Straight Talking (15 page)

I can’t help myself. Despite the seriousness I laugh. “What? When Adam met Tasha?”

He blushes, bless him, and says defensively, “Why not? Jesus, why the hell not?”

I don’t know what to say, so we sit there not saying anything. My appetite disappears and I search my mind, desperate to change the subject, to fill the silence which is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“I just don’t know,” I say eventually. “If you want me to think about it I will, but I can’t promise anything. This is such a shock, I never expected this, never dreamed you felt like this. I need some time.”

“That’s fine,” he says. “I just needed you to know.”

Silence descends once again, and I look at the table-cloth, at the half-eaten meal, at the traffic rumbling past the restaurant, and eventually Adam breaks the silence by asking for the bill.

We drive home in silence and as we pull up outside my front door I say, “You’ll understand if I don’t invite you in for coffee,” and I grin falsely, which comes out like a grimace.

Adam smiles faintly, then puts both hands on my cheeks and moves his head toward mine. I freeze, terrified of the physical contact from the one man I’ve been able to trust, but he doesn’t kiss me on the lips. He plants a soft kiss on my forehead and then looks me in the eye and says, “Call me when you’re ready.”

Walking into my flat, I’m in a daze. I can’t think about it, even walking in and sitting on my sofa, staring into space, I can’t think about what happened tonight, it’s too momentous, too much to take in.

Mel’s not home yet, so I wait for a while, needing to sort out my own thoughts, getting them in order to share with her when she walks in the door.

But the minutes tick by as I sit and think about nothing, an unwitting form of meditation, and finally I sigh and get up to go to bed. Why is my life always so fucking complicated?

15

I wake bleary-eyed at ten
A
.
M
. and stumble into the kitchen to make some coffee. I woke briefly last night, just in time to hear Mel softly shutting the front door, and I fell back into a deep sleep, too tired to even get up and ask how her date went.

I feel like shit. I should be elated, someone is in love with me, the most wonderful man in the world desires me, but I feel like hell, and I have never needed to talk to anyone more than I need to talk to Mel now.

I make two cups of instant coffee, stirring two heaped teaspoons of sugar into Mel’s, and walk up to her room, putting the cups down to knock softly on the door.

No reply. “Mel?” I say softly as I push the door open. “Mel, I’ve brought some coffee, wake up.” But she has woken up and she’s not there. Her bed is already made and the curtains are drawn, and there’s a note lying on the bed.

Darling Tash,

Had
the
most amazing time last night—walked and talked for
hours
on Primrose Hill. Sorry I was so late—didn’t have a clue what time it was until I got home!!! Don’t worry, didn’t misbehave at all, he’s just
so
nice!!

Meeting him this morning to help him buy a sofa. I’ll be at lunch, though, so see you there. Hope you had a good time with Adam.

Big huge kiss,

M xxxxxxxx

Oh God. Please don’t tell me I’m about to lose my best friend to love. I’ve never had to worry about it in the past because when Mel was with Daniel she always put me first. But now she’s met someone new, will she disappear?

Not literally, but I know so many women who forget their lives, their friends, themselves the minute they meet a man they could love. You suddenly realize you haven’t heard from them for a while, and when you phone it takes them two weeks to return your call.

They’ll never agree to see you at night because that’s when they’re with their new man, so occasionally if you’re lucky you snatch a quick cup of coffee together. And you sit there and look at this friend who used to be so entertaining, so full of life, and all she wants to talk about is her man.

Every sentence is punctuated with the dreaded word
we
, and you leave with a mix of envy and regret while she promises to invite you over for dinner to meet him, except you know you’ll never receive the invitation because she only mixes with other couples now.

And eventually, when it’s all over she’ll be back on the phone as if she never left. And you, being the understanding soul that you are, welcome her back and make her promise she won’t abandon her friends the next time. She promises, and she keeps her promise. Until the next time.

And don’t be fooled into thinking it’s only women who do this. Once upon a time I had a friend called Jamie. Pre-Adam, pre-Mel, Jamie was my best friend. We met when we were children, and we grew up together, fading in and out of each other’s lives until we were seventeen, by which time we were firm friends, and swore we’d never lose touch again.

