This was a mistake.
I should have followed my instincts and gone up to my grandma and grandad’s house in York with Mum, Laleh and Roxy. They’ll be snuggled up in front of a log fire right now, eating crisps and dips and watching some cheesy film or playing Monopoly. Instead, I’m shivering my arse off in the garage of some guy I don’t even know, waiting for Maxwell to lose at ping pong so we can go back inside and warm up a bit.
Maxwell is the reason I’m here. It’s his cousin’s party. I’m not sure why I agreed to come, only that it seemed like a good idea when he suggested it.
I know it probably sounds a bit miserable, but I don’t really like parties. On paper, I admit they look kind of fun, but the reality never lives up to the promise. Every party I’ve ever been to has left me feeling sort of empty and disappointed, and so far this one shows no 215signs of bucking the trend. It doesn’t help that I don’t know a soul here apart from Maxwell. I suppose I could make a bit more of an effort and initiate some small talk, but I don’t have the energy right now. Christmas was a bit of an emotional slog and I’m not sure I’ve got much left in the tank.
I take another sip from the warm can of Coke I’ve been nursing for the past half an hour and watch an increasingly sweaty Maxwell fling himself about the garage, grunting like a Wimbledon finalist with every shot.
‘You’re Frankie’s ex, aren’t you?’
I turn to my left. A girl with long, almost aggressively straight blonde hair is smiling up at me. Despite the Baltic temperature out here, she’s wearing a little black dress with spaghetti straps, her legs and arms bare.
‘How do you know Frankie?’ I ask.
‘School. She’s in my year.’
‘Is she here?’
‘No. She’s in Tenerife, I think. Somewhere like that anyway.’
I nod, simultaneously disappointed and relieved.
‘I’m really sorry things didn’t work out for you guys,’ she says.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur.
She extends her hand for me to shake. Her arms are puckered with goose pimples and her nails are long and red and glossy. ‘I’m Georgia, by the way,’ she says, wobbling slightly in her very high heels.
‘Ram.’
She shoots me a flirtatious grin. ‘Oh, I know who you are.’
I smile tightly and return my attention to the game. It’s match point. I will Max to lose so we can go back inside. It’s too bright out here. The fluorescent strip lights are making my eyes hurt. Plus, 216this Georgia girl is looking at me with far more intent than feels comfortable.
Max wins.
Shit.
As he flosses in celebration, I grab his sleeve. ‘Mate, I’ve got to go in,’ I say. ‘My fingers are about to fall off, it’s so cold.’
‘Go on then, you pussy,’ he says, sweat dripping from his brow. ‘I’ll come find you in a bit.’
‘You’re going inside?’ Georgia asks as I move towards the door.
‘Yeah.’
‘You want company?’
‘Er, no thanks. I’m just going to the loo.’
‘Does that mean you’re coming back?’ she asks.
‘Er, I dunno, maybe.’
Another flirtatious grin. ‘Well, I’ll be waiting.’
I give her another tight smile, chuck my almost empty Coke can in the black bin bag in the corner and head inside.
In my absence, the house has grown even busier. I squeeze past the people jamming up the hallway and make my way into the kitchen. It’s similarly packed, the windows opaque with steam. Someone has written ‘Happy New Year, bitches!’ in the condensation. I push my way through the warm bodies and open the fridge. There are no cans of Coke left so I have to make do with a glass of flat lemonade from a half-empty bottle on the sideboard.
Over by the patio doors, a bunch of kids have gathered around the kitchen table and are attempting to play beer pong but they don’t have the right kind of cups, just those little flimsy clear plastic ones – every shot resulting in a spillage.
Drink in hand, I push my way back the way I came, lemonade 217sloshing over the side of my glass. A girl with long black hair flashes me a big smile, I ignore her and keep moving. Girls are the last thing on my mind tonight.
I roam around the house looking for a quiet spot. The living room is clearly the designated make-out zone, loved-up couples everywhere I look.
No thank you.
Maybe I’ll just go hang out in the garden for a bit. I’ll need my coat, though. I head upstairs to the bedroom where I think Maxwell and I dumped our things earlier, but the second I open the door, a muffled pair of voices scream at me to ‘get out’ from beneath the pile of coats on the bed. I swear under my breath but do as they’ve asked.
Sighing, I return to the kitchen.
