BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

“Are you still there?”

“Yep. No coke. No worries. Look, I have to go now, Fern. I’ve got to get my stuff from his before he’s back from work. Plus, now I have to look for a new job obviously.”

“Are you sure you’re OK?” I pressed.

“Yes! I’ll see you next week.”

32

now.

I leaned my head against the bus window, smiling as London smeared past me in a haze of sunshine. I’d messaged Ben to see where he was.

Ben: Sat in front of the fan, eating a twister. It’s too hot. xxx

Through the glass, I passed schoolkids on their lunch break, licking ice lollies. Mums pushing buggies with other mums. A queue outside the ice-cream van in the park. A heavily sunburned man padded past in flip-flops and no top on. The heat hit me as the bus hissed and spit me out into the village. I put my sunglasses on and it felt like being on holiday. I’d go to the shop and get some bits to take to the park, maybe get a can or two of Ben’s favorite beers. I said hello to the men in Londis, we commented on how hot it was. I grabbed a basket and flung hummus and bread, olives and stuffed vine leaves into it. I added strawberries, and melon sliced into cubes and put into plastic. A case of beers for Ben. Two pink G&Ts for me. I was excited to get home.

I couldn’t wait to see his face when I walked through the door.

18

december 2004

It was so surreal, seeing Jessica in Manchester. The combining of my two lives, two selves. I grinned and waved madly as she pulled a little suitcase toward the train barriers.

“You’re heeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrreeeee.” I flung myself at her, made her drop her suitcase handle.

She laughed. “I’m here.”

“Was your journey OK?”

“Yeah, fine. Fine. It didn’t actually take that long.”

She had a new winter coat. This huge Cruella de Vil fur one that looked sensational. In fact, everything about her looked sensational. Her makeup was perfect, hair in a complicated up-do. I felt suddenly frumpy in my jeans and University of Manchester hoodie. I’d forgotten how much effort she made, how much I used to make fruitless attempts to catch up with her.

“I can’t wait to show you everything. OK, right, so this is the train station. Obviously. And it’s right next to Canal Street, which is full of these amazing gay bars. The music is always epic. And this is the bus station... Do you have any change? It’s OK. I’ll pay. It’s only 50p. It’s so cheap up here, honestly. You can get drunk on, like, a fiver.”

As we got on the bus, my unsolicited personalized tour continued while Jessica just stared out off the window, quiet.