She Just Can't Help Herself

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I shrug. ‘Well, I did consider that “cute” new barman who started here last week as a potential father. Obviously, your husband too, but then thought, no. Even though we know he has good swimmers, it might be a bit weird for our friendship group. Definitely not Kian either. But more because his head is a weird shape. Carter was very lucky not to have inherited that.’ I growl at her. ‘Of course, I mean Greg, Suze. Greg is my boyfriend. If I am going to have a child with anyone it will be Greg.’

‘Right …’

‘Yes, Greg. Greg is my Mr Right. And you can blow fag smoke in my face for rolling out that mawkish old chestnut.’

‘Look, T …’ She is still looking out over the pond. ‘I’m not saying Rollo is the ultimate catch. I mean, I look at him when he is doing that trick with the cereal and think, how the hell did I end up with someone who thinks spraying cornflakes out of their mouth and all over the kitchen in the style of a burst New York fire hydrant is funny? But you know what, the kids find it funny. They love how funny he is. They love him. And he loves them—despite their clear lack of respect for anyone bar the waiting staff at specialist chicken restaurants or the sales assistants at Schuh. And he loves me. He always has. From our party-mad years right through to the staid, middle-class perjury we serve now, he has loved me. And I know that when we are old and dec—’

I interrupt her. ‘Why are we talking about Rollo? I’ve already said I think it would be odd if he sperminated me.’ I continue the joke, purely to give Suze a chance to re-consider what she is about to say. But she doesn’t.

She turns back to me. ‘You know what I am getting at.’

‘Would it be the same thing you were getting at about twenty minutes ago, when you shot me a look after Greg was reluctant to sing “Happy Birthday” again?’

‘Well, it’s not as if he’s gone out of his way to make it a very special day for you, is it, T?’

‘That’s unfair, Suze. He doesn’t have the funds which Rollo does. He works at a bar, your husband works at The Bar … it pays a lot better.’

‘I’m not talking financially, just in terms of effort.’

‘Hang on, it was your idea we came to The Croft because of the outside space for Jasper to re-enact a hunt-to-kill mission on Evie. Besides, we’ve got our weekend away in London to look forward to.’

‘Only because you suggested it about five minutes ago. He was quite happy to be going on a piss up with the boys—totally disregarding the dinner you had arranged over at your parents’, I may add. The addition of some time with you—romantic or otherwise—was an afterthought, of yours.’

I growl at her. ‘Whenever you have a couple of glasses of wine, you cannot wait to start carping about Greg.’

‘That is not true,’ she retorts, then laughs. ‘Let me assure you I carp about him when I haven’t been drinking too, but behind your back.’

‘Suze! This is serious. You’re my best friend. He’s my boyfriend. It’s going to stay that way. I’d really like it if you could build a proper relationship with him. There must be something you like about him. You’ve shared enough cigarettes with him over the years.’

‘I’m not saying he’s a bad person, T. All girls are meant to faintly disapprove of their best friend’s boyfriend.’

‘But it’s more than that with you …’

She pauses again, then takes a deep breath. ‘I guess it’s because of … because of everything you went through. I saw you go through it.’

‘… and “through” is the operative word. I am over it. Partly thanks to you, because you were there for me throughout. Why are you being like this, Suze?’

She swallows hard even though she has no wine left.

‘T …’

‘What?’

‘I want you to be sure.’

‘I am sure. I’ve been sure for a while. But the other day …’ I swallow hard too. ‘I saw her.’

‘Who?’

‘Her.’

‘Her?’

‘Her.’

Suze sucks in her cheeks. ‘What the fuck? Where?’

‘In London … at a launch I went to for my blog. Catwalk were sponsoring the party. I had no idea.’

‘Shitting hell! What did you say?’

‘Nothing. She didn’t say anything either.’

‘And that was it? T! This is HUGE!’

‘It’s not.’

‘T! You saw Ashley Atwal? You saw Ashley Atwal? YOU SAW ASHLEY ATWAL?’

‘Shooooosh, keep your voice down. Please. Look, it happened. It’s over. It’s done.’

Suze’s face contorts as she digests the information. But then she shakes her head at me.

‘And this apparently non-event has changed your mind about everything?’

‘Of course not! For God’s sake, Suze, you know me … I’m not the kind of person who makes decisions without thinking things through so thoroughly I even bore myself, but seeing her forced me to examine whether I was ready. Truly ready. Not because I want to change the past. Because I am living in the present.’ I highlighted this sentence in one of my psych books on cognitive therapy. I found the books more helpful than the therapists. ‘Do you understand?

‘Mmmm, and I’m …’

‘I think the word is ‘happy’, Suze. You are happy for me.’

She pulls me to her. Our embrace is stiff. As I pull away, I hear a guitar being strummed. I twist round. So does Suze. Immediately, both of us gulp for air.

Her sudden need for oxygen is down to shock. Mine is down to a overwhelming sense of love. Okay, and shock. Greg is standing on top of the table where we had eaten our lunch and is playing his acoustic guitar. Within seconds, everyone in the beer garden has stopped talking. They are staring at Greg. But he is only focused on one person … me. He starts to sing a song I don’t recognise, but when he hits what appears to be the chorus, there is one word I am familiar with; Tanya. Tanya. TANYA. He makes it rhyme with ‘I want ya’. From beside me, I hear Suze mutter, ‘Move over, Ed Sheeran … ‘. The other punters are swaying in time to the music and offering Greg encouraging whoops. By the time he has got to the chorus for the second time, a few of them have a go at joining in.