Nell
PRESENT
All too soon, Monday morning arrives.
“I’ll be back in two weeks,” Alex says, as we stand on the doorstep.
Crushed against his chest, his lips in my hair, I want to tell him that two weeks seems a lifetime away, that being on my own for thirteen dark nights is too awful to contemplate.
“Will you message me when you arrive in Washington?” I ask, trying not to cling to him.
“Sure I will.”
Another kiss and he’s gone. Gray clouds scudding in a heavy sky mirror my low mood and the thought of leaving the house and having to cope with the feeling of being followed seems too much to bear.
I close the door on the weather and look down at my bathrobe, thinking how lovely it would be to not get dressed.
I tell myself not to be feeble, that I can’t possibly stay home, and wait until eight thirty, hoping the feeling will pass.
But it doesn’t, so I send a message to Sadie to tell her that I’ll be working from home today, something I’ve never done before.
No problem, Sadie messages back. Hope everything is okay. And I marvel at how easy it was.
I have such a productive morning calling companies to talk about possible sponsorships—since the article about Drop In appeared in The Guardian, the offers of sponsorship have risen, as have the number of donations—without the distractions which normally interrupt my day that by the time Alex calls to tell me he’s arrived in Washington, I’m ready to work from home again.
But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, I need to go in.
“How was your day?” Alex asks.
“You’re not going to believe this but I didn’t go to the office, I worked from home,” I say.
“Wow, that’s a first. Perhaps you’ll do it more often now.”
“If I can. One day a week would be perfect. How was the flight? Did you manage to get some work done?”
“Not as much as I wanted because I had a snorer next to me. He must have taken something to knock himself out. He was pretty loud.”
A WhatsApp message pops up on my screen, from Romy. I catch the words How was your weekend? Did you enjoy your work function? before it disappears and I immediately feel bad for having lied to my friend.
“I’m sorry, I need to go.” Alex’s voice comes down the line. “I’m having dinner with my dad tonight and it will be too late to phone when I get back so I’ll call you tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I cut the call, then bring up Romy’s message. Busy and not really, I reply. Let’s catch up soon. A thumbs-up emoji appears on my screen and I’m grateful to have a friend who allows me to call the shots, who understands it’s what I need.
On any other day I wouldn’t have agreed to go for a coffee with Romy after our Pilates class when she asked, because I’d chosen not to have friends.
Friendships were complicated; they demanded an exchange of experiences and I wasn’t ever going to share my past experiences with anyone.
I could have invented a backstory but I didn’t trust myself not to trip up on some minor detail and unravel the lie I’d created.
If the truth then got out, any friends I did have would feel betrayed. It was simpler not to have friends.
It was the same with my neighbors. The houses on either side of mine were empty, bought as investments by purchasers who lived abroad, but others nearer to the top of the street were lived in.
A letter had been pushed through my door not long after I moved in, asking if I wanted to participate in a street party that was being organized in our area.
I hadn’t replied and when the day came, I’d made sure to stay inside.
If I crossed paths with any of my neighbors as I passed by their houses, I’d mumble a quick hello and hurry past in case they tried to engage me in a conversation I didn’t want to have.
Although it pained me that they might think me odd, I accepted it as my destiny.
But with the passing years, my solitary existence became harder to bear.
The ache of loneliness ran deep inside me.
When I saw members of my Pilates group, who often turned up in groups of three of four, hugging one another as they said goodbye and making plans to meet during the week, I’d look wistfully at them, acknowledging that what I missed most about not having friends was never receiving a simple platonic hug.
The coffee with Romy had lasted two hours and at the end of it I knew much about her life, whereas I had shared only a little about mine. Apart from mentioning that I’d spent my childhood in care, I’d stuck to my present life and had managed to pad it out enough to satisfy Romy’s natural curiosity.
“How did you know?” I’d asked Romy as we stood to leave the café. “That I needed a friend?”
She smiled. “You always seemed as if you were on the outside, looking in, wishing you could be part of a group but not daring to make the first move.” Tears had welled in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Romy had said, giving me the hug that I craved.
“We can change all that. Are you free this weekend? Rob and I recently moved into a new flat. It’s ground floor with its own tiny patio, so we’re having a housewarming. ”
I’d taken an involuntary step back, instinct kicking in. “I’m not sure. I’m not great in crowds,” I explained, needing Romy to believe that I was shy, not fearful.
“It’s ten people, max. Please come. If you feel uncomfortable, you can leave and we’ll just do coffee in the future.”
So I’d gone to the party and to my surprise, I’d had a good time.
I’d immediately warmed to Rob—it was impossible not to—and the rest of their friends had been friendly, but not overly curious, and as the evening wore on, the tension that had accompanied me since I’d left the house earlier that day seeped from my bones.
For the first time in years, I was in a social situation that wasn’t to do with work and it felt good to chat to people without any strings attached.
The party wasn’t about funding, or persuading people into sponsorships, or asking for donations, it was just a group of people relaxing and having fun together.
When it had come to leaving, Romy hadn’t pressured me into meeting up again, she simply said that she’d see me at our Pilates class the following week.
It had allowed me to inch my way into our friendship, like a nonswimmer testing the water before immersing themselves completely.
It was a couple of months before I could allow myself to trust Romy, and to trust myself.
I had nothing to fear; Romy was exactly who she said she was and I quickly realized that the same was true of Rob and Marcus. They had no hidden agenda.
If they had, I’d already be dead.