ELEVEN

Natalie’s email wasn’t the first time I had been called selfish, but I had never before understood how that could be truer of me than of anyone else. It was something Owen would come out with when he was most angry with me, and I would get so upset about it that he would end up apologising to me. It wasn’t that I believed I wasn’t selfish; it was more like I thought I deserved to be.

I had told Natalie – via text message – that Owen had broken up with me, but I had not seen her in person since a few days before Christmas. I hadn’t been spending a lot of time with her, and I probably wouldn’t have seen her when I did if it wasn’t for the Christmas party at the workspace.

‘You can come if you like,’ Owen had said.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I had responded, trying to understand if his comment had been an invitation or a defence.

‘You don’t have to,’ he said, ‘I don’t think many people are bringing partners.’

So that decided it.

Owen and I would be spending Christmas with our own families. It had been a few years since we had spent Christmas apart, and I was apprehensive about the time away from him. It felt like so much of our relationship was out of my control, and that by being away from him, he had the upper hand. I thought he’d realise that he didn’t miss me, didn’t even like me, and that he could only come to that realisation if he spent a few days away from me. He would be at the party one night and the following day we would be going our separate ways. I was frustrated that we would not be spending this final evening before the Christmas break together. The four nights we would be apart were now five. Why did he not think about these things? I tried not to let on that I was annoyed, and arranged to meet Natalie to stave off the feelings of inadequacy and jealousy that Owen’s partying triggered in me.

I arrived at the pub first and got myself a drink. I didn’t think to buy one for Natalie, or to text and ask what she wanted. It was busy in the pub and I was eager to get a table, to get settled. Natalie arrived a couple of minutes after me, dumped her bag, eyed my drink and went straight to the bar. I remember thinking she seemed a little off. I imagined she had just had a tough day at work. I knew her job was demanding, but wasn’t that true of all jobs? I had thought it a luxury to work in a job you cared about, and I had written off Natalie’s concerns about work because of that.

After a couple of drinks, a few of Natalie’s other friends started to trickle into the bar. I had noticed her sending messages, but had been too distracted by my own phone to consider that she might be trying to rally up a group of more interesting people to spend the night with. Now that I thought about it, she might have mentioned the promotion, and didn’t she say she was dating someone? I couldn’t remember. I had been so busy trying to find a balance between pretending that I wasn’t obsessed with Owen’s whereabouts and checking up on him constantly, that I had barely listened to a word Natalie had said. Perhaps, if I had not learned to automatically give the right responses as I pretended to listen, Natalie would have noticed that I was distracted. But by that point, I had become adept at pretending, so it made sense that, as far as Natalie was concerned, she had told me her problems and I had listened, even sympathised; but I had never followed up, never asked about her life, never done anything to imply that I cared.

When Cara and some of Natalie’s work friends joined us in the pub, I took the opportunity to sink deeper into myself. I looked at my phone a lot and smoked too much as an excuse to get outside, away from everyone. While I had become convinced that nobody liked me, Natalie had flourished socially, and perhaps if I had taken the opportunity, I could have found my place among her group of friends. I could have created the social life I thought I wanted, rather than ignoring what was there for me to take.

I don’t think I told Natalie I was leaving that night. I had developed a habit of going outside to smoke and never coming back in. Natalie must have been used it. She didn’t text to ask where I was. I probably should have noticed that something was wrong then.

I hadn’t realised how one-sided my relationship with Natalie had been. Since New Year’s Eve, I had been feeling confident in my right to be selfish, but I had been pushing Natalie away before any of this even started. I’d always wanted to believe she was the most important person to me. Aside from my parents, she was the person I had known the longest, the person who had known the most variations of me. But it was more the idea of her being my closest connection that appealed. People were always saying friends were more important than boyfriends, and in theory I agreed. But Owen was my life and I couldn’t ignore that.

I told myself that Natalie and I growing apart was just a consequence of growing up. People formed close friendships when they were children or teenagers, but when they grew up, they got careers, had children, moved to new countries. The focus of their lives shifted. Even as I told myself this, I continued to value the idea of myself as friend first and girlfriend second. So, I tried to make an effort with Natalie. I would text her about a new series I was watching, send her long rambling emails at work, try to make sure I saw her every week. When we were together, I took photos and tagged her in them. At least my social media presence made it look like I was a good friend.

But since Owen had started to change, I had become less vigilant over my relationship with Natalie, and looking back, I suppose I started to actively push her away. When she texted me, I was annoyed that the messages weren’t from Owen. I stopped asking her to meet up, and when she invited me out, I only accepted if Owen had plans with Helena or the others from the workspace. When I did go out, I would drink fast, eager to be having more fun – getting drunker – than Owen would be.

I had not noticed the difference in our friendship because I had only adjusted the way in which I was using her, whereas she noticed almost immediately. She had not previously been aware that she was being used.

Natalie was my only friend who knew me before I was Owen’s girlfriend. There were a few people from our university group who I’d sometimes go out drinking with, but they were tightly wound into my life with Owen, they weren’t mine. Natalie was the only friend I did not share with Owen, so maybe it made sense that she was the first to give when I felt him slipping away. I had always loved the feeling that being with her gave me. With Natalie, I felt that I understood my place in the world. I felt separate from Owen, that I had a life outside of him, and this validated my existence as a single entity, rather than simply an extension of him. I hadn’t meant to let her slip away, but when I started to lose him, I slowed down in my pursuit for independence, my desire to be something. I knew that I had been selfish – using my friend in an attempt to create the life I thought I should be living – but I had never considered that it might have been different for Natalie. What did she get out of being my friend? I was someone to go to the pub with, or someone to text when she was bored. Was that the meaning of friendship? If so, wasn’t that also self-serving?

I forced myself to restore the email and, as I read it again, I started to cry. What other people thought of me had always been important, but what I had failed to register was that it took very strong feelings for people to tell you what they really thought. For so long I had focused on my relationship with Owen, on making him love me with a passion to rival my own, that I had neglected to consider the effect on the people I had pushed to my periphery. It was not just Natalie. I hadn’t spoken to any of my uni friends in months; I had all but forgotten they existed. Cara and Elliott and a number of other friends of Natalie’s and Owen’s had always tried hard with me, and I had always been difficult. I had assumed Owen’s friends would talk about me behind my back – Owen’s crazy girlfriend – but this in itself was indicative of my self-aggrandising, my belief that I could make no effort with others and still be worthy of their scorn or judgement.