‘Ram! Hey, Ram!’ I look up. It’s that Georgia girl. She’s standing near the patio doors, waving at me. ‘Where’d you go?’ she calls.
I just shrug.
‘Wanna play?’ she asks, pointing at the beer pong table. ‘We need one more player.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Oh, go on. You can be on my team.’ She tilts her head to one side and bats her eyelashes.
‘Really, I’m OK.’ I smile apologetically and turn away, pretending to survey the half-hearted buffet. I scoop up a handful of peanuts and shove them in my mouth, all the while trying not to think about the bacteria.
As I wipe my hand on a bit of kitchen roll, something catches my eye. A door tucked away in the corner. I grab a bowl of crisps from the counter and push it open, gutted to discover someone has already beaten me to it. 218
In the shadows, I can make out a girl sitting cross-legged on top of the washing machine, the torch from her phone trained over the pages of a book.
‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I didn’t realize anyone was in here.’ I begin to back away.
‘Wait a second. Ram, is that you?’
Hang on, I know that voice. ‘Jojo?’
‘Hello!’ she says.
I break into a grin. ‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘Long time no see. Hello!’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jojo asks.
‘I’ve been asking myself that since I got here.’
‘Ah. Not having a great time?’
I laugh. ‘Not the best.’
Jojo grins and for the first time since I arrived, I find myself relaxing. It’s weird, but I don’t think I realized how much I missed hanging out with her until this exact moment.
Jojo and I got on from the beginning. To my shame, I don’t recall much about our very first meeting. It was at a football match, I know that much. She was there with Frankie apparently, watching from the sidelines. I vaguely remember being introduced, but the memory is hazy, dominated by my nostalgia for seeing Frankie again after all those years.
I met her properly on Frankie’s and my second date.
‘If you and me are going to go anywhere,’ Frankie told me, ‘you’re going to need the stamp of approval from Jojo.’
It was the end of March and tipping it down with rain. We were all pretty skint so we sat around Frankie’s kitchen table, eating round upon round of toast and chatting rubbish.
I liked Jojo right away. She was quiet at first, but she soon warmed up. I liked the way she and Frankie bounced off each other. Frankie was the gregarious one, Jojo her quieter, wittier partner in crime. 219The dynamic worked. Jojo reined Frankie in, Frankie set Jojo free. There was something comforting about their shared history, their in-jokes, their intimacy, their ease with one another. When Frankie informed me that she and Jojo told each other everything, I didn’t doubt it for one second. I envied their bond in lots of ways. Although I had good mates, by silent unspoken agreement, there were certain subjects we stayed clear of. We stuck to what we knew – football, girls, school, music, telly, general banter. And I’d always been content with that, unaware there was a deeper, more meaningful alternative on offer. Watching Frankie and Jojo interact, I got the feeling there was nothing off limits, a concept I found both terrifying and appealing in equal measure.
At one point, Jojo nipped to the loo.
‘Great, isn’t she?’ Frankie said, her eyes shining.
‘She really is,’ I agreed, and Frankie beamed with pride.
After that, we spent lots of time together as a threesome. Somewhere along the way, Frankie suggested I try setting Jojo up with Maxwell. I screwed up my face. I loved Maxwell, but I knew him too well to allow him anywhere near sweet, kind Jojo.
‘He’s still hung up on his ex,’ I said instead.
Which was true. Sort of.
‘Another one of your friends, then?’ Frankie said.
‘Have you asked Jojo about this?’
‘Uh-huh.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh, you know what Jojo’s like,’ Frankie said. ‘She’s shy when it comes to this stuff. We just need to give her a bit of a nudge.’
I went through my friends in turn, trying to picture each of them with Jojo, but every combination made me feel slightly queasy. When I told Frankie this, she laughed.220
‘It’s dead cute how protective you are over her,’ she said. ‘But Jojo’s an independent woman and the smartest person I know. I’m pretty sure she’s capable of making up her mind about these boys on her own.’
Still, I resisted, and eventually Frankie stopped pestering me about it, taking matters into her own hands by trying (and failing, as far as I knew) to push Jojo into the arms of some guy from their drama group.
And then my relationship with Frankie ended, terminating (inevitably I guess) my friendship with Jojo along with it.
Until now.
‘Mind if I join you?’ I ask.
Jojo appears to hesitate for a moment before smiling and patting the tumble-dryer next to her. ‘Be my guest.’