5 work besties and future house guesties
5
work besties and future house guesties
Ava
‘You really didn’t know he was only eighteen?’ Josie asks, shovelling her penultimate slice of pizza into her mouth in a rare moment of gracelessness.
I shudder as I cast my mind back to the disaster of last night’s date. I went bowling . With a man who still lived with his mum. ‘No, Josie, funnily enough, I did not.’
Josie has the audacity to ask, ‘And you just ran away?’
‘You think I should have stayed until A-level results day? Saw if he got into the uni he wanted? Unfortunately, eighteen year olds aren’t really my type.’
‘Since when do you have a type?’ Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. ‘The only thing the men you’ve dated have had in common is that they could all breathe.’
The patio of Il Pulcinella is packed with lunch-goers, and we’re squeezed on a little table by the ivy-covered wall, Rudy tucked by Josie’s feet on the floor. It’s a little Italian place by Clapham North station that we found a couple of months ago, and it’s become our go-to spot.
I move the pieces of pepperoni around my slice so they’re more evenly spread. ‘Believe it or not, I do have some things I care about when it comes to the men I go home with.’ Josie snorts at this and I ask, ‘Are you slut-shaming me?’
‘No, I’m taste-shaming you, there’s a difference.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my taste,’ I bite back, offended. Well, fine, not really offended, but I pretend to be for the sake of my own dignity.
‘There’s everything wrong with your taste. Look, you asked for my opinion—’
‘I didn’t, actually, you just gave it.’
‘Oh. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.’ She shrugs. ‘Regardless, I’m giving it. You have terrible taste.’
‘Well, I’ve already found a new target. He’s tall and he plays rugby and he works in military events planning or something.’
‘He sounds like a Tory.’
‘That’s a stereotype. Anyway, it’s fine, all I need from him is,’ I lower my voice, ‘moderately decent sex. Like, average is fine. I’m not expecting fireworks. He’s just a means to an end.’
She laughs at my ridiculous logic, ‘You act like you’re ordering something from Deliveroo.’
‘What’s the difference? My cards are on the table. I’d never hook up with someone I like. That’s how you get into a relationship.’
‘A lot more goes into a relationship than sleeping with them and not completely hating their company,’ she specifies. ‘And I appreciate that you are a woman standing firm in her choice to have casual sex. But ugh, I want you to meet a nice boy. That’s my dream for you.’
It’s almost laughable to imagine. Me, with a nice boy . One who smiles at strangers and talks to his mum regularly, and not because he still lives with her.
‘On another note, how’s your non-romantic quest going to find people who’ll care about you for more than one night?’
Our conversations keep coming back to this, so I attempt to brush it off. ‘Bold of you to think those men care about me for even one night.’
‘Ava.’ She glares at me, her voice a growl. ‘You promised.’
I feel like I owe her, but I don’t know how to ease her mind about it. I’ve spent so long locked into a routine of work-hookup-home, I can’t envision being able to break out.
‘I’m considering my options. I will hang out with someone platonically soon,’ I say. I’m sure I could dig up an acquaintance to go for a drink with. Probably.
Josie’s appeased, at least for now. ‘I’ll still be your best friend, right? You won’t get closer to them than me?’
‘Depends what they can offer me. If their parents have a flat in Zone One that they’d let me live in for free, I may have to reconsider.’
‘Shut up,’ she says through a bite of her last slice of pizza. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with work lately. I’ve missed this.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m fine by myself,’ I say with a flippant wave of my hand, happy to change the subject to more exciting things and ignore the weird feeling in my stomach. ‘How’s the planning going?’
Alongside her regular day job, Josie’s been tied up for the past few months helping curate a new interactive, accessible art exhibition for a gallery set to open at the end of the year.
‘It’s going well,’ she says with a coy smile. I know the hours tire her out, but any time she talks about this work, her whole face lights up. I can’t help but compare how my own work makes me feel. ‘We think we’ve sorted most of the individual artists and their exhibits, but we’re missing a large-scale centrepiece. There’s an idea floating around for an exhibit where you experience all four seasons in one place, but there’s a lot to do to make it happen.’
