Page 47 of Something Borrowed

“How do you know I bought them?”

“Rafferty, I know you very well. You couldn’t pass a chocolate shelf if your life depended on it.” He pauses, a smile hovering on his lips. “And despite knowing you, I’m still here mentally functioning. Go me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Laughing and bickering, we make our way back to the flat, where we smother Hump with hugs and kisses and leave him sitting contentedly in his basket with his rubber chicken, to which he has an undying devotion.

Once outside, Stan checks me on the pavement. “Wait.”

“What’s up?”

“Do I need to get changed?”

“Into a sweet person? It couldn’t hurt and might widen your dating prospects.”

“No, you twat. My clothes. Should I get changed into something else?”

I blink. “Why? We’re only going to a gig.”

“Yes, but do I look silly? What does my outfit look like?”

His long, tight body is clad in clothes that shouldn’t look good together but somehow do, because, infuriatingly, he can make absolutely any outfit work. He has an air of effortless cool about him that he probably learnt at his uncle’s knee. “You look fucking cool as always. I need to borrow that jacket. It’s great.”

He gives me a wide, unguarded grin that relaxes the usual concentration on his face and pulls out a cheeky dimple at the corner of his mouth. “I just wanted to check.”

“Why?” I groan. “Bennett.”

“He said I looked odd.”

“Well, at least you don’t look like a cunt. He can’t change clothes to disguise that.”

He nudges me and then threads his left arm through mine, his right hand holding his cane. We set off, the tapping of the stick a familiar percussion to the song of our lives together. I cherish how he leans on me and occasionally lets me lead. He’d never relinquish all control, and with others, he’s staunch and determined to appear unbreakable. But our friendship creates trust, and it’s a badge of honour I won many years ago.

He found out he was going blind when we were seventeen. We’d all known something was wrong with his sight, but the diagnosis still came as a devastating shock, and understandably, Stan didn’t take it well. His shock quickly turned to rage, and for a while, he seemed like an angry stranger. He’d been surly, rude,and antagonistic, the formerly affable and sweet boy itching to pick a fight over anything.

Unfortunately, things went from bad to worse when he decided not to care anymore and thought he was invincible. Drugs and partying put him in some incredibly dangerous situations. I spent a whole summer following him on his misadventures, absorbing his snarky remarks as I lurked and made sure he was okay. I still shudder at the memory of finding him in a room where some college mates were running a train. He’d been naked and off his tits—completely unaware of where he was and incapable of forming a sentence. I’d wrapped him in my coat and got him home safe and sound. The same can’t be said of the bloke who’d been responsible for the drugs and the party. I’d gone back and written ‘I am a massive cunt’ in permanent marker on his forehead while he was passed out, something that still gives me satisfaction, particularly as he had a job interview the next day.

After that, Stan slowly began to accept the situation with his sight, but spent several months worrying about being a burden. Leo and I finally offered him brutal honesty—he’d always need help with certain things and there would always be people who would be idiots in the way they treated him. But that never meant his friends and family would feel he was a chore.

It seemed to be what he needed to hear. He’s now settled on a happy medium where he’s independent but not afraid to ask for help.

As if on cue, he asks, “Did you do the laundry?”

I snort. “Is that not my job, Stanley? I’m little more than an indentured servant existing to please you.”

“You wouldn’t talk so much if that was the case. Anyway, you don’t do much else except hang around being charming.”

“Thank you. I know you think that’s an insult, but I like it.”

“Damn. Foiled again.” He chuckles and squeezes my arm.

“Yes, I did the laundry. Your stuff is put away.”

We’d quickly learnt when we moved in together that Stan is a disaster at laundry. He has zero patience at the best of times, and as he can’t see clothing labels and doesn’t want to bother with the laundry gadget that reads them for him, he tends to just shove everything in on the same programme. After he’d shrunk most of my wardrobe, I’d taken over. The Emperor’s New Clothes is just a fairy story, so while Jed might have accepted my explanation of fashion trends last week, I doubt he’d be quite so sunny about full nakedness at weddings. Not to mention I like expensive shit that doesn’t get on well with a boil wash.

We arrive at the venue, and when I discover there’s a line to get in, I wave at the bouncer to get his attention. He’s a huge bloke with a stern face, but he immediately grins when he sees us. “Hey, you two,” he shouts. “How are you doing, Stan?”

“It’s Neil,” I tell Stan, leading him towards the club’s entrance.

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