‘So…?’
‘So, we just thought – that it’s better to play things by ear. We both reckoned that with him so far away, for so long, the chances of him – like – behaving himself are really very low, and the more pressure we both feel under to stay – celibate, or something – the harder it will make things. Basically – we both reckon that the more pressure there is, the more likely we are to be unfaithful.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Just that… we both decided to be a bit open about things. That if anything happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. That we should both do what we want.’
‘And what you want?’
I was trying to stop myself from smiling.
‘Well – I dunno. It’s just that me and James – we used to – you know – have a great time. We had an excellent time together. It was great. Well – maybe not at first – I mean, in the beginning he didn’t know what the hell he was doing – but once we got going – you know it was always… we always had a lot of fun. And up until he left, we were together almost all the time – for weeks. I was virtually living with him. He was always there – and I mean, to be honest…’ She let out a chuckle. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. ‘Look – can I be frank here? To be honest – you get used to it.’
She let that thought sit on the table in front of us, until it was ripe.
‘It’s only three months, now – and I’m getting – you know… almost – like – desperate.’
There was another one. Another plump, juicy, bursting peach. I was very, very excited.
‘And…?’ I said.
‘And what?’
She didn’t seem to know what I meant.
‘I mean .. . why are you telling me this?’
I gave her a flirtatious look.
‘Oh right. I see. Yes – I remember. I was just thinking – that’s what’s so funny.’
‘What? What’s funny.’
‘You. You’re funny.’
‘What? Why?’
‘It’s just funny. You know – the whole thing just seems really ironic.’
‘Why?’
‘It just makes me laugh. There you are, making these hilariously clumsy passes at me, and if you weren’t… who you are I’d probably go along with it, just to get it out of my system.’
‘What? Who am I? What am I?’
‘You’re James’s mate.’
‘So? So what? You happened to meet me through James. So what?’
‘’
‘He’s gone. He’s not back for ages.’
‘Jesus! You might have no scruples, but it makes a difference to me. Besides, it’s all wrong, anyway.’
‘Why?’
‘Well – we’re friends, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it’s wrong. You know – if you were some guy, and this was the first time I’d met you, we could just – you know – in out thanks very much bye bye. But we’re friends. It couldn’t work like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘It just couldn’t.’
This was bad news. I pulled my grieving-bloodhound face. Liz let out a half-laugh-half-sigh and gave me a consoling squeeze on the knee. Some consolation was.
‘Look – have you forgotten what we said on the phone already?’
‘What?’
‘All our mates are either out of the country or at university. We’re stranded. Look – I’m really glad you’ve come back from Switzerland. It’s great to have someone to hang around with other than the pricks from art college. The two of us can have a laugh together. I wouldn’t want to throw that away just for one quick screw.’
‘Right. I see.’
She patted my thigh.
I would have gladly thrown away just about anything for a quick screw – and who said it would have to be quick, anyway?
Her definition of the word ‘desperate’ obviously wasn’t the same as mine.
In the weeks after our drink in Camden, I saw Liz increasingly often. I began to realize that, in a strange way, she had been right about not shagging.
Because of that conversation, we both knew exactly what the other one thought, and all the sex stuff could be left on one side. I still fancied her, and she knew I still fancied her, but we both knew that nothing was going to happen (or at least acted that way) and as a result, we could become like normal mates.
It was the first time I’d ever had a proper female friend. She really was a good laugh, and it was genuinely possible to get on well with her, despite the fact that I wanted her body but couldn’t do anything about it. I actually got on with her better than I could remember getting on with any of my regular friends. We could have a laugh and everything, then, sometimes, if we were in the mood, we had quite serious conversations. I mean, what we ended up saying was occasionally properly… well, intimate. I ended up telling her things that I’d never really told anyone before. I can’t actually remember what they were now, but at the time I remember thinking that it all felt very deep.
Although we were just friends, and I didn’t make another pass at her, over time it became obvious that we were getting closer and closer. Whenever we sat down, we always found ourselves next to each other. When we went for walks, we often held hands. And in the cinema, it was quite common for us to squeeze various bits of each other’s legs.
Now I’m no expert, but it seemed obvious to me that something sexual was going on. I wasn’t making advances to her or anything, but between us, things were just happening – almost of their own accord. And the more we sat around fondling each other, talking about our deepest, darkest secrets and exposing the depths of our hearts to each other, the more there was this massive thing that neither of us was mentioning.
And I knew – you just know when this happens – you do – I just knew that if I had said that we were acting like a pair of honeymooners, she would have acted all shocked, got angry, and the whole thing would have disappeared in a puff of smoke – because if the physical stuff had vanished, the whole friendship would have collapsed almost immediately. We couldn’t have gone back to not touching without feeling like complete fakes.
Occasionally, she’d say things like, ‘You’ve got a very close sense of personal space, haven’t you?’, which is – it’s just so wide of the mark. I’ve got a bigger exclusion zone than Chernobyl, and I hate touching people, I really do – but I’d have to just lie, and tell her that she was right.
She must have known that the whole friendship was a farce, and that something heavy was on the way, but she made damn sure that neither of us could admit it.
I had always assumed that things would come to a head in one sweaty guilt-ridden frenzy, then we’d never be able to talk to each other again. But one day Liz, completely out of the blue, floored me with a suggestion that opened up more sexual possibilities than I had dared dream about.
It was coming to the end of April, and Liz was skiving off college for the third time that week. We had just spent the afternoon lounging around on Hampstead Heath, and both of us were lying on our backs on the ground. I was flat on the grass, and Liz had her head on my belly.
‘What are you going to do, then?’ she said.
‘About what?’
‘With the rest of your year.’
‘Aaah – that’s the five-million-dollar question, isn’t it?’
‘Six million.’
‘It’s not that important.’
‘You’ve got over four months left.’
‘True.’
‘You going to work?’