‘I might have made out that things were okay with Jason and me but, seeing as we’re being honest about stuff, the past year has been seriously grim…’
Ninety minutes later, we’d emptied the bottle and Clare was up-to-date.
‘You make out like it was some major decision about the shop,’ she said. ‘But you hate your job, you hate London and you’re suddenly single. Surely your Auntie Kay’s offer was a no-brainer. I doubt many people get handed a successful business for free doing something they absolutely love.’
‘I don’thateany of those things. I just don’t love them anymore.’ Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘It’s semantics but it was a really tough decision. There were pros and cons to each.’
‘Don’t tell me you got your Post-it notes out.’
I rolled off the bed and opened my wardrobe doors. Stuck to the inside of the left door were a stack of brightly coloured Post-it notes listing the pros and cons of staying in London and, on the right door, a Whitsborough Bay list. I pointed to them. ‘Busted!’
Clare picked up her glass again, drained it and then put it back down. ‘I can’t believe you make all your major life decisions through Post-it notes.’
‘It helps structure my thinking.’
She shook her head. ‘I trust I’m top of your pros list for staying here?’
‘Of course. In capitals.’
‘I should think so too.’ She squinted across the room. ‘I don’t believe it. You’ve colour coded them this time, haven’t you?’
‘And my pen colours,’ I said, realising too late that it probably wasn’t something to be proud of.
‘That is so pitiful, I could cry for you. Remind me again why I’m friends with you?’
I smiled. ‘Because nobody else will put up with your bolshiness.’
‘Fair point.’ She stood up and headed towards the wardrobes then turned around again and nodded at her glass. ‘I’m empty.’
When I returned, she was standing in front of the wardrobe looking down the lists.
‘I see Elise is at the top of your pro list for home and your con list for here,’ she said without turning around.
‘And, as already stated, you’re at the top of my con list for home and my pro list for here,’ I said.
‘I suppose.’ She shut the wardrobe doors. ‘I could have helped you move your stuff home, you know. You didn’t have to enlist her.’
‘Her uncle has a van. It made sense for her to drive it down rather than hire one and have the dilemma of where to return it to.’
‘When’s she coming?’
‘Tomorrow at lunchtime. She’d have come today but there’s some family thing she can’t avoid.’
‘In that case, I’ll reluctantly help you pack today providing you keep the wine flowing, but you’ll have to manage without me tomorrow.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine. Glad we’ve got that sorted. Will you start packing now or are you going to waste the rest of the day gossiping?’
I opened a drawer and threw an old T-shirt to her. While she changed, I pulled a chair over to the wardrobe to climb on, trying to push aside her negativity towards Elise. It hurt that my two closest friends hated each other and I was always stuck in the middle.
Elise had been my best friend since our first day at primary school. I’d retreated to a corner of the classroom, sobbing my heart out after my mum left me. The teacher had obviously lost patience in trying to soothe me and had left me to it. After thirty minutes or so, I had no tears left but was too scared to join any of the other children playing, so I’d sat with my head buried under my jumper until a gentle voice said, ‘Will you play in the sand pit with me, please?’ I’d pulled my jumper off my head and looked up to see a pretty little redhead standing over me with a bucket and spade in one hand and her other hand outstretched to take mine.
My friendship with Clare had also been forged while I was in tears but many years later on my first day at Manchester University. My parents had just left me in the dark, grotty room that was to be my home for the next year. Surrounded by boxes and suitcases and wondering where to start unpacking, the enormity of leaving home to live in a huge city hit me and a feeling of absolute loneliness engulfed me. I suddenly pictured myself like Uncle Alan, all alone, with no friends and nothing to do but sit in the library studying. The floodgates opened. I jumped when an Irish voice declared loudly, ‘Jesus, I thought my room was a shit-hole but yours definitely wins the prize for dump of the year.’
I looked up to see a tall girl leaning against the doorframe. She was the most stunning female I’d ever seen in real life: legs up to her armpits, long blonde hair so shiny that she looked fresh out of a shampoo advert, and eyes as green as emeralds. ‘I’m Clare O’Connell.’ She didn’t wait for me to give my name, just continued talking. ‘Have you never heard of travelling light? Jesus, how many suitcases and boxes does one girl need? You’d think you were here for ten years at a time, not ten weeks.’ She moved over to a crate holding my CDs and started rummaging. ‘At least your taste in music is okay.Oh, wait. I spoke too soon. This album is a bag of shite.’ She picked out a CD – can’t remember what now – and tossed it in the bin. Through my tears, I stared at her then at the bin. I didn’t know whether to shout at her or laugh.
‘It’ll take you forever to get all this crap in order and there are far better ways we could be spending our time right now. We’re off to the pub.’
