Brand New Friend (30 page)

‘I’m pleased for you,’ said Rob. ‘Looks like everything’s turning out right.’

‘Not everything,’ she replied, gazing into his eyes. There was a long pause. ‘Just in case you were wondering, my book was rejected by every agent I sent it to – all ten. None had much to say beyond “This isn’t for us”, apart from a guy who called me to say he thought I had a “voice” – whatever that means.’

‘Write another novel,’ replied Rob. ‘They obviously think you’ve got talent.’

‘No,’ said Jo, firmly. ‘I’ve done with dreaming. I’m thinking about retraining – doing teaching or something. I need a fresh start.’

‘So you’re giving up just like that?’ asked Rob. ‘What happened to the woman who told me we all need creativity in our lives?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jo.

There was another long silence.

‘Are you here with Ashley?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘But you’re not on your own, are you?’ she said, sounding concerned.

‘And why would it matter to you if I was?’ asked Rob. ‘It’s not like you’re going to ask me to join you and Sean for a drink, is it?’

‘Don’t be like that.’ Jo touched his arm. ‘I know you think I’ve let you down and I’m sorry, okay? But there was no other choice.’

Rob shrugged. ‘I’m with those guys over there,’ he said waving to his friends.

‘Isn’t that Neil?’ asked Jo. ‘I thought you didn’t like him.’

‘Things change,’ said Rob.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she said softly. ‘You were one of the most important people to me in the whole world, Rob. I’ve never been as close to anyone outside my family as I was to you – not even Sean. The last time I saw you I—’

‘Why are you saying all this when it’s just not true?’ Rob cut her short. ‘How could I be more important to you than Sean when you chose him over me? Look, you’ve made your decision and that’s fine. But it wasn’t circumstances that stopped us being friends. It was you.’

Rob saw the hurt in her eyes and knew that his words had had the desired effect but he took no pleasure in it. It didn’t come easily to him to be hard on her. All he wanted to do was put his arms round her and tell her that everything would be okay. But he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive her for ending their friendship.

‘How much do you hate me?’ she asked, tears welling.

‘About as much as you deserve,’ said Rob succinctly. Then he brushed past her and crossed the room to his new friends.

It was now twenty past nine and Rob was listening to Neil tell an anecdote about a weekend in Brighton with Justine when they had first got together. Although he was laughing in all the right places, his mind was elsewhere. His anger with Jo had evaporated, leaving intense regret. She hadn’t deserved the way he had spoken to her, but he had needed to let her know how much he felt she had let him down. He was convinced she could have worked round her feelings for him – they would have faded in time. All it would have taken was patience and their friendship could have been salvaged.

As Neil came to the end of his story Rob decided to find her and apologise. He knew he had to accept that she hadn’t made the decision lightly to end their friendship. Fully committed to his resolution to make amends, he looked over his shoulder to scan the room for her, And something stopped him in his tracks. A fist.

It belonged to Sean.

And it was heading for Rob’s nose at an alarming velocity.

Rob had no time to duck out of the way as they do in films. Neither had he then time to even contemplate how much the blow might hurt when it landed. All he could do was wait for the punch to connect.

When Sean’s fist reached its target Rob was surprised by how much it hurt. It was a shock to discover that something as simple as a tightly packed hand could deliver a blow akin to that of a mallet. And the pain was beyond ordinary pain: it was double-strength, super-sized, and made his head feel as if its contents were fizzing like the inside of a shaken can of Coke. He couldn’t tell if he was still standing (he wasn’t), he couldn’t tell if he was bleeding (he was, profusely) and he couldn’t tell if his nose had been broken by the blow (it hadn’t, although it was quite a mess).

Suddenly there was a lot of commotion, and he could hear Jo yelling at Sean. After a few moments he felt hands pulling him to his feet. He opened his eyes to find that he had been helped up by two of the bar’s weekend door staff, who ejected him, Sean and Jo from the premises and stood in front of the doors making sure no one could get in or out.

Sitting on the pavement outside, Rob tried to stem the flow of blood while Jo crouched next to him with an arm round his shoulders.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. She pulled out a crumpled Kleenex and began to clean his face.