‘That sounds so cool.’ I try to imagine it. ‘How involved are you?’
‘Extremely. It’s going to be a huge collaborative effort, but seeing as it was my idea, it’s on my shoulders to get it right.’
Whether it’s her wardrobe or the decor in our flat, she consumes art in a multidimensional way I never think to try. ‘And you say you’re not an artist.’
She shrugs, uncharacteristically modest. ‘It’s a labour of love. It’s going to be expensive too, so I’ve been working on a pitch for a grant. But we’ll manage. I know we will.’
I’ve always admired this about Josie. When she has an idea, she goes for it, full steam. She also always gives me her pizza crusts to finish, which I possibly admire even more, and she’s sliding them over to my plate when we’re interrupted by the woman at the table next to us, who’s taken a sudden interest in Rudy.
‘What a gorgeous boy, can I pet him?’ she asks, her hand reaching down.
Josie simply says, ‘No. He’s working.’ This is a common occurrence, so she continues talking to me, unbothered, ‘Anyway, it’s been fun, trying to figure out how to make the whole exhibition as accessible as possible. It’s just really cool knowing how many disabled artists and curators we’re working with to get it right. It feels special.’
‘I can’t wait to be there on opening night. I’ll be whooping from the crowd during your speech,’ I say, chomping down on one of the crusts and sending pizza dust in all directions.
‘With your new friend, I hope.’ I sigh and she grins. I dust the crumbs off my hands and stretch my legs out under Josie’s chair, shifting my feet to avoid Rudy. ‘Tell me about the shop. I haven’t heard a fun customer story in ages . Anyone interesting come in?’
Nothing exciting ever happens at work. It’s the same people, same conversations, same stories every day. I rack my brain for an anecdote. ‘I did have these three men come in at closing the other day who were like some sort of hapless sitcom trio.’ Josie raises her eyebrows in a question I refuse to entertain, and I shut her down immediately. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You know I don’t shit where I eat.’ She splutters out a laugh. ‘Speaking of which, one of them has verbal diarrhoea. Literally does not stop talking.’
‘Delicious. Tell me more.’
We’re between the early-morning chaos and the hectic lunchtime rush and the shop is mostly filled with regulars. There’s Belinda the eccentric octogenarian, soy-latte-Samantha, who will share intimate details of her life whether you ask for them or not, and Rufus, the man who comes in every day at ten o’clock in the morning and orders, to my constant consternation, a decaf espresso shot.
I’m refilling the coffee machine with beans when I receive a concerning text from Josie.
josie: SOS!!! CALL ASAP
Knowing her, she could either be letting me know she’s fallen down the stairs and is currently in hospital in a full-body cast, or she wants to tell me she’s decided to start making model aeroplanes and would like to know if I’d be interested in a trip to Hobbycraft to grab some supplies. There’s no in between, and no way to know which one it’ll be unless I call.
I duck into the stockroom to call her.
‘What’s up?’ I ask, when she picks up on the first ring.
‘We’re throwing a party.’
I guess that answers my question about which end of the scale her emergency would be. ‘A what?’
‘Par-ty. You know, those things we avoided like the plague at uni?’
‘I thought that was boys?’ I put my phone on speaker and place it on a shelf while I riffle through one of the boxes in front of me, on the hunt for a KitKat.
‘That too, but you and I both know we avoided those for very different reasons.’ Her girlfriend Alina laughs in the background and Josie takes a breath before adding, ‘Anyway, you can’t say no, because I’ve already invited Max.’
I freeze for a second. ‘Max, as in, my brother Max?’
‘No, as in, the guy at the corner shop who gives us good deals on loo roll.’
‘His name is also Max, actually.’
‘Really?’
‘No.’
Josie huffs directly into the microphone. ‘Well, your brother is coming to our housewarming.’
