got this way about my family. I knew she liked them immensely, but she had also made it very clear that she thought I got the rough end of the family deal.

“Anyway, you realize of course you made no mention of Tom in your reasons why you won’t pursue Bailey?” Vic said, after a short pause. “Which, technically, one could argue should be top of your list?” I was absolutely horrified to realize with a jolt that she was right.

We fell silent and walked a little further.

“What’s sex like?” she said, after a moment.

“A sort of special hug with someone you love. Ask Luc to show you.”

She sighed. “Ha ha. You can joke all you like. I know you’re only doing it because you’re freaking out. I meant between you and Tom, as well you know.”

“It’s OK,” I said. “Nice.” Which was true, it was—when we did it. A bit like watching a repeat episode of
Friends
: comforting, and I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“Hmm,” she said doubtfully. “Just nice?”

“Vic, we’ve been together a couple of years. That’s normal, in fact that’s good.”

“OK, well maybe all this is just a panic reaction because Tom’s decided it’s time you two took things to the next level?” she continued. “Maybe you’re just not ready for that yet?”

I shook my head. “He hasn’t said anything about that for months, I’d have told you if he had. He was all fired up about starting to look for somewhere to buy but then Paolo moved in and it’s like the conversation never even happened.”

“Al,” said Vic slowly, “do you think there’s a chance you might never be ready—for him?”

“I … don’t know.”

The words floated lightly on the air around us but I suddenly felt indescribably heavy and sad, because as I heard myself say them, I realized, for the first time, that I actually was having serious doubts about me and Tom. This wasn’t just him annoying me with a bit of anal attention to detail or me frustrating him with my cavalier approach to household security, but a real, actual problem. And yet there was no question at all that I loved him. I did, definitely. When I thought about the people I loved—my mum and dad, Fran, Phil, Vic—I knew I felt that way about Tom too.