‘I’m fine,’ snapped Rob. His pride was far more damaged than his nose. ‘Just leave me alone, okay?’

‘I know you’re angry,’ said Jo. ‘But—’

‘It’s just a nosebleed,’ replied Rob, and glared at Sean, who was looking on passively.

‘You heard him, Jo,’ said Sean, grabbing her arm. ‘He doesn’t need your help. Let’s go.’

Jo stared at him. ‘Why are you still here? What are you? A six-year-old? You’re such an idiot, Sean. You could’ve really hurt Rob.’

‘That was his intention,’ murmured Rob.

‘This is so typical of you,’ spat Sean. ‘One minute you’re in tears because of something this loser’s said and the next—’

‘I was upset,’ interjected Jo, ‘but I never meant this to happen.’ She sighed heavily and began to cry. ‘Will you go, Sean? Just go and never come back.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

‘It’s over.’ She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘Because of him?’

‘No. Because of you.’

Without a word, Sean walked away, leaving her to cry. Rob put his arms round her and Jo scrabbled in her bag for her tobacco and lighter. Then she threw them back. ‘I’ve run out of papers,’ she said.

‘How about a trip to the off-licence?’ asked Rob.

‘You’re on,’ said Jo, and they stood up. Jo looped her arm through his and they headed along Wilbraham Road for Threshers.

‘How’s your nose?’ she asked. It was raining now and she had to squint to see it.

‘All right,’ he said, touching it gingerly. ‘It’s stopped bleeding at least.’ He turned his face side on to show her the damage. ‘Do you think it’s broken?’

‘How should I know?’ asked Jo. ‘I’ve never seen a broken nose. Does it feel broken?’

‘How should I know? I’ve never had a suspected broken nose.’

‘I think the rain’s easing off.’ She wiped the damp off her face with her sleeve.

‘I’ve missed this,’ said Rob, as they walked.

‘What?’

‘You know . . . This . . .’

‘That’s as soppy as you get, isn’t it?’ said Jo, pulling his arm closer to her. ‘But I know what you mean. Nothing’s been the same without you around – not even
Dirty Dancing.
’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Rob.

‘I tried to watch it a few weeks ago and I got as far as taking it out of the case before I was in floods of tears. I just kept thinking. This is mine and Rob’s film. And do you know what’s wrong about that?’

Rob shrugged.

‘
Dirty Dancing
isn’t “our” film. It’s
my
film. You’d never even seen it until I showed it to you.’ She laughed, then sniffed again. ‘You’ve done the impossible – you’ve ruined it for me.’

‘I’m not sure
ruined
is the right word,’ he replied, grinning. ‘Surely it would have to have been half decent in the first place to be ruined.’ Jo opened her mouth to remonstrate but before she could speak Rob was attempting to redeem himself. ‘But if I did spoil your viewing pleasure I apologise.’

‘Apology accepted. Joking apart, though, I’ve really missed you. Not seeing or talking to you has been the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve nearly called you, then lost my nerve at the last minute.’

‘So, why didn’t you?’ asked Rob. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I meant—’

‘It’s okay. At least it shows you care.’

Rob smiled. ‘It might not be too late for you to patch things up with Bruiser Boy.’

‘After what he did to you?’ said Jo. ‘No, it’s over. Really it is.’

‘But I did sort of ask for it,’ said Rob.

‘Too right you did. But I don’t think there’s any point in me trying to build anything meaningful on such a shaky foundation.’

‘But you said you loved him.’

‘I do,’ she replied, and then she corrected herself: ‘Well, I
did.
I think the main problem with me is that, deep down, I just didn’t want to be alone. You wouldn’t have needed a crystal ball to guess what would have happened if I’d given up the life I’d made here just to be— The second I’d let down my guard he’d have been back to his old ways.’ They stopped outside the off-licence. ‘You’d better wait out here while I get my Rizlas,’ she said, examining the dried blood on his face and clothes. ‘You might scare the girl on the till looking like that.’

As Jo went into the shop Rob walked to the kerb and, although the ground was wet, sat down with his feet in the road. He rested his head in his hands and listened to the traffic. As the damp seeped into his jeans he concentrated on his throbbing nose and worried about how he was going to explain his war wound to Ashley.

