‘Mate, what the fuck?’ Harv hisses at me. ‘What are you doing telling her I can’t stop talking about her? Are you insane?’
‘Sorry, I just—’
‘I’ve liked this girl for ages, man, and then you start …’ His eyes suddenly light up and a smile splits his face in two. ‘Ah, no, screw it. I literally, physically, cannot be angry at you right now.’ He drops his voice to a whisper. ‘So, last night, right. Work Christmas party. We finally … Yeah. And it was, like …’ He slaps both hands on my shoulders, puffs his cheeks out, rolls his eyes and exhales slowly into my face.
‘What does that mean?’ I ask. ‘Exhausting?’
‘What it means is, we had actual sexual intercourse. And it was really quite something, Benjamin.’ He gazes up at the ceiling and shakes his head. ‘It was really quite something.’
He looks so joyously, heartbreakingly happy that I’m not sure what to say. I mean, what can I say?
Olivia Woodford is, without a doubt, the worst thing that will ever happen to him.
From the start, their relationship was so dangerously unbalanced that I could hardly believe it lasted six weeks, let alone four years. Four whole years of Harv jogging along a few steps behind her, never being quite rich enough, or cool enough, or … anything enough for her.
They met at this music marketing company where Harv had a low-level admin job. Liv was employed there – as far as I could understand – on the sole basis that her dad had been in the same university drinking club as the CEO. After weeks of me listening to Harv moon on about her while we played PlayStation, they finally hooked up at the office Christmas party.
And that was it. I pretty much lost him for the next four years.
It was partly because I didn’t much like Liv, to be honest. She seemed to have that thing a lot of ridiculously hot people have, where they assume their ridiculous hotness is an acceptable excuse for extreme unfriendliness. Talking to her was a constant battle for eye contact; she always seemed to be looking over my shoulder for someone more interesting. But more than that, I didn’t like who Harv became as their relationship intensified.
In an effort to fit in with Liv and her rich hipster mates, he became colder and harsher and more sarcastic. He seemed to lose all the things I’d liked about him at university: his self-deprecating humour, his goofy charm, his infectious excitement for life. He was besotted with her – ‘besotted’ really is the perfect word – and in her presence he would dial his confidence up and his self-awareness down. To me, it always seemed obvious that he was trying so, so hard. And I guess I’ve always thought that real love is about not having to try at all.
But then look where that’s got me.
Anyway. Over the next four years, Harv drifted gradually away from me until he was completely absorbed into Liv’s friendship group. We’d almost lost touch altogether by the time everything came crashing down around him.
He found out that Liv had been cheating on him with a stupidly handsome start-up millionaire who’d appeared in one series of Made in Chelsea. They broke up, and I naïvely assumed I would get my best mate back. But he didn’t magically change back into the bloke he once was; instead, he seemed to move even further away from him. He became suddenly and terrifyingly fitness-obsessed; I guess out of concern that his slight chubbiness had been the reason Liv had gone off with the Made in Chelsea guy (who, as I recall, was built like Zac Efron).
It strikes me now, watching Harv bogle around the kitchen in post-coital bliss, that I never talked to him about any of this at the time. We fell slowly and cautiously back into friendship, but I never once properly checked whether he was OK. I never once offered anything beyond the cursory ‘Ah, buck up, mate, plenty more fish’ platitudes. I probably told myself this was because we were blokes, and blokes didn’t really talk about that stuff. But that’s bollocks, really. I was too wrapped up in myself, and my own problems.
I think back suddenly to Christmas Eve 2020, in the pub, feeling that disconnect between us – that inability to ever talk about anything real, anything important. It all started here, really; this was the period when our friendship first began to unravel. Not just because he hooked up with a girl I couldn’t stand, but because I was too self-involved to be there for him when it all went to shit.
Maybe that’s what today is all about, then. Maybe that’s why I’m back here, on this specific day. Am I supposed to tell him what will happen in the future? Surely he wouldn’t believe me even if I did?
Harv interrupts my thought process by opening the fridge and asking, ‘Have you fed Ghostface and Raekwon?’
I stare at him. ‘The … Oh, right, the goldfish?’
‘No, the Staten Island-based rap duo. Yes, the goldfish.’ He clicks his tongue. ‘What is wrong with you this morning, man?’
‘Sorry, I’m just feeling a bit … off, I guess.’
‘So, is it a yes or a no to the feeding?’
‘It’s a no.’
‘Right.’ He takes the fish food out of the fridge and glances up at the clock. ‘Aren’t you going to work?’
God. Shit. Maybe I am. I find myself just staring blankly at him again, with absolutely no idea what to say. Since I’ve no idea when exactly I am, I also have no idea what exactly it is I do.
‘It’s your office Christmas thing tonight, isn’t it?’ he reminds me. ‘Y’know: “Ain’t no party like a lads’ mag party”.’
And then, finally, everything slots into place. I know exactly what day it is. And I’m not looking forward to reliving it one bit.
Chapter Nineteen
Within a few seconds of leaving the flat, my assumption is confirmed.
A quick
