Brand New Friend (16 page)

‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Rob.

‘Fire away.’

‘Ever since the night I met you at that party, you’ve never said any more about the novel you told me you’d written.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jo. ‘I know.’

‘But why?’

‘Because there’s nothing to say. I wrote a novel. It wasn’t very good and it didn’t get published.’

‘But you sent it to a publisher?’

‘No,’ said Jo. ‘It was too rubbish. There was no point.’

‘But how do you know it was rubbish?’

‘Because I read it and it was.’

‘Did anyone else read it?’

Jo paused. ‘Well, my brother Ryan took a look at it but . . .’

‘What did he think?’

Jo smiled. ‘He told me it was the best thing he’d ever read.’

‘Maybe it really is good.’

Jo shook her head. ‘Ryan only said it was because that’s what big brothers do – the nice ones, anyway.’

‘Maybe he wasn’t just saying it to be nice,’ said Rob. ‘Maybe he really thinks it’s good.’

‘Maybe.’

‘When do I get to read it?’ asked Rob.

‘Look,’ said Jo, ‘I know you’re trying to be nice and I don’t want to be rude but that’s not going to happen, okay?’

‘But—’

‘No buts,’ said Jo, firmly, then stood up, making it clear that the discussion was over. ‘I’m going to the bar to get another drink. Do you want one?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Rob, wondering why her book was such a sore subject. ‘I’ll have another Guinness.’

‘One Guinness coming up. And when I get back can we talk about something else?’

‘Yes,’ said Rob, confused by her mood change. ‘Of course.’

When Jo returned to their table, with a packet of prawn-cocktail crisps between her teeth and a pint of Guinness in each hand she was back to normal. She put down the drinks, tore open the crisps and immediately ploughed into an in-depth discussion of the film director Ken Loach: she’d cried virtually non-stop for two days after seeing
Ladybird Ladybird.
‘I haven’t watched a Ken Loach film since,’ she confessed, grinning, ‘and he’s one of my favourite directors.’

At the end of the evening Rob walked Jo to the Buzzy Bee minicab office and while they waited for a car to arrive for her they talked about work, their plans for the coming weekend and when they might meet up next. Soon, she was in the back of a silver Ford Orion, and Rob was walking home in the rain, wondering why their exchange about her book had upset her so much.

Ashley:
Good night out?

Rob:
Yeah, it was.

Ashley:
And how are things with Joe? Is he up to anything new?

Rob
[pauses]: Nah,
Jo
’s not up to anything new.

Ashley:
Hmmm. [Pauses.] What did you say Joe does for a living?

Rob
[pauses]:
Jo
works for a housing association in Moss Side.

Ashley:
That sounds interesting. What does he do?

Rob
[pauses]: Did you hear that?

Ashley:
What?

Rob:
Oh, I thought I heard a noise outside. Probably the nextie’s cat.

Ashley:
I didn’t hear anything.

Rob:
No? Oh, well. Must be me. [Pauses.] How’s your mum?

Ashley:
Fine. Nothing much to report. [Pauses.] Has he got a girlfriend?

Rob
[pauses]: Who?

Ashley:
Joe.

Rob:
No, Jo has not got a girlfriend.

Ashley:
That’s a shame. Does he mind being single?

Rob
[pauses]: Does Jo mind being single? Not as far as I know.

Ashley:
You should invite him round here and I could invite Bryony too – she’s single at the moment and definitely on the lookout for some new talent.

Rob
[quickly]: Believe me, it wouldn’t work.

Ashley:
Why? Don’t you think she’s attractive enough for Joe?

Rob:
Trust me. As lovely as Bryony is, I guarantee she is definitely not Jo’s type.

During all of these occasions, Rob was pleased to note that there hadn’t been the slightest hint of sexual tension between him and Jo.

Nothing.

It was as if he was blind to the fact that she was a woman and as if she was blind to the fact that he was a man. They were no more and no less than just good friends.

