Page 43 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Friday night and I’m headed for a kerbside pick-up after drinks with Dora and Ivan. They spent the entire evening discussing Graham’s on-air stumble, and I spent an equal amount of time remembering how excited those children were to see him.

It was a completely different side to Graham than I’ve ever seen before. How severely I’ve been underestimating him! Here we all were, thinking him some sorry, sad geezer wheeled off to die (forcibly retire) and he’s motivating disadvantaged kids.

It’s all tumbling around in my head as I depart the pub – Graham and his sports centre, and how little time we have left with him at the station.

I’m also thinking about Dave, and how my lawyer has once again chased me for the ring, and Naya, who has been avoiding my calls since we last spoke.

She’s still embarrassed, I suspect, that she snapped and said all those things.

She’s usually such a composed person. But I’ve forgiven her, I’ve decided.

In fact, I hardly think about the conversation at all.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I walk straight into someone as I exit the bar.

‘ Fuck .’ I grab at my head, throbbing where the other woman’s chin collided.

We’re both clutching at our bodies, wincing.

‘My god , this hurts,’ she whispers, then lets out a nervous laugh. Her voice is familiar, but I’m so distracted by my own aching forehead, I don’t quite catch it.

Not until we both look up.

‘Josie.’

‘Charlie.’

And then I let out a laugh, because honestly, what are the chances? What are the actual chances that it’d be Josie I walk into, at night, in an area far from where she lives or even frequents.

‘Oh god,’ she says again.

This might be the first time I’ve ever seen her so flustered, wringing her hands, unable to look me in the eye. She’s usually so composed, so melodic. Her fresh haircut has grown out a little, and it falls in front of her eyes.

Nearby, a man calls out, ‘Jose? You coming?’

He’s got a brisk kind of voice and wears a tailored suit, vape in hand. He resembles a gopher. Round face, stubble, thick bushy eyebrows. Pudgy and short.

Looking over her shoulder, Josie waves him off. Dismisses him. ‘I’ll meet you all in there.’

All .

And I realise it’s not just the one man with her, but four. A collection of suits. And two women. Colleagues, I’d guess. They shuffle off in the direction of the bar next door.

Josie loses her balance and staggers, and I realise she’s been drinking. Heavily. Her eyelids flutter, and her body sways. She clocks my expression and explains, ‘Shaun’s with the kids tonight. And it’s Roger’s last day, so …’

I don’t know which one Roger is. ‘You hate being called Jose.’

She winces, then rubs her head again. It must still be aching and part of me feels happy I walked into her – caused her some pain.

‘And you hate after work drinks with your colleagues,’ I add. ‘You’ve told me that, like, ten times.’

‘It’s been a long week, Charlie.’ She fumbles my name. Slurs it a little, and shame crosses her face. She hates people noticing that she’s drunk. Doesn’t want people to see her when she’s not poised and perfect.

‘I’m fine,’ she says, even though I didn’t say anything.

She tucks some of her hair behind her ear gently, then does the other side. Clears her throat, attempting to look a bit more sober.

‘So, how are you?’ she asks with a thin smile. It’s a mask. It seems that she’s expecting us to pretend we’re doing very, very well, when in reality we’re all doing very, very poorly.

‘Since that group chat conversation? Or just, in general?’

There is a brief moment of silence, and then her face crunches in on itself. The smile is gone, and her composed expression is replaced by complete shame. ‘God, this is so awkward. I’m really sorry about all of that. Shaun told me I should be ashamed of myself.’

‘Cinar told Quinn he would reach out and apologise. But he didn’t.’

She’s confused, for a moment. Her brow furrowing, as if to say, Why are we suddenly talking about Quinn and Cinar?

Her phone rings in her hand. Shaun . She declines it immediately, as if by habit, then realises I saw.

‘I’ll call him back,’ she says, although I’m not convinced.

‘How is he?’ I ask, because he was the only one who defended me in the chat. Because he’s always been kind to me. Because I feel sorry for him.

‘He’s driving me insane today,’ she says, then clocks my expression. ‘But he’s good, really good.’

‘Still looking like an unemployed alcoholic uncle?’

It’s a cheap shot, I’m aware. And she’s silent after I say it, because she’s remembering our conversation at the café. That she laughed when she told me about Shaun’s weight gain. And even for her, she knows that was too far. That Shaun doesn’t deserve it. That Shaun might not be the problem here.

I wasn’t as bad as her, right? When I spoke about Dave – when I complained about him. It wasn’t quite to the same level, was it? Now that I’ve realised what our conversations used to be like, I feel deep shame.

‘Charlie, I’m sorry.’ She runs her hand down her dress – white, pleated, midi-length. ‘I should’ve called or reached out, but we were embarrassed and we felt awful.’ She reaches towards me, then retracts her hand, letting it fall by her side.

‘Jose?’ Her gopher-colleague is back, poking his head out of the neighbouring bar.

She signals at him to go back inside. ‘Won’t be long.’

‘Got you a pint,’ he calls, then disappears inside.

Josie’s eyes find mine.

‘You hate beer,’ I point out.

‘I’ve told him so many times,’ she says, with a sigh. ‘How hard is it to order a gin and tonic?’

‘That Roger?’

She nods, then smiles. ‘I just got a promotion, actually. With Roger leaving, I’m stepping up into his role. And he recommended me. So, I kind of owe him.’

What about your husband? What do you owe him?

Instead, I say, ‘Congratulations.’

And she thanks me. Then she sighs. ‘I really hate Roger, though. I think I’ve got two more drinks in me before I head home. Need to be up early tomorrow morning.’

Tomorrow. Saturday. ‘You driving up to see Dave?’

Her head tips to one side, and she frowns, confused. ‘No, the twins have swimming lessons. Did Dave not tell you he’s back?’

‘Sorry?’

‘He’s back in town. Drove down last weekend. He said he was going to reach out.’

‘Why on earth would he reach out?’

‘He said he wants to see you.’

I feel tired hearing this. Tired of Dave and Josie, and the group. Of course he wants to see me. Probably wants to ask about the engagement ring in person, probably wants to try and explain – again – why he’s not a terrible person. Why I should forgive him.

‘He thinks we’re still friends,’ Josie says. ‘We didn’t tell him about the group chat.’ She’s looking at me with an expectant expression, as if trying to assess my loyalty. You won’t tell him, will you ?

‘And we are still friends, right? It’d be such a shame to lose this, we miss you,’ she says. ‘Things won’t change, will they? Just because of what we wrote?’

My Uber arrives, and I pull my handbag further up my shoulder. ‘We can’t afford to lose friends, Josie, not at our age.’

She visibly relaxes. ‘Exactly.’

‘Starting over at thirty-two?’ I fling the question over my shoulder as I walk away. ‘Who could be bothered?’