‘Feeling sorry for yourself?’

Rob opened his eyes to see Jo standing beside him with a packet of cigarette papers in one hand and a can of Pepsi-Max in the other.

‘This is for you,’ she said, holding out the can. ‘I got it out of the fridge. It’s ice cold. I thought you could rest it on your nose. It might help with the swelling.’

Rob took it from her and did as she had suggested. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Not only am I in pain, I now feel ridiculous.’

She laughed, sat down beside him and rested her head against his shoulder. Then she pulled out her tobacco and, with the newly purchased Rizlas, began to roll a cigarette. A minute later she said, ‘All done,’ and passed it to Rob. ‘There you go.’

Rob was puzzled. ‘What’s this for? You know I haven’t smoked in years.’

‘I know,’ said Jo as she began to make a cigarette for herself. ‘Consider it a peace-offering. I never want to fight with you again.’

A silence fell between the two friends that neither felt inclined to fill. Instead they sat watching the traffic go by on Barlow Moor Road. Jo licked the gummed edge of the paper and rolled up the tobacco. She looked at Rob expectantly.

‘What?’ said Rob.

‘I think you were right,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t in love with you.’

‘So what were you?’

‘That’s just it,’ said Jo. ‘I don’t know.’ She pulled out a yellow lighter and, shielding the flame from the wind, lit her cigarette, took a long drag and held her breath. As she exhaled, a stream of smoke billowed into the air.

‘Do you want to hear an interesting fact?’ said Jo. ‘Eskimos apparently have over fifty different words for snow. Snow’s really important to those guys – I suppose it’s because sometimes the difference between one type and another can mean the difference between life or death.’ She paused and laughed self-consciously. ‘You know they’ve got words for dry snow and wet snow, fluffy snow and compact snow. They’ve got words for snow that comes down fast and for snow that comes down slow – they’ve thought of everything.’

‘That’s a lot of snow,’ commented Rob as his eyes flicked to a scruffy-looking mongrel crossing the road in front of them, oblivious to the night bus hurtling towards it. It only narrowly missed being hit, but continued coolly on its journey to the bin outside the off-licence, which it sniffed studiously, then casually cocked a leg against.

‘So what’s your point?’ asked Rob.

‘Well it’s like this,’ replied Jo. ‘If Eskimos can come up with fifty words for snow because it’s a matter of life or death, why is it that we’ve only got one word for “love”?’

She was gazing at Rob as if he might have an answer, but he was confused.

‘The problem with you and me is that we haven’t got a word for
this . . .
’ She gesticulated with her hands in the space between them. ‘We haven’t got a word for what we are to each other. And that’s a problem. If you haven’t got a word for it, it’s impossible to define, isn’t it? We’re not just friends, are we? And we’re not lovers either. We’re sort of platonic lovers. And although I thought I was in love with you I was wrong. Maybe I thought it was love because that was the only way I could imagine even half-way expressing how I felt about you.’

Rob watched the stray dog return to the edge of the road and wait for a break in the traffic. ‘I get what you’re saying,’ he said, ‘but at the same time I don’t.’

‘Do you remember that time ages ago when we were talking about all the great telly shows that went rubbish and you told me about that website – JumptheShark.com? Well, I was looking at it recently and it occurred to me that nine out of ten people on the forum thought that getting the male and female leads together was the kiss of death for a show. And they’re right. I mean, look at the evidence. Sam and Diane in
Cheers
were never the same once they got together, and neither were Maddy and Dave in
Moonlighting –
oh, and don’t get me started on Niles and Daphne in
Frasier.
It’s as if TV writers can’t put men and women in the same programme without having them get together or have a clear-cut reason why it’ll never happen, like in
Will and Grace.
They’re never just two mates who don’t snog, are they?’

‘No,’ replied Rob. ‘I suppose not. I take it you’ve got a theory on why this is?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Jo. ‘It’s about sex. Thanks to Freud, everyone in the world thinks that the motivation behind everything is sex – wanting it, not getting enough, getting too much. You name it, it’s somewhere in the mix.’