As childish as Rob’s plan had been, there was no doubt that its chief success had been in avoiding confrontation, thereby ensuring a peaceful home life. Thanks to his failure to correct Ashley when she used ‘he’, ‘him’ or ‘his’ in relation to Jo, and that he never referred to her with a personal pronoun, Rob could go about his business with her as he pleased. And while it didn’t make him feel good about himself, he no longer felt like a friendless loser. He had a friend and he was happy with her.

Rob was now seeing Jo twice a week, depending on Ashley’s work and social timetable. When Ashley went out with her friends, Rob went out with Jo. If Ashley was working nights and he fancied a bit of company he phoned Jo. As far as Rob was concerned, it made Ashley, Jo and himself happy. Ashley benefited from having a considerably less grumpy boyfriend, Jo benefited from feeling less lonely, and Rob had his little piece of independence.

The knock-on effect of Rob now being in possession of a social life was that he felt more inclined to make the time he spent with Ashley seem special: he was more attentive, talkative and romantic than he had been in months. It wasn’t guilt that had brought about the change: it was Jo. Now that he no longer obsessed about his lack of friends he could see that he had neglected Ashley and, like any good boyfriend, he reasoned that he should make amends for it. He took her away on her weekend off, left notes around the house for her to discover when he was in London on business, and generally behaved like top-grade boyfriend material.

Inevitably, though, with a plan as flawed as Rob’s, it was only a matter of time before something came along to threaten it. One Saturday in August, just a few weeks into his covert friendship with Jo, Ashley’s friends had been round for a barbecue after a scorching summer’s day. Rob had enjoyed the evening far more than he had expected to: Mia wasn’t as irritating as usual; Luke wasn’t as boorish; Lauren’s braying-hyena snort of a laugh, though still unattractive, didn’t make him want to scream. And even Neil, seemed slightly less . . . well, like Neil. None of it, however, had anything to do with Rob coming round to liking Ashley’s friends. It was all down to one thing: that he now had a friend of his own. With Jo in his life, he was not only becoming a nicer person to be around but also seeing other people in a better light.

‘Well, that was good,’ said Ashley, entering the kitchen with three empty bottles of Sancerre, a plastic carrier-bag containing empty beer cans and a couple of empty bottles of vodka. ‘Everyone seemed to have a good time.’ She made eye contact with Rob. ‘Even you.’

‘I did actually,’ said Rob. ‘I don’t know how that happened.’

‘I do,’ said Ashley. ‘You’ve been so much happier and more positive about life since you started hanging out with Joe. Don’t you think?’

Rob shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

‘I do,’ said Ashley. ‘Believe me, I can see the change in you. It’s almost like you’ve been given a new lease on life.’

Suddenly Rob felt uncomfortable. ‘Do you fancy going out to dinner somewhere nice next week?’

Ashley scrutinised him. ‘Why do you always do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘I’ve noticed recently that every now and again when we’re talking about one thing you change the subject for no good reason.’

‘I don’t do I?’

‘Yes,’ said Ashley, ‘you do. Is something wrong?’

‘No,’ said Rob. ‘I just want to take you out. Is it a crime to want to spend some quality time with your girlfriend when she’s been working so hard?’

‘Not yet,’ said Ashley, only half joking. ‘But how about this? Instead of you taking me out for dinner next week why don’t we invite Joe round for the evening? I’m dying to meet him. It’s weird that you’ve said so little about him. I’ve got a picture in my head of him being a cross between Phil and Woodsy. Is that what he’s like?’

‘You want Jo to come round for dinner?’ spluttered Rob.

‘Nothing too flashy. A simple supper, really. It would be nice to meet him. After all, we’ve spent tonight with my friends so it’s only fair I do the same with yours. Plus I’d like the opportunity to get to know him.’ She laughed and added, ‘Y’know, make sure he’s not leading you astray.’

‘Jo’s
really
busy next week,’ said Rob. ‘A lot on at work, apparently.’

‘Does that mean you won’t be seeing him for a drink then?’ said Ashley. ‘You’ll be miserable if you don’t.’

Rob cursed himself inwardly. Through her unfailing niceness Ashley had got him well and truly boxed in. If he gave her the impression that Jo was too busy to come to dinner he wouldn’t be able to see her, but if he told her Jo was free she wouldn’t rest until he had agreed to proffer the invitation.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Rob, ‘how about this? I’ll give Jo a call, find out how next week’s looking and arrange a date. How does that sound?’

