Chapter Twelve The Right Road #2
Conrad sounded rather sheepish about the whole thing when he phoned me. I was fine with that. The fact they wanted to work with me again was all I cared about. I wasn’t about to berate the poor chap for highlighting my stupidity across the internet.
I’ve agreed to help them launch Eloise’s new perfume range, which is called Scentimental.
This is an awful name, and it smells like something’s died in there, as far as I’m concerned .
. . but taking on the job means that King Promotions has a chance to rise phoenix-like from the flames, and that’s what’s important to me.
Conrad and Eloise wanted to see me today, in fact.
Urgently. Wanted to discuss the plans for the launch again.
For the sixth time. I can hardly blame them for this, given what happened the last time we worked together, but seven times going over the same thing is a little much – even for someone who got their baby’s gender wrong.
I told them no.
Can you believe that?
I told my clients that no, I could not see them today, because I had something else I needed to do.
I never say no. Especially not to the people who pay my wages.
But I did.
With my heart racing and shame flushing my face, I said no.
And it didn’t bother them.
Not in the slightest.
Can you believe that as well?
I couldn’t.
I was dumbfounded.
It was only a small victory – among many others I’m achieving these days. But the small victories are often the most important ones, because they all add up.
‘Hello, mate, how are you?’ I say to Jack as I approach him.
‘Yeah, great!’ he replies.
Yeah, Great would be the name of Jack’s story, the same way mine was Totally Fine.
‘That’s good to hear.’
Careful now, Charlie. You can see the look in his eyes. The look that says Yeah, Great is a lie. You know that look well.
Be. Careful.
‘Giving Gormley a going-over, then,’ I say, patting the side of the vehicle affectionately. I’m not altogether sure whether I am all that affectionate about Gormley, but it’ll help things along if Jack thinks I am.
‘Yeah. I figured he needed a good seeing-to.’ He pops the sandpaper down, and briskly claps his hands together, before turning his full attention to me. ‘So how are you doing, then? How’s the . . . therapy going?’ I almost smile at the awkwardness with which he says this.
‘It’s going pretty well, actually.’
And not just awkwardness. There’s some tension here, isn’t there? Quite a lot of it, in fact.
Not all that surprising. The last time we were in a room together, we nearly came to blows over me killing someone. The fact I haven’t been in touch since probably sits very badly with my friend.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around,’ I tell him. ‘It’s been a weird few weeks. I’ve been . . .’ What have I been exactly? ‘. . . resetting.’
Jack nods in acknowledgement. ‘Fair enough.’
‘It’s helped, though,’ I continue. ‘Put me on a better path. The right road.’
I pat Gormley again. It seems appropriate at this moment.
‘That’s good to hear,’ Jack says. This is the most stilted conversation I think I’ve ever had with him.
It’s because he thinks he doesn’t know me anymore.
And it’s because men don’t generally do well when their friends are undergoing serious difficulties. Not because they don’t care. Quite the opposite, in fact. They do indeed care – it’s just that caring comes with empathy, and empathy can sometimes highlight your own problems.
Women see other women as reflections. Men see other men as mirrors. It’s an idiotically subtle distinction, but it’s definitely there.
Jack probably looks at me and wonders how far away he is from the same kind of breakdown I had.
Not as far as he’d like. The fear in his eyes when he had to get out of that limo will be scored on my heart for the rest of my days.
I must do something about that.
‘Oh, you’re both here already,’ Leo says from behind me.
I must do something about this as well.
I have hurt my two best friends in the world. And regardless of any other considerations, I cannot let that stand.
. . . I can hear you sucking in your breath.
Don’t worry. This is not going to go the way you think it is.
The real world is very different from the storybooks.
It’s messier.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack says to Leo, though not in an unpleasant way. There’s none of the tension between them that exists between Jack and me. Let’s see if there’s any with Leo, shall we?
‘He’s here because I asked him to come along,’ I tell Jack, before turning to my other friend. ‘How are you, mate?’ I ask him.
He rocks his head back and forth. ‘Not too bad, I guess. Been better. Been worse.’
Nope. There’s no tension there . . . but when Leo says things could be worse, that means things are actually awful. I know him very well.
I know them both very well.
That’s why this is going to work.
‘What about you? How are you and Annie doing now?’ Leo asks me.
I smile. He doesn’t ask about the therapy.
He doesn’t need to. He can get all the answers he needs by asking me if my relationship with the woman I love is still on track.
