It was after nine now but the hall was still empty. Save for the smell of fresh coffee signalling to me like a crooked finger. It drew me on to the cafe, four doors down on the other side of the hall. The Sanctuary is housed in a medium-sized, cosy unit, the back third sectioned off into a small kitchen. Mike and his Italian wife, Ally, who run the place, are my closest friends in the building. They were both working, getting ready for the day ahead. Mike roared out a hearty greeting when I stuck my head round the door and Ally asked me how I was.
‘All the better for seeing you, O increasingly round one. But what are you doing on your feet?’
‘It’s him,’ Ally said, casting a barbed glance at her husband as she looked up from the carrot she was grating. Her thick, dark hair was tied back behind two delicate ears. ‘First he puts this ball of crazed snakes inside me and then he makes me work like a slave all day.’
‘Disgusting. You should sit down right now. The next five weeks should be spent reclining in a comfortable chair being hand-fed Belgian chocolates while having both feet massaged simultaneously.’
‘Hey, thanks, Billy. Thanks a lot, mate.’
‘Are you listening to this, “Mr Hurry up with Those Sandwiches for Godsake”? Oh, why didn’t I marry you, huh, Billy?’
‘Because he wouldn’t have you. And he’s going to marry the lovely Sharon, aren’t you, fella?’
‘Am I?’
‘Are you, Billy? Michael, has he told you something?’
‘Hold on, hold on!!’ I put my hands up. ‘It’s a little early for that.’
‘So, nothing’s going on then, mucker?’
‘Yes, all right. We got back together. OK, I admit it.’
‘Finally!’
‘But our relationship currently stands at a spectacular nine days.’
‘This time, Billy, but it was ages before. You have to add that on.’
‘Yes, OK, Ally. I will. But we have a long, long way to go and there’s no guarantee anyway. Also, as you know, Sharon just happens to be in Afghanistan at the moment, which even in the age of the Internet makes matrimony difficult. Married people – you just can’t help trying to get everyone else to join the club too, can you? What is it, you get a percentage from the vicar?’
‘No. It’s just because it’s such a wonderful club to be in.’ Ally beamed up at her husband, her eyes full of sarcastic adoration. Mike grimaced back then raised his eyebrows. Ally punched him on the arm with one hand, the other curling beneath the impressive bump that had been steadily growing amongst us like an alien for the last seven and a half months. The irony vanished from her face, replaced by a soft smile.
‘And so is this club,’ she said.
I shook my head, marvelling once again at the fact that the two people in front of me would, in five weeks’ time, be parents. Parents! How the hell did that happen? Actually I knew how it happened, but what I didn’t know was how I’d suddenly got to the age where two of my best friends were having a baby. Wasn’t it only last week that we were drinking tequila and smoking weed and talking bollocks all night? The idea was wonderful and bizarre at the same time, as was the fact that I was to be the child’s godfather. They’d only asked me last week, and as well as feeling deeply moved and honoured, there were shifting sands of pure terror moving in me.
We chatted away a little longer. I asked after little Billy, as I called him, and was told that little Michael was fine. As was little Sophia, as Ally referred to her baby. She showed me the last scan she’d had done, and I looked with slight unease at the black-and-white photo until the features became clear. I suddenly had an image of a bouncy little two-year-old, running through my open office door, Ally following. She was a little girl with curly black hair, achingly lovely, and she’d just learned to call me Uncle Billy.
‘She’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘You can tell that already.’
‘He’s handsome, you mean. Good left foot too, you can feel him practising free kicks. Just what we need down Stamford Bridge.’
‘They wouldn’t have him. He’s only half Italian.’
‘And he’s not a he either.’ Ally looked serious for a second, shooting another, meaning-laden glance at Mike. ‘You keep calling her that. My family, we’re all girls. You better get used to the idea, my love!’
Mike took hold of Ally’s shoulders. ‘I don’t care. You know that. Chelsea’s got a women’s team too.’
‘Oh yes? Well, wait till my papa takes her to the San Siro.’ Ally winked at me. ‘Then we’ll see who she wants to support.’
Mike looked disgusted as he turned back to the rolls he was unpacking. I left Ally and Mike to their prep and walked back down the hall to the lift.