One Day in December(11)

2) Find the boy from the bus stop. Technically, I guess I can tick this one off. I’ve learned to my peril that you need to be super-specific when you make New Year’s Resolutions – but how was I supposed to know I needed to specify that my best friend in the world must not find my soulmate first and fall in love with him too? Thanks for nothing, Universe. You suck big donkey balls.

So my only resolution this year?

To work out how to fall out of love.





18 January


Laurie


It’s been a month now since I discovered that Sarah and I have inconveniently fallen for the same guy and, despite my resolution, I don’t feel a shred less wretched about it.

It was so much easier when I didn’t know who he was; it allowed me the luxury of imagining him, of fantasizing about stumbling into him again in a crowded bar or spotting him drinking coffee in a cafe, of his eyes finding mine and us both remembering and being glad that the stars had finally aligned again.

But now I know exactly who he is. He’s Jack O’Mara, and he’s Sarah’s.

I spent all of Christmas telling myself that it would be easier once I got to know him, that there were bound to be things I didn’t like about him in reality, that seeing him with Sarah would somehow reset him in my head as a platonic friend, rather than the man who has broken the beats of my heart. I stuffed myself with food and hung out with Daryl and pretended to everyone that I was okay.

But since we got back to London it’s been worse. Because not only am I lying to myself, I’m lying to Sarah too. God knows how people have affairs; even this paper-thin layer of deception has me constantly on edge. I’ve kept my own counsel. I’ve heard my own case, I’ve listened to my own plaintive cries of innocence and misunderstanding, and still I’ve delivered a damning verdict: liar. I’ve made a liar out of myself by omission, and now every day I look at Sarah through my liar’s eyes and speak to her with my forked, serpent tongue. I don’t even want to admit it to myself, but every now and then I burn with miserable jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion; if I were of a religious bent I’d be spending more than my fair share of time in the confession box. I have moments of a different perspective, times when I know I haven’t done anything wrong and try my best to still be a good friend even though I’ve been backed into a corner, but those moments don’t last long. Incidentally, I’ve also discovered that I’m quite the actress; I’m one hundred per cent sure that Sarah has no idea there’s anything amiss, although that’s probably because I’ve found reasons to be somewhere else on the couple of occasions when Jack’s been at the flat.

Tonight though, my luck has officially run out. Sarah’s asked him over for pizza and a movie, but the subtext is that she really wants me to get to know him better. In fact, she said it, as plain as that, when she handed me a coffee on the way out of the door this morning.

‘Please be around, Lu, I really want you to get to know him so we can all hang out together more.’

I couldn’t think of a decent excuse off the cuff and, moreover, I realize that avoiding him isn’t a long-term solution. What bothers me most of all, though, is that while ninety-five per cent of me is dreading tonight, the other five is sparking with anticipation at the idea of being close to him.

I’m sorry, Sarah, I really and truly am.

‘Let me take your coat.’

Let me take your coat? What the hell am I, the maid? I’m just glad I didn’t call him sir for good measure. Jack walked into our flat thirty seconds ago and already I’m acting like a moron. His smile is nervous as he unwinds his scarf and shrugs out of his winter coat, handing them to me almost apologetically even though I asked him for them. I have to work hard not to bury my face in the dark navy wool as I hang it on the already-packed coat hooks beside our front door, almost laying it over my own jacket before pointedly hanging it as far away from it as possible. I’m trying, I really am. But he’s half an hour early, and has managed to arrive just as Sarah ran down the fire escape off the kitchen, as if they are theatre actors in a farce.

‘Sarah’s just nipped to the shop for wine,’ I flounder. ‘It’s round the corner. She’ll be back soon. Five minutes, I should think, unless there’s a queue. Or anything. It’s only round the corner.’

He nods, his smile still hovering despite the fact I’ve repeated myself at least three times.

‘Go through, go through,’ I say, bright and overanxious, flapping my hands in the direction of our tiny living room. ‘How was your Christmas?’

He perches on the end of the sofa, and I momentarily falter over where to sit before choosing the chair. What else was I going to do? Join him on the sofa? Accidentally press myself against him?

‘Yeah, you know.’ He smiles, almost bashful. ‘Christmassy.’ He pauses. ‘Turkey. Too much beer.’

I smile too. ‘Sounds a lot like mine. Except I’m more of a wine drinker.’

What am I doing – trying to make myself sound sophisticated? He’s going to think I’m some kind of pretentious knobber.

Come on, Sarah, I think. Come back and rescue me from myself, I’m not ready to be on my own with him yet. I’m horrified as I find myself wanting to snatch this chance to ask him if he remembers me from the bus. I can feel the question climbing up my windpipe like it’s being pushed from behind by a determined colony of worker ants. I swallow hard. My palms are starting to sweat. I don’t know what I hope to gain from asking him if he remembers, because I’m ninety-nine per cent certain that the answer would be no. Jack lives in the real world and has a super-hot girlfriend; he’d probably forgotten about me before my bus turned the corner of Camden High Street.