‘We’re fine,’ I tell him. ‘It’s been a bit bumpy here and there, but we’re going to get through it.
’ I pause, thinking for a moment. ‘And when we are through it, I’m going to ask her to marry me. ’
This is the first time I’ve said this out loud to anyone, and it makes my heart jump into my mouth – in the absolute best way possible.
I’m not asking yet, though.
Not yet.
‘Good. Pleased to hear it,’ Jack says. This would usually come with a smile and a slap on the back, but that tension is still there. The walls are there.
And I need to drive through them.
‘Can we go sit in Gormley?’ I ask the both of them.
‘Oh God. You haven’t got mushrooms in your pocket, have you?’ Leo says, face stricken.
‘No. Nothing like that. I just want to have a chat with you both.’
Jack immediately looks deeply suspicious. As well he might. I have form.
I hold up my hands. ‘No mushrooms. No poles. No Fellowships. No plans. Nothing but the three of us, I promise.’
And all of that is the truth. I promise you.
I don’t have anything up my sleeve. I don’t have any grand master plan I’ve cooked up using Google and far too much of my brain.
I am flying by the seat of my pants, with no clue what I’m doing.
Because it’s messier.
Because it isn’t perfect.
It’s both terrifying . . . and quite liberating, to be honest.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Which is far better sentence to tell yourself than I don’t know my own mind.
We’re way past where the epilogue to this story should have been, and the road we’re on now is as unknown to me as I stand here as it is to you.
‘Come on, for old times’ sake?’ I say to my friends, gesturing towards Gormley’s door.
Jack’s eyes are still narrowed, but he can’t resist the pull of thirty years of friendship. That has an undeniable weight which really can’t be resisted. ‘Come on, then. You’ve obviously got something to get off your chest.’
Actually, Jack, I don’t think I do, mate – and that’s even more liberating.
I have a strong feeling of déjà vu as Jack opens the door in Gormley’s side and ushers us both in. Not just back to the night of the mushrooms, but back to all the times we hustled into Gormley together at the start of a new adventure. New Shenanigans.
Aah . . .
Something is forming in my mind.
An idea.
A messy idea.
Jack throws the keys onto the little Formica table, and sits himself back down in his customary spot. Leo and I follow suit. This takes us approximately thirty-eight minutes, because Gormley’s table space hasn’t got any bigger since the last time we were in here.
They both look at me expectantly.
If I had a mirror, I’d be looking back at myself expectantly too, because I have no idea what I’m going to do, or what I’m going to say.
‘Well, go on, then . . .’ Jack encourages. ‘You’ve probably got a speech rehearsed for us, haven’t you?’
‘It’ll be a long one. He’s got that kind of look on his face,’ Leo agrees.
Jack nods. ‘He’s going to try his hardest to sound wise, isn’t he?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘He’s had a few therapy sessions, and probably had a make-up shag with his missus, and now feels ready to impart his wisdom upon his poor, troubled friends,’ Jack remarks, folding his arms and staring at me.
‘Without a doubt,’ Leo says. ‘There’s probably some kind of prop he’s thinking of employing as well. Maybe that bottle of rum from last time. That sounds like the kind of thing he’d do.’
I am quite happy to let them get all this banter out of the way, as it’s giving me time to think. My friends think they know me well enough to predict what my next move is, but if I do anything they are expecting, this won’t work.
‘Oh yes,’ Jack continues. ‘That’d be about right. A nice, symbolic callback he can employ to underline his point.’ Jack leans towards Leo. ‘The problem is, I threw the bottle out last week, so he’s going to have to come up with something else.’
Leo nods sagely. ‘That won’t please him. He likes his plans to go according to . . . well, plan.’
I continue to stare at them both and remain silent.
My heart has started pounding, though, because I’ve just decided what I am going to do.
And it’s insane.
Completely unplanned, and completely insane.
But Jack is right about one thing, though.
I do like a bit of symbolism.
And a good callback.
I swiftly lean forward and grab Gormley’s keys up from the table.
Before either of my friends has a chance to stop me, I lurch towards the front of the vehicle and jump into the driver’s seat.
Leo being Leo just stares at what I’m doing with a look of supreme shock on his face. Jack tries to extricate himself from Gormley’s Formica table trap as fast as he can, but the mobile home is clearly on my side today, as it’s not letting him out without a fight.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing?!’ Jack roars.
‘Improvising!’ I shout back at him. I have to resist the urge not to giggle.
I never improvise.