‘Our housewarming?’ I finally spot my chocolatey prize and grab it from the depths of the box. ‘We’ve been in the flat for almost six months already. I think it’s suitably heated up by now.’
‘Let her do it, Ava,’ Alina calls out, the vaguest remnants of her Colombian accent softening the sounds. ‘She’s already started making a playlist.’
Josie’s voice returns. ‘We live in an incredible home and we’re wasting it! I want to show off.’
‘That’s unlike you,’ I say under my breath, tearing open the packet with my teeth.
‘Whatever. I’m a woman on a mission. All you need to do is show up, which won’t be hard, because it’ll be about five steps from your bedroom door.’
I pull my phone back up to my ear. ‘Yeah, no, I’m busy.’
‘Ha, nice try. I checked your calendar. Final Saturday in August. You have no plans. You’ll be there.’
‘Bit early to be planning this then, no?’ I’m secretly pleased – that’s three whole months for me to figure out an excuse not to go.
‘The number-one rule of party planning in your mid-twenties is to organise things at least six weeks in advance in order to optimise attendance. And you won’t be wriggling out of this, so don’t even consider trying to concoct an escape plan.’ I roll my eyes like a petulant child, nibbling at my KitKat while Josie continues her spiel, talking about karaoke (we can sing ‘Misery Business’ together, but only if we let people know we disagree with the anti-feminist message), snacks (she might order a pre-made cheeseboard) and guest lists (people she’s working with at the gallery, plus a few friends from Pilates). I’m too busy concentrating on separating the chocolate from the wafer to realise she’s stopped talking, just about registering that she finished with, ‘—invite people too.’
‘Sorry?’ I ask, mid-chomp.
‘I said, you should invite people too. A friend. Someone from the shop, even.’
Maybe this is it. This could be the moment I get Josie off my case about meeting people and trying new things. I open my mouth to indignantly tell a lie. ‘I’ve made a friend at work, actually. Forgot to mention it.’
‘You have?’ I can hear the relief in those two words. ‘Amazing. It wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
‘Easy as pie,’ I say, for perhaps the first time in my whole life. And likely the last.
‘Invite them,’ she says excitedly, ‘I haven’t heard you talk about anyone. Are they new?’
‘Yep. I’ll mention the party the next time I see them.’ I try to mimic some of the enthusiasm in her voice, but my dishonesty twists my gut.
‘Okay, yes, love that. I’m proud of you for making a friend. I’m sorry, does that sound patronising? It does, shit. But it’s true. I just knew that as soon as other people saw the real you, they’d like you too.’
If I didn’t feel slimy for lying before, I’m now a glutinous little mollusc.
For a few moments the sound of traffic increases in volume from the other side of the stockroom door. I peek through the glass panel and sure enough, someone has just walked in, but Mateo’s nowhere to be seen. ‘Hey, Josie, there’s a customer. I need to go.’
‘Wait, wait! Before you go, what’s your friend’s name?’
Just before I push open the door, I register who the customer is. I pluck his name out of the air in a final attempt to placate Josie. ‘Finn. He’s called Finn. I’ll talk to you later.’ I end the call before she has time to question me any more.
When I finally step out of the stockroom, I catch sight of Mateo, who’s wielding a mop and dealing with a sticky chai spillage at the other end of the shop. Finn’s sitting opposite eighty-something Belinda, coffee order all but forgotten, and she’s fluttering her eyelashes at him in a way that tells me she was a total siren in her heyday. He says something in a low voice and winks.
‘Oh, stop it,’ she says, playfully slapping his arm, where burgundy sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. ‘A lovely boy like you will make a woman very happy one day.’
‘Unfortunately, I’m not the settle-down type, Belinda.’
As he says this, he notices I’m back behind the counter and stands up, adjusting an unravelling sleeve.
Belinda watches him with a twinkle in her eye and says, ‘Well in that case, I wish you many a disreputable love affair.’