And we didn’t until Jamie got his first girlfriend at twenty-one. He lived with her for two years, and although he still called me all the time, I hardly ever saw him. When I did he’d bring Kathy along, which always made me feel slightly awkward and uncomfortable.

But after Kathy, when he was single again, he said I was more important to him than any woman, and I relaxed, I trusted he meant it. Then he met Mags, and I never saw him. I still invited them both to every party I had, every dinner I organized, but three years later, I realized I’d never been invited out with them. That I hadn’t even met a single friend of theirs. That I’d never seen the inside of the flat they shared.

I forgave him again, grudgingly this time, but by the time Sarah came along I had had enough. I abandoned our friendship, and when, after six months of not speaking, I received an invitation to his thirtieth birthday party, I ignored it. Large impersonal thirtieth birthday parties are for everyone, small intimate dinner parties are for friends, and I had never been invited to one.

I missed Jamie desperately until Simon, when I was too busy becoming the sort of woman who does things in couples and abandons her friends herself. But Mel I’ve never had to think about, and I pray she doesn’t do this. I need her. We all need her.

And I need her now. I need to ask what I should do, whether I could make myself fall in love with Adam. Because I want to, you see, I really want to feel passion for him, but I’m not sure I ever could. I’m not sure friendship is enough.

It’s a pain in the ass getting dressed today. All I can think about is the conversation last night, and as I’m pulling on clothes and putting on makeup, I talk out loud into the mirror, replaying what happened, what I should have said, what he should have said.

But of course the conversation doesn’t make sense because I haven’t got a clue
what
I should have said, or how I should have said it.

I check my watch before I leave. One twenty-five, five minutes before we’re due to meet and I’m determined not to be the first to arrive this time. It takes me ten minutes to get there and as I walk in I spot Mel, sipping a cappuccino and smiling to herself as she gazes into space, her chin resting on her hand.

Her eyes light up when she sees me, and, despite feeling like a miserable fucker, I can’t help but smile at her excitement. Particularly when I see she’s wearing makeup, except she hasn’t quite got the hang of it and her cheeks look like Aunt Jemima’s—round red blotches of color.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at home this morning,” she says in a rush. “Did you get my note? I had such a great time last night, Tash, he’s so nice.”

I laugh, “I know he’s so nice, Mel, that’s all you keep saying. So where did he take you until the early hours of this morning, hmmm?”

“We went to this pub in Primrose Hill and we just talked all night. When the pub closed neither one of us wanted to go home, there was still so much more to say, so we went to sit on Primrose Hill and finally he walked me home.”

“From Primrose Hill?”

“Yes, it was miles but I hardly even noticed, I just had such fun!”

“And did he try and kiss you?”

Mel blushes. “Yes, and we did and it was really nice.”

“Jesus, Mel, I’m going to have to teach you some more adjectives. What do you mean it was nice?”

“It was weird, kissing someone else when I’ve only kissed Daniel for years,” her face only clouds slightly at the mention of his name, “but it was, I don’t know, it was exciting, and comfortable at the same time.” She sighs happily. “We feel like we’ve known each other for years. It’s just so easy being with him and he was so nice to me. He told me I had beautiful eyes!”

“You do have beautiful eyes, Mel.”

She looks flustered, so unused to compliments. “But no one’s ever told me that before, and even though the kiss made me think of Daniel, the conversation made me think that this is what I’ve missed. I loved it when he complimented me, I loved it that he made me feel special and in some way it’s helped, because Daniel never made me feel like that, not even at the beginning.”

“I’ve always said you deserve better. Maybe now you’ve found it . . .” I smile.

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “I have to take things slowly, I’m really
not
ready for a relationship, but I had fun, both last night and this morning, we didn’t stop laughing in the furniture shop.”

“I’m so happy for you.” I am, I really am, but Mel doesn’t miss the tone in my voice that says all is not completely well. All is, in fact, completely fucking screwed up.

Mel takes my hand and looks me in the eyes, “Something’s the matter, isn’t it?”

“Oh shit, Mel,” I say, “it’s all gone bloody wrong.”

“What has?”

“Adam. He told me last night he was in love with me and I don’t know what to do.” Mel’s expression is one of total shock, but before she has a chance to say anything Andy breezes in and kisses us hello, while Mel never takes her eyes off my face.

