The Things We Do to Our Friends(6)

“Let them come over,” he said. It was just the two of us working that night, and the place was empty, so it felt natural to go to them and take their order. Plus, I wanted to; I felt drawn to them. Finn was just being difficult because they were young and loud.

I knew how to manage him. “No, I recognize them.”

“Your pals?” Finn asked.

I was still working on the words I used, the way I spoke, and I liked it when he used the word “pal,” but when I’d tried to use it, the term hadn’t quite hung right and I’d made a mental note to avoid it.

“No, just some people from my course.”

I went over to the booth to take the order.

The blond girl beamed at me. “Vodka martinis for us all,” she chirped, throwing her hands in the air. She sounded a little like the Queen to me, but tinnier and more frantic. Hands back down, nails tapping on the table, and then suddenly she stopped and just stared at me with a bright smile.

“No problem. How would you like them?” I asked.

“Dirty.” One of the boys jumped in, very pleased with himself. They both sniggered and the girl with the dark hair rolled her eyes.

“Ignore him—he’s an idiot,” she said. “Actually, can I have a vodka soda, please, with fresh lime.” She stressed the “fresh” with a pained but confiding expression, as if I would agree with the necessity of real lime over cordial. Cordial! Imagine!

I walked back to the bar. Finn snatched the drinks order from me and made them. He barely hid his annoyance as the boys shouted over each other to tell their stories.

The blond girl watched him make hers intently.

Then I carried over the drinks with care. I couldn’t risk spilling a drop with this table.

The blond girl offered a hand, not to help but to shake. It was thrust at me floppily.

“I’m Tabitha,” she said. “And this is Imogen.”

I nodded, holding the tray, showing I couldn’t shake a hand.

“I’ve seen you around. You’re History of Art, like us?” Imogen asked warily.

“Yes, I’m Clare,” I said.

“History of Art, eh? Learn about a few paintings before someone puts a ring on it?” one of the boys in the booth barked, falling into the middle of the table in a fit of honking laughter, and the other cackled back at him.

Tabitha stared at the boys with loathing.

“Shut the fuck up, you moron.” She enunciated every word, speaking with a confidence I’d never seen in anyone our age before, and stared in a way I adored, so much steely disdain. He looked quite shocked and he laughed a little uneasily.

She turned back to me, her face open and warm. “Yum, yum, yum. Thanks for the drinks, Clare. You should stay, have one with us if you can?”

The comment was such an indication of who she was, where she was from. Surely she’d never had a job in her life? To me it was obvious that I wouldn’t be able to do this.

“I can’t. I have to get back to work, but thanks,” I said.

Tabitha picked up her martini and sipped it, smacking her lips together while she watched me. “Okay, but we’ll see you in lectures next week?” she asked.

All first-year History of Art students were required to take some core introductory lectures. The idea of being in them now that I’d properly met this girl, Tabitha, sent a small buzz through my body.

“Definitely,” I said.

I walked away from them, and I knew they were looking at me, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I started cleaning glasses along the back bar.

“A nice bunch,” Finn said. His tone indicated the opposite.

“I don’t know them. They’re just in my lectures.”

“London boarding school kids. We get them in here all the time.”

“I guess so,” I replied. I kept glancing over to them as they laughed and drank, the two girls scoffing at something the boys had said, and I was filled with a deep, almost painful longing.

I wanted to sit with them. Feel the sketch I’d made, the sketch of who I could become, forming, filling out like them; their easy confidence with each other felt remarkable.

Finn watched me watching, but he said nothing.

At the end of the night, one of the boys asked for the bill. Even though the balance was well over a hundred pounds, he barely glanced at it. He just pulled out his card and paid.

“We’ll see you around, Clare,” Tabitha said, extricating herself firmly from the boy’s grip as soon as I’d handed him the receipt.

Finn shook his head. “Too much money.”

The girls stalked out into the rain as if the clouds would part around them. The boys followed, pushing and shoving, trying to knock each other over.

Looking back, I sometimes feel bad about what I did to one of those boys. But at the time it was as unavoidable as getting wet when you go outside on a rainy night.





5


We’d be friends.

I was oddly certain, based on small things. They’d smiled, and the smiles seemed real, with no indication that I was too quiet or too loud or too “not like them” even though it was clear I was nothing like them. They were the right fit, but I didn’t want to let myself get carried away and go too hard too soon; however, it was also important not to reach the point where too much time had elapsed and I hadn’t found my group. I imagined if that happened then a foul smell would radiate from me—much like Ashley’s pasta dishes—and people would wonder why I didn’t know anyone. What was wrong with me that no one wanted to be my friend? I was so much better with people around me. I just needed to be patient. They were who I was supposed to meet, but there was no sense in pushing it, and I knew from experience to build our friendship at the right pace, starting with the foundations, brick on brick, to create a solid base. I would have to wait, and we’d circle around each other to see if we fitted and to make sure it was right for all of us.