‘Excellent.’

With his brain working overtime as he tried to think of a way out of the situation Rob headed into the hallway to get his mobile phone from the table where he’d left it. He scrolled through the numbers until he found Jo’s, which rather than being located under her Christian name ‘Jo’ was under her surname ‘Richards’.

‘It’s me,’ said Rob, when she answered.

‘Hey, you,’ she said. ‘What are you up to?’

Rob laughed nervously. ‘I was just wondering how you’re fixed next week.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, are you busy?’

‘If you mean had I planned to spend every night next week rewatching my small but perfectly formed DVD collection, the answer is yes. Although I’d planned to see you – oh, and Kerry’s invited me to hers next Friday, but other than that it’s just me and the DVDs. Why?’

‘Because Ashley wants to invite you round for dinner.’

‘She wants me to come to yours?’

‘Yeah.’

‘For dinner?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How did she sound when she asked you?’

‘What do you mean, “How did she sound?” She sounded like Ashley.’

‘The thing is, Rob, you’ve never really told me how Ashley is about you hanging out with me. I never liked to ask because I thought it wasn’t my business. But . . . I don’t know . . . I’m pretty sure that if Sean had started hanging out with some girl he’d met down the pub I’d want to invite her round for dinner so that I could get close enough to her to scratch her eyes out.’ Jo laughed. ‘I’m only joking but you know what I mean. You and I know that there’s nothing going on between us but I just want to know that Ashley’s cool with us being friends because . . . well because I don’t want
my
eyes scratched out – I sort of need them for seeing and stuff.’

‘Oh, she’s fine about it,’ said Rob, preparing to stretch the truth right to its elastic limits. ‘That’s why she wants you to come round. She was just saying that hanging out with you has made me a much less miserable bugger to live with.’

‘Really?’ said Jo, evidently impressed. ‘Well, in that case I’d love to come.’

‘How does Thursday night sound?’ asked Rob.

‘Great,’ said Jo. ‘Tell Ashley I’m really looking forward to it.’

Rob pressed the end-call button and sat down on the bottom stair to contemplate his situation. Jo had been right: he had never told her how Ashley felt about them being friends because many women, unlike men, lived by a weird honour-based belief system that meant empathy was obligatory with the sufferings of womankind in general. It was why Rob’s mother was obsessed with the books of Catherine Cookson, and why Ashley was more affected by the medical problems of women her own age than anyone else’s. And it was why Jo had imagined herself in Ashley’s shoes even though they had never met. And Rob had reasoned that if he told Jo the truth, it might have resulted in Jo empathising so much with Ashley that she might have come to the conclusion that their friendship would be impossible to maintain, and that was something he didn’t want to happen if he could help it.

Now, of course, he was in an impossible position. Ashley was going to meet Jo and World War Three would break out. Of this he had no doubt. In his life, Rob had only ever witnessed women at war in disputes over men. From long-ago hair-pulling scream-a-thons in Bedford’s Shangri-la wine bar to hard stares and the occasional If-I-see-that-bitch-talking-to-my-boyfriend-again-there’ll-be-trouble’ at London venues in his twenties, the cause was always the same: men.

It was five to eight and Rob was in the kitchen with Ashley, helping her put the finishing touches to the starter they would soon be eating: grilled goat’s cheese with a lemon and pepper dressing. Since she’d got home from the supermarket Ashley had already prepared the main course (swordfish steaks in a Japanese marinade with new potatoes and broad beans) and had asked him make sure the house was tidy.

Today was D-day. And, as far as Rob was concerned, the end of life as he knew it. Perhaps even the end of life itself. Rob couldn’t help but feel short-changed that instead of the usual fourscore and twenty he was getting a measly thirty-three years, even though, on the whole, they had been quite good ones. Ashley would detonate the moment she found out that Joe was Jo. He could see no way round it. Several times during the week he had wondered whether it might be safer to confess all before the dinner took place but each time he had concluded that a better option would be to bury his head a bit deeper in the sand and hope for a miracle.