“Good Lord. Oh sweetie, what
are
you going to do?”

Andy pushes the hair off her face with her sunglasses and reaches into her bag for the omnipresent pack of Silk Cut Ultra Low. “What are you going to do about what?”

“About Adam. He told me last night he was in love with me.”

“You’re joking.” Now both Mel and Andy are sitting there in shock.

“Yes, I’m joking,” I say, “I wish. I wish I’d woken up this morning and found it was all a bad dream, but unfortunately it really happened.”

“I knew it,” says Andy, slapping her thigh to reinforce the point. “I always knew he was interested. What did you say?”

“What the hell could I say? I mean, it’s
Adam
, I’m not in love with Adam, I’ve never even thought about it.”

“But how do you feel?” Mel’s skills as a therapist are coming into play.

“Confused. And angry.” I stop to think. “And betrayed. And flattered. And confused.”

“Why betrayed?” Andy doesn’t understand.

“I don’t know whether
betrayed
is the right word, it’s probably too strong, but I feel as if our friendship’s been a sham. I mean, I know it hasn’t, but I just think of all those times I’ve talked to Adam about everything, and all the time he had an ulterior motive.”

“Don’t you think that’s being a bit harsh?” Mel asks gently.

“But it’s true, and also I’m embarrassed, I mean I’ve told him so much about me and about how I feel and it must have been killing him, hearing me talk about these other men.”

“So you feel his pain as well?” Mel.

“Yes,” I shrug and look at her, “I suppose I do.”

Emma arrives and we all kiss hello as Andy determines to be the first to explain: “Adam told Tasha he was in love with her last night and she doesn’t know what to do.”

“Thank you, Andy,” I say through gritted teeth, “but I can talk for myself.”

“Sorry,” she grumbles, “I’m just concerned.”

“I know, I’m sorry. What am I going to do?”

“You do love him, don’t you?” asks Emma.

“Well, of course I do, but I’m not in love with him.”

“But those feelings of lust don’t last,” Emma says earnestly, “and friendship is the most important thing. That’s what keeps a relationship going, that’s what I have with Richard.” She stops while the waitress comes to take our order and we all studiously scan the menus and tell her what we’re having for lunch.

“When I met Richard I thought he was one of the best-looking men I’d ever met, really, he swept me off my feet. Now I look at him and I see Richard. I don’t see him as good-looking, he’s just Richard, but because we still have so much to talk about, we still have so much in common, we’re together.”

“No, I disagree,” says Andy. “I think passion is vital. If you don’t have passion from the very beginning, you’re far more likely to look for it later on.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s really true,” interjects Mel, looking doubtful.

“It is true, I’m telling you. I have so many friends at work who are having affairs and how do you think it starts? It starts because they got married to the first men that asked them. They weren’t passionate about these men but they’d reached an age or a time in their life when they wanted to get married, and they married men who would be good husbands and good fathers.

“And what happens? A few years down the line they start to look elsewhere for that excitement, that lust, that old stomach-churning feeling that I would rather die than live without. At least if the passion is there in the beginning you always have the memory which is enough to keep you faithful.”

“Sorry, Andy, but I don’t think passion is that important,” says Mel. “I tend to agree with Emma. Look at couples whose children have grown up and left home. The passion, if there ever was any, has long since disappeared and the people that divorce are the ones who find they don’t have anything in common anymore.

“For years they talked about the children, they went on family holidays together, the children were the one thing they had in common, so when the children go the marriage breaks up. But the ones who stay together after the children have gone are the ones who were friends in the first place. They love each other’s company because they have become each other’s best friends. They like doing the same things, going to the same places, and they end up with the strongest marriages.”

We all sit in silence for a while, thinking about what Mel has just said, and each of us wishing that we had that sort of marriage.

“I’m not saying friendship isn’t important,” says Andy finally, and slightly defensively, “but you need passion as well. They’re equal.”

“Oh, God knows,” says Emma. “Who the hell knows what love is anyway?”

“Well,” I venture, “I read an article once, an interview with William Wharton and, if I remember correctly, just before his daughter got married she rang him and asked him whether he knew what love was.

“He said as far as he could see love was passion, admiration, and respect. If you have two of those it’s enough. If you have all three you don’t have to die before you go to heaven.”