CLAUDIA
I arrived at the café to Sam scowling at me over half-eaten scrambled eggs.
‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ she demanded.
‘Hello to you too.’
It wasn’t like Sam to greet me with a strop and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. I was tempted to turn round right there and then and walk out again. I had enough going on without dealing with anyone else’s crap but she must have seen something of that in my face and dropped the attitude quickly.
‘Oh bollocks, sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s me who should be apologising. I just can’t get my head around last night.’
And she was off, telling me all about Charlie’s birthday party. At least I think that was what she was talking about. To be honest, I couldn’t really keep up. The story was pouring out of her and it was coming at me at double speed, or that’s what it felt like. Of course she couldn’t really have been speaking at twice her usual speed but, with my head crammed full, I struggled to process what she was saying.
‘. . . so there they were on the footpath and she just leaves him, screaming, “It’s over,” and goes off in the cab! What do you think, Claud, do you think it really is over?’ She paused and looked at me. I realised I was expected to give her some sort of response rather than just a sympathetic noise. What was it that she’d just said? I felt something in my hands. It was the menu. I had been holding it the whole time Sam had been speaking but I hadn’t taken any of it in. Maybe I should have stayed home today after all. I couldn’t be a good friend right now. This was awful.
‘Have you been listening?’ Sam said again.
‘Yes, of course I was,’ I replied. Think. Say something.
‘I’m thinking,’ I said.
‘The thing is,’ Sam continued, ‘he seemed totally floored by the whole experience, as if it came out of nowhere. But I don’t understand that because when he’s been with me he’s been saying it’s not working with her. But I suppose he was really drunk at the time.’
The waitress arrived and took my order or, I should say, I opened my mouth and somehow formed a string of food-related words. I hope they made sense. The pimply girl taking the order wrote them down anyway. It gave me a moment to come up with some Charlie-related words and I strained to remember the content of Sam’s download. I took a sip of coffee and Sam watched me place the cup carefully in its saucer. I think I had the gist.
‘It could be the end, Sam. Or it could be that they thrive on drama and this is just one of many walkouts by the girlfriend. What’s her name again?’
‘Lucy.’
‘Lucy . . .’ What could the name tell me about the woman? Not much, not really. I think of Lucys as being warm and apple-cheeked, with curly blonde hair, none of which was helpful right now. When Sam told stories like this one it was usually my job to give her some context, some big-picture stuff to make the action in the foreground reduce to a more manageable size for Sam to process. At least that was what I’d always thought she needed. What a great big pile of rubbish that seemed like now. Why should anyone come to me for advice? And worse, why should I have thought that what I had to say was of any use?
‘Is she a drama queen?’ I finally dredged up another question.
Sam shrugged. ‘She doesn’t seem like one. More the cool, calm, keep-everything-up-my-clean-anus type actually.’
‘Nice.’
Sam smiled. ‘It’s true! Anyway that’s why I think this really might be the end. I doubt she’d normally be that out of control in public.’
‘So why are you so grumpy then? By what you’re saying you should be over the moon, right?’
Sam hesitated. ‘That’s what I don’t understand either, Claud. I should be happy but I’m not.’
Sam worried the side of a finger with her teeth, her face scrunched up in tired confusion.
‘What was Charlie’s reaction to her storming off?’ I asked her.
She rubbed her face and I saw just how miserable she was. It wasn’t just a case of being in a hungover grump – the poor old thing was obviously raw about this Charlie character. I finally felt something click into place and I was brought into the moment.
‘Did he seem upset or dismissive or what?’ I asked.
Sam’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘That’s the thing I don’t understand, Claud. He was gutted. He looked so forlorn, and so . . . lost!’
‘Wouldn’t that be normal though, Sam? He’s just been dumped.’
‘Yes, but—’ Sam wiped away an escaping tear crossly. She hated showing emotion in public or indeed in private. She liked the wider world to believe she was fearless. She sure had it bad for this guy.
‘I thought he might be relieved, that it would mean he could spend time with me and not feel guilty,’ she said quietly.
‘Aren’t you really talking about yourself?’
Sam sighed. ‘Oh you’re probably right, Claudia. I’m going to go and sort myself out in the loo. These tears are really starting to ruin my breakfast. And we haven’t talked about you at all yet.’
When she returned, she launched straight back into Charlie and Lucy’s break-up again, turning it over and over, examining it for every crack, every blemish. How upset Charlie was and how this didn’t fit the scenario Sam had in her head, ready and waiting for just this opportunity. When he finally dumped Lucy he was supposed to run joyfully into Sam’s arms. It was never meant to be the other way round.
‘What if he pines after Lucy forever?’ she asked me, her face white and not at all pretty.
Breakfast came as a welcome distraction and we moved onto some perfunctory conversation about friends and family, but Sam’s heart wasn’t in it. Any subconscious wish to share my news with her had dropped out of my handbag when she’d started banging on and on.
Finally it was time to pay and just when the teenager returned for our payment – or should I say my debit card – Sam pinged her head up like she’d just seen the light.
‘I’ve got it!’ Her face flooded with colour, a maniacal grin fixed on her face. ‘Don’t you see, Claudia, he’s forced her to dump him. Without knowing it, he’s subconsciously pushed her away.’ She gesticulated wildly, unable to get her words out fast enough. ‘The relationship was doomed but he couldn’t initiate anything upfront so he was just enough of an arsehole to finally push her away – that’s it! That’s why she’s dumped him. It was him all along; he just doesn’t know it yet. I’ve done that countless times. Claudia? Do you know what I mean?’
And suddenly I’d had enough of her and her two-penny analysis. She was being a self-absorbed bore. All I wanted was to get away from her endless Charlie talk.
‘No, I don’t actually.’
‘Haven’t you ever done that? You know when things are out of your control, and you’re not aware that you’re doing it, but before you know it you’re getting dumped and you’re free? It’s great!’
‘Actually, if something isn’t working, I usually just tell them.’ Adding in my head that I didn’t usually go far enough for something not to work. I stood up and pulled on my coat. I really had to get out of there and I could feel frustrated tears welling up inside. Why were we even friends? She hadn’t asked me a single question about myself.
She was still talking out on the street. ‘But that’s brilliant, isn’t it? He won’t realise it straightaway but in a day or two he’ll be feeling on top of the world. And he’ll be free.’
‘To be with you?’ My tone was harsh and I heard Sam take a sharp breath.
‘I hope so,’ she said quietly.
I was scanning the street for a cab but forced myself to turn back to her. She looked pathetic, chewing her lip like a twelve-year-old.
‘Well, don’t throw yourself at him whatever you do,’ I said.
‘Of course I won’t! I’m not silly!’ And she punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘Anyway, I’m quickly learning to lure them in, Claud, thanks to your excellent tuition.’
‘Well, if you say so.’
I waved at a cab, with no luck.
‘Damn.’
There was another one sitting at lights in the distance. I strained to see if its for-hire light was on. We didn’t speak. In my head I was already in the cab, not talking to anyone.
In the silence between us Sam finally twigged that perhaps I wasn’t the most cheerful person on the block just then.
‘Is it something I’ve said?’
‘No.’ I paused. It wasn’t something you said, Sam – it was everything.
‘We haven’t really talked about you, have we?’
‘No, we haven’t. But now I’ve got to get to my parents’ for lunch.’
The cab pulled over. I hugged her quickly and got in, not even asking her if she wanted a lift somewhere, and I realised that what I’d needed all morning was a hug myself.