Page 5 of Close to You
‘Like what?’
‘I can ask around to see if there are any jobs going. Ben’s bank is often after people to start at the bottom…’
‘I don’t want to work in a bank. I—’
She holds up a hand to stop me: ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…’ Jane tails off and doesn’t finish the sentence properly because we both know she meant it in precisely the way it came out. She works at a design agency that is some sort of mix of public relations and brochure design. I’m not sure anyone really knows what she does, including herself. She’s always been artsy and my choice of teaching exercise classes with the goal of working my way up to being a full-on personal trainer with my own studio is alien to her. We were in the same class for every year throughout school and yet there are times at which we feel like utter strangers.
Jane pushes herself away from the sofa. ‘I’m going to find Ben,’ she says.
‘Sorry for dragging down your birthday.’
She rubs my upper arm like she always does when she wants to be reassuring: ‘You haven’t.’
Jane drifts away, leaving me alone in the living room with only a hum of chatter from the kitchen. Considering she and Ben are apparently still looking for furniture, their house looks largely complete to me. The living room is full of the usual things and there are no obvious gaps. She was probably talking about the little touches she considers important tofinishinga room. The candles, the abstract prints, the books she’ll never read. That’s one of the differences between us, I suppose.
I head into the kitchen to get myself a drink. There are beers and wine floating around but I settle for water from the fridge.
It’s all right for couples who turn up to parties and can spend the evening chatting to one another. For singles, it is a slow, bubbling panic of trying to latch onto literally anyone who is vaguely familiar. Failing that, it’s anyone who seems remotely normal.
I recognise a couple of faces of people who live around the general area, but they’re all friends of friends. People I might nod or wave to, rather than anyone with whom I’m pals. They’d still offer an escape, though each of them seems to be chatting and drinking with other people. I’ve never been one of those who can sidle up and join a conversation. It’s only as I find myself back in the living room, having done a lap of the house, that I realise what should have been obvious.
My only real friend is Jane.
It’s all a bit pathetic. I’m turning thirty in three months and have no job, no boyfriend and no proper friends. They’ve either drifted away, or gone off to get married and have kids. That’s the problem with remaining in the area in which a person grew up. The competition over who’s making the best of their lives is endless. Everyone started in the same place, so it’s hard to blame anyone else other than ourselves for failure.
I’m on another lap, heading through the hallway, when the doorbell sounds. I’m not sure if Jane or Ben will have heard so open the door and am faced with a middle-aged man in a cardigan. He smiles awkwardly.
‘Could you, uh, turn the music down a bit?’
I blink at him, largely because I’d somehow blanked out the fact there was music playing. It’s only now he mentions it that I realise there’s an Oasis song playing in the background. I am about to say that I’ll find someone who lives here when there’s a presence at my side. I glance sideways to see Ben. He’s in jeans and a loose-fitting shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
‘Sorry about all this,’ he says, reaching for the man’s hand.
The neighbour seems to have little choice in the matter and ends up shaking.
‘I’m Ben. We’ve just moved in. It’s my girlfriend’s thirtieth so we were having a bit of a joint housewarming and birthday party.’
‘Oh, well that’s—’
‘Are you from next-door? We would have invited you over but everything’s happened really quickly. If you hang on a moment…’
Ben releases the other man’s hand and turns quickly, disappearing along the hall towards the kitchen. Moments later, the music dims and then Ben reappears with a six-pack of Guinness in his hand.
He offers the cans to the neighbour, almost forcing them into his hand: ‘Here you are, mate. Sorry about everything. What’s your name, by the way?’
Ben has spoken so quickly that the man takes a second or two to take it all in. He accepts the cans and straightens his cardigan.
‘Oh, this wasn’t necessary. It’s Cliff. My wife’s Alice. She’s very sensitive to loud noise, you see.’ He taps his ears as if to indicate the issue and Ben tilts his head.
‘Oh, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. If there’s ever anything we can do, just let us know.’
Cliff bobs awkwardly. I suspect he was fired up, ready for an argument and now, from nowhere, he’s got a new buddy. He holds the cans up, says thanks again, and then turns and heads off back to his house.
Ben watches him leave and then closes the door, before turning to me and shrugging.
‘Seems like a nice bloke,’ he says.
I can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or if there’s an edge there. That’s Ben all over, though. He and Jane met at university and have been together for a decade since. He travelled from the other end of the country to come down to Kingbridge, while Jane picked the university that was a little over half an hour away from where we grew up in Gradingham. That perhaps explains the difference between them.
