I had first met Liz only a few months previously. It was coming up to Christmas, and a group of us from school, all in the middle of our year off before university, were meeting up for a final drink together. The group was about to break up, with most of us setting off on various trips around the world.
James (nominally my best friend, but in fact we’d been getting on each other’s nerves for at least three years) turned up with Paul, and with his new girlfriend – Liz. This struck me as slightly inappropriate. You don’t really want a newcomer around when old friends are getting together for an emotional farewell. It’s inhibiting.
‘Have you two met?’ he said, trying to sound casual. We both knew that he had told me all about her, in explicit and tedious detail, while deliberately keeping us apart. I had assumed that this meant he was embarrassed by Liz, and by her inability to live up to his ludicrous claims about her beauty, but one sight of her instantly demolished that theory. She was amazing. And exactly how he’d described her. With an affronted jolt, I realized that James hadn’t introduced us because he was embarrassed by me.
‘I don’t
‘Liz. Dave.’
‘Hi,’ she said, offering me a cheek to peck. (Fantastic skin, too. )
‘And have I introduced you to these?’ said James, taking a step back and indicating two pairs of identical brown-leather boots, sported by him and Paul.
‘What the hell is that?’ I said.
‘Walking boots. Brand new,’ replied James. ‘We’ve done our final big shop. Look.’ He lifted a huge green Y H A -shop bag on to the table, and we all sat down.
‘Rucksack; money belt; mosquito-repellent stick; mosquito-repellent spray; mosquito-repellent gel; water- purification tablets – eight packs; travel wash – four tubes…’
While the pile of junk mounted on the table, I caught sight of Liz’s face. She was squinting slightly, and her mouth was set in an angry pout. James, you see, was doing his big trip with Paul (oldest friend and general obedient stooge), while Liz was stuck in London doing an art foundation course.
‘.… mini sewing kit; water-resistant torch; special sweat-absorbent socks; nylon emergency towel; rubber all-purpose sink plug; and, best of all… this.’
In his hand, James held out a palm-sized piece of square black plastic.
‘What is it?’
‘Da-daaah.’ He prised open the plastic, revealing a square of paper which, after delicate unfolding, showed a map of the world.
The last thing I wanted to see was a map of the world, since it inevitably indicated that he was about to force-feed me with yet another account of the latest, infinitesimal changes to his ‘master plan’. I opted for swift diversionary tactics.
‘Walking boots? What do you need walking boots for?’
‘For our trek. We’re doing a trek in the…’
‘Since when have you been into walking?’
‘Since always.’
‘Bollocks. You always said you hate the countryside. You think it’s boring.’
‘This is the Himalayas we’re talking about, Dave. It’s not
‘It is. It’s just big countryside.’
‘David – we’re going to see three eight-thousand-metre peaks. Do you realize how many eight-thousand- metre peaks there are in the world?’
‘No, and I’m not int–’
‘Six.’
‘Seven,’ said Paul.
It’s six.’
‘There are seven.’
‘Six.’
I turned to Liz. ‘Fascinating company, these two.’
She shrugged and half smiled at me.
‘James,’ I said, cutting in on their argument, ‘you’re boring. The pair of you are piss-boring. Talk to each other about your trip in private, OK? There are two other people here, and we’d like to stay awake, so can we try and talk about something real?’
‘Hah,’ said James.
‘What do you mean, “hah”?’
‘That’s… just… not very elegant.’
‘
‘I mean – that kind of… open jealousy… is… is just embarrassing.’
‘Oh, I
‘Yes.’
‘And in my heart of hearts, I really am desperately interested in how many hills there are that are a little bigger than lots of other hills.’
‘Dave – you can’t face us talking about our trip because it reminds you that you are pissing away your year. You’re pissing it away because you haven’t planned anything, and you haven’t planned anything because you’re basically too scared to go travelling.’
‘I’m going abroad.’
‘To Switzerland?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oooh – aren’t we brave? You’re really risking life and limb there. Waiter in a Swiss hotel! Hazardous stuff.’
‘Don’t be an arsehole, James.’
‘Shocking hygiene, too. You’re going to get really ill in
‘James, you’re being annoying,’ said Liz. ‘Maybe he wants to learn French. Or German. Which part of the country is it?’
‘I’m going to the French-speaking bit, near to the…’
‘Do you want to learn Fwench, David? Something pwactical for your CV?’
I could feel my face going red.
‘You’re jealous, and you’re a coward,’ he said. ‘You can’t face doing any real travel because you don’t think you could survive in… in a different culture.’
‘I could survive.’
‘Why aren’t you doing it, then?’
‘Just…’
‘Will you lay off him,’ said Liz. ‘Not everyone is like you, James. If he doesn’t want to travel, he doesn’t want to travel. It’s not compulsory, you know.’
That was it. The moment I fell in love with her. Or started to fall in love with her.
James bit back a scowl and tried to smile. He didn’t like being contradicted in public by his girlfriend. (That’s the kind of arsehole he was.) ‘Yeah, but… I mean, you’d go travelling if you weren’t stuck in your art foundation course.’
‘I’m not
‘Yeah, but if you had the time, you’d go off to Asia or something, wouldn’t you?’
