The Things We Do to Our Friends(22)

We sipped our tea.

“I haven’t got you anything yet. I didn’t know what you’d want,” she said after a while. “We can go and choose something tomorrow if you like. If there’s something you need.”

“There’s nothing I need.”

“You’re okay for money?”

“I’m fine. I got a job.”

“Ah, good on you.” She grinned. There was nothing that impressed her more than quiet self-sufficiency. Nothing showy, just earning and doing. “I’ll be working every day apart from Christmas. Need the hours this time of year,” she said. She worked in the supermarket around the corner and had done so for as long as I could remember.

“Do you want me to pick up some decorations at all?” I asked.

She looked at me, her brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t bother, love. It’s just me and you, not worth spending your hard-earned cash. But it’s up to yourself—your money.” She picked up the remote control and turned the television on. The bark of a talk show was a neat signal for the end of our catch-up. We sat there watching it and drinking our tea, and then I went up to my room with my suitcase.

After that, we had a few quiet days together. I’d bought her a bottle of cheap rum that I knew she’d like, and she drank it with Coke and no ice on Christmas Eve as a treat. She didn’t end up buying me anything, and on Christmas Day we ordered an Indian takeaway from around the corner, a set meal for one as it’s enough for two, and ate in front of the television.

On my last day, she walked me back to the station and wrapped me up in a hug that was too tight. I hugged her back.

“Look after yourself,” she said. The words trailed with a tremor at the end.





16


It was a while before I received Tabitha’s gift.

After Christmas, we hunkered down for more exams, revising slide after slide, remembering dates and titles and movements. A blur of tutorials held in the galleries that kept me distracted. Then she invited me to hers early on a sunny Saturday afternoon in February. I wasn’t sure she’d remember to expect me, or if she’d even be in, but I arrived and she was there as promised. She opened the door and straightaway it was all wide-eyed joy at my arrival, and she spoke very fast, even for her. She ushered me to the kitchen table and gestured to a seat, then she sat opposite me, her foot tapping away. The other two didn’t seem to be in.

“Coffee?” she asked warmly. She already had a cup in front of her.

I declined. I’d seen the coffee she and Imogen drank. Tarlike shots of the stuff, so strong it made your eyes water and your head ache for the rest of the day.

“So, I have something planned today, my gift to you, for Christmas,” she said.

I’d assumed she’d forgotten.

“You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you? You did! Of course I didn’t. So, no offense, but I think we should do something about your hair.”

Hair was, in a way, how I’d first noticed them. When I met Tabitha she was radiant and coiffed, and one of my initial thoughts was how similar our hair was in its simplest state. But mine was wild, and Tabitha had a controlled mane with subtle tawny highlights. It tumbled in corkscrew curls, smelling of sweet coconut if you got close enough, or else she pinned strands up in extravagant pineapples on her head.

Her dedication invited compliments: Oh, I love your hair. How do you get it so long? What products do you use to make it so shiny? Tabitha was always distrustful of people who didn’t comment on her hair.

I was taken aback, but I tried not to show it; I’d never done anything much with my hair, and my hand automatically reached to the bun on top of my head that I’d tied up as an afterthought. I forced myself to bring my hands down and place them on the table in front of me, just like Tabitha.

She’d stopped tapping away. She just sat there, watching me. This was her way of moving that aimed to disorient. She alternated between a restless vigor as she rushed around the flat madly, gesticulating as she told a story, opening a window then dipping into a downward dog, all while the tale pattered away. But then she was able to switch to a meditative stillness, observing you coolly with a blankness that made you fill in the gaps in conversation. I’d once read that mirroring someone’s body language is an ordinary occurrence that creates a tight bond. It had never naturally come to me and Tabitha; when she froze, erect and proud like a Greek sculpture, I fidgeted or picked at the skin around my nails until it bled and dry pieces came off between my fingers.

“I haven’t had it cut in forever,” I said, choosing my words carefully. Not a straight yes or no.

“I know, darling, and it’s…a look. But you have the most fantastic hair. You should make the most of it.” Her hand was in mine, gripping tightly.

I wanted to ask, Why? Who was this for? We never went anywhere or did anything much.

“I’m not sure if it’s something I want to do,” I said. I thought she’d be angry, but she just smiled and stood up. Her back to me, she looked out of the window to the gardens that surrounded the flat. It was a cloudless day if you looked up, past the shadows from the buildings. I remember it was the kind of day that makes you believe you can take on the world.

She spoke again, although I couldn’t see her expression. “I understand. I’m crazy protective about my hair too. There are only a few places I’d go and generally I wouldn’t go in Edinburgh. But it just so happens that I’ve found this fantastic guy, Rand, and you’d be able to get it done today.”