I’m sitting on the step of my flat when the battered Transit pulls in. The rims are rusty and the exhaust spews a dark, noxious cloud into the alley at the back of where I live. Over time, currencies come and go. People will trade rocks for metals; potatoes for beans. Gold is only valuable because someone decided they liked how shiny it is. Anything can have value – yet there is always a time in a person’s life where he or she needs a van.
Ben clambers down from the driver’s seat as Jane trails around from the passenger side. He borrowed the vehicle from one of his mates, which is, as best I can tell, the way most people get hold of a van. Ben opens the back and then reaches in and picks out a large cardboard box.
‘It’s not as heavy as it looks,’ he insists.
It would sound more authentic if he wasn’t rocking from foot to foot, while alternating his grip as if clinging onto a banana skin soaked in washing-up liquid.
Ben rests the box on the lip of the van’s bumper and looks towards me. My flat opens into what is, essentially, a dead-end alley. The apartment above mine has a door that opens onto the road at the front, but nobody lives there. I don’t know who owns it and have always assumed it’s an investor, or something like that.
‘Where do you want it?’ Ben adds.
I hold open my front door. ‘In the living room,’ I reply.
He lifts the box, then lowers it. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I figured David can move things around when it’s all inside.’
Ben bites his lip and it’s only then that I realise I’ve misunderstood what he was asking. He wasn’t questioning if I was sure about where to put the box…
Either way, the moment is lost and he crouch-walks inside as a grinning Jane watches on.
‘He kept claiming it was awkward, rather than heavy,’ she says.
‘Where’s David?’ I ask.
Jane turns towards the parking spaces on the road and then ends up looking back to me: ‘Isn’t he here? I figured he was inside. He left before us.’
I check my phone, but there are no missed calls or messages. ‘I’ve not heard from him,’ I say.
We stare at one another blankly for a moment. The journey from David’s place in Kingbridge is only a 20-mile drive to mine in Gradingham. It’s one road and almost impossible to get lost, even if he didn’t know where he was going.
‘Perhaps he had to stop for petrol…?’ I say.
Jane stares at me for a second too long, but then seemingly catches herself and turns away as Ben re-emerges empty-handed from my flat. The three of us head to the back of the van and take out more of David’s belongings. Ben hoists down another box that he insists isn’t heavy, while Jane picks up a rucksack that’s locked with a small padlock. I grab a duffel bag that is soft and probably filled with clothes.
We carry everything into my flat and put it down on the floor of the living room, next to the first box.
Ben straightens himself and massages his neck: ‘I need a smoke,’ he says. He takes a step towards the door and then adds: ‘Maybe David will be here by the time I’m done.’
There’s an obvious punch of annoyance and, though I don’t necessarily blame him, it’s very out of character.
With Ben outside, Jane and I are left perching on a pair of stools next to the kitchen counter. She makes a point of turning around to take in the space, asking where David’s things are going to go without actually doing it.
‘I didn’t know Ben was smoking again,’ I say.
‘He’s not… not really. He only has the odd one when he’s had a stressful day or week.’
I think about pushing it, asking what’s led to this particular slip, but I’m not sure I’d get an answer. It’s never a good idea with Jane to even imply that everything with her and Ben isn’t pure paradise.
Jane takes the impasse to glance around once more. We’ve known one another since we sat side by side in primary school. We’ve had numerous silly teenage arguments but always made up quickly. We’ve shared clothes and gossip; we obsessed about boys and bands. We’ve grown up together. It’s like I can read her mind and I’m certain it’s the same for her. We don’t always need words.
‘I know what I’m doing,’ I say.
Jane doesn’t bother to deny that this is what she was thinking. ‘I’m not saying you don’t,’ she says.
‘David’s landlord is selling up,’ I add. ‘It’s not his fault. I offered to let him move in. It was my choice. He didn’t ask.’
That’s largely true. We’d moved onto seeing each other most nights, even if it was only for a movie and a glass of wine or two on the sofa. He’d mentioned that he might have to move away after his landlord sold and it was clear at what he was hinting. He kept coming back to it before I finally caved. He didn’t ask specifically, but he might as well have done. I had to ask myself whether I wanted him to leave.
‘You don’t have to justify anything to me,’ Jane replies. ‘But it’s a big step. You only met at my birthday six weeks ago.’
The fact that she knows this apparently off the top of her head says plenty.
‘Didn’t you and Ben move in together during your second year at uni?’ I ask.
‘That was different,’ she says.
‘Was it? I thought you moved in together to save money and share costs…?’
Jane bites at her nail and then turns and rubs my upper arm. There are so many times that I want to tell her to stop, but it’s gone on for so long that I figure it’s too late now. I suspect it’s more reassuring for her than it ever is for me.
‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
‘David makes me happy.’
Well, happy enough.
She presses her lips together and I know she isn’t convinced. I wonder if there’s an element of jealousy. Ever since university, she’s had Ben. They’ve been a duo and I’ve been the single friend hanging around. It’s different now.
I’m not in the mood to argue. Our fallings out are always around insignificant things, never anything important. I don’t get the chance to reply anyway, because the sound of raised voices drifts through the open front door. Jane and I exchange a bemused look and then we head out to the front, where Ben and David are at the back of the van. Ben has a cigarette in one hand and is jabbing a finger at David with the other.
‘That’s a lie,’ Ben shouts. ‘You know it is.’
‘Just shut your mouth.’
‘I’ll do whatever I—’ Ben cuts himself off as he notices us in the doorway.
‘Everything all right?’ I ask.
Ben and David exchange a look that I can’t read – and then Ben tosses his cigarette onto the ground and crushes it with his foot.
‘Let’s get this stuff inside,’ he says.
Without another word, Ben grabs a box from the van and carries it towards the flat. Jane and I step out of the way to allow him to pass. David crosses back to his car, which he’s parked at an angle at the front of the van. I follow him over, watching as he removes a satchel from the back seat. There’s a bobblehead of some footballer on the shelf at the back, though I have no idea who it is.
‘Probably didn’t need the van,’ he says. ‘I don’t have as much stuff as I thought.’
I nod towards the flat, from which Ben is yet to reappear. Jane has disappeared inside, too. ‘What was that about?’ I ask.
He digs into the satchel with his back to me: ‘What?’
‘The argument with you and Ben.’
David turns and shrugs. ‘Not much. We’re not going to let him spoil our day, are we?’ He starts to move past me and then stops, waiting until I’m at his side. ‘Number one, Sunshine Row,’ he says. ‘I like the sound of that.’