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NOW

Will, Sam, and of course, Libby. The three of them had held her up in turn through those dark months. Libby, with her infectious optimism, had been the one who’d helped her to bring a little fun back, despite the pain. Booking those spa days, cinema, theatre tickets, and not taking no for an answer.

Late 2021, she’d found herself going to see Les Misérables in central London. Testament, once again, to her friend’s persuasive skills.

Libby was waiting in the theatre foyer, looking at her watch, when Sophie rushed in. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she panted. ‘I’m not used to the tube any more!’

Libby laughed. ‘Hey, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘As long as you don’t stand me up.’

‘As if.’

They linked arms and made their way to the bar, determined to get a glass of something in before the performance started. It was their fifth time watching Les Misérables and it was becoming something of a tradition.

‘God, I love this show,’ Sophie said.

‘Even though it makes you sob your heart out?’

‘Even so,’ she smiled. It was true, the love story, the child getting shot, the misery and ecstasy of it all often left her with tears pouring down her face. But they were different tears. The kind of tears she’d shed over a book or a film. A caught-up-in-the-emotional-moment rather than the real sadness and misery she’d experienced with Tom.

‘So, how are things with Will?’ Libby asked as they took their glasses over to a standing table in the corner, giving others a chance to get to the bar before curtain up.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on. You two have been getting close.’

Sophie’s hands felt hot. ‘Not really. We’re just friends!’ She thought about the kiss. About how, when she was with Will, she felt different; lighter.

‘Sure about that?’ Libby’s eyebrow rose in a teasing challenge.

‘Seriously,’ she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she expected it to. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Sorry,’ Libby said, chastened.

‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just everyone seems to be sure we’re getting together. And I like Will, I do. A lot. It’s just… it doesn’t seem right somehow.’

‘In what way?’

‘Come on, Libby. Tom’s… well, it’s only been two years. And they used to be best friends.’

‘OK,’ Libby said. Then, nodding at the barman, ‘Plenty of options if you’d rather someone brand new,’ she quipped. ‘Do you want me to get his number for you?!’

‘Libby!’ she said, half infuriated, half laughing. ‘No, thank you.’

Libby shrugged.

‘Anyway, what about you?’

Libby put a hand on her chest, dramatically. She was wearing electric blue nail polish, Sophie noticed, set with little silver gems. ‘Me?’ she said.

‘Yeah. Anyone on the horizon?’

A little shake of the head. ‘Nobody worth talking about.’

‘Are you sure?’ Sophie wheedled.

Libby looked uncharacteristically serious. ‘OK. Maybe,’ she said. ‘There’s been someone. Recently.’

‘Ooh!’ Sophie leant forward, interested. ‘Tell me everything!’

‘Well, he’s nice. It’s just…’ She picked up a beer mat and started to tear off the corner.

‘What, skeletons in the closet? Weird job? Funny looking?’ Sophie teased.

Libby shook her head. ‘No, it’s me.’

‘Oh. Just not sure?’

Another shake. ‘Fuck it. OK. Well, if you must know, I’m nervous. You know about… getting too serious.’

‘Nervous? You?’

Libby’s eyes were shining. ‘Oh, I know. I put on a veneer. Loud Libby, jokey Libby. And I am, I guess. But… I do worry sometimes.’

‘About getting hurt?’

‘One way or another. I mean you had Tom. And…’ she trailed off. ‘Stupid of me.’

Sophie grabbed her hand. ‘No! Not stupid. It’s… it’s normal to be a bit scared.’

‘You think?’

‘It means that you actually care about something, if you’re frightened to lose it.’

Libby nodded. ‘Maybe.’

‘But Libby. You deserve it. Happiness. Or the possibility of it. What happened to me was… well, all sorts of horrible. But that’s the lottery of life, I suppose. And you can’t let it hold you back. Make you afraid. Maybe it’s even more reason to seize happiness if you have a chance of it?’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

Sophie nodded. She wasn’t quite sure where the words had come from; somewhere deep inside she’d thought had died alongside Tom. But she’d believed every word as they’d fallen from her lips. You shouldn’t fear life, she thought. You just had to live it. If Tom’s experience had taught them anything, it should be that.

They sipped their drinks silently.

‘Nearly time,’ Sophie said, looking at her phone.

‘Cool. Shall we order some more drinks for the interval?’

‘You know, what if I did start liking Will. I mean, what would you think of it?’ Sophie found herself blurting.

‘Well,’ Libby said carefully, ‘I’d think it was a good thing. Finding someone. And we’ve known Will for years – he’s a good guy.’

‘He is.’

Libby leant slightly against the table. ‘You know there was a time, at first, when I thought you might end up with Will? Before it all took off properly with Tom.’

‘No, you didn’t! Did you?’

‘Well, yeah. You two just seemed…’

‘Seemed what?’

‘Well, like a fit I suppose.’ Libby shrugged as if the information she’d just imparted were no big deal.

‘And you didn’t think that about me and Tom?’ Sophie felt an unexpected flash of anger.

‘Well, no. Not at first. But then I thought, well, what do I know?’ Libby shrugged. ‘People are attracted to each other for all sorts of reasons. You and Tom were kind of like, well, chalk and cheese. You seemed really different from each other… but sometimes I think we’re attracted to people for that reason, aren’t we? You know, we fill in each other’s gaps.’ She smiled.

Ordinarily, Sophie would have had something to say about Libby’s choice of words, but she was too – what? Incensed? Shocked? Interested? ‘What, complete each other?’

‘Well, yeah. If you’re into romcom terminology. Yes.’

‘So not chalk and cheese then?’

‘OK, maybe not. Cheese and pickle?’ Libby suggested.

Sophie’s mouth turned up, involuntarily almost. It was impossible not to love Libby. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Thanks, I guess.’

There was a shuffle of people as the time for the performance to start grew closer. People began to return glasses, to make their way to their seats or to join the queue for the loos. Libby got up as if everything were ordinary. As if she hadn’t said something that, to Sophie, seemed life-altering.

‘But,’ she said. ‘Seriously. You didn’t think Tom and I… well, would work out?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she said. ‘Just at first you seemed different. But you proved me wrong, didn’t you?’

Sophie was quiet. ‘I guess we did.’

The melancholy that washed over them both whenever Tom was mentioned stilled them for a moment.

‘Come on,’ Libby said decisively, linking her arm through Sophie’s. ‘If we’re going to be “ misérables”, we might as well make the most of it. It’s starting soon.’

But Sophie wasn’t ready. ‘So you think that… I mean, Will and me… That it’s OK? That if I… we… saw each other a bit, it wouldn’t be a betrayal of Tom?’

‘Course not!’

‘Even though Tom and I said we’d be together forever? I mean, I made a promise, Libby.’

‘Yes, you did. But it included… you know… ’Til… well, ’til death do us part.’ Libby grimaced at her own words. ‘So, you know.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘You deserve a bit of fun, at least. It doesn’t matter whether Will’s the second love of your life, or just someone nice to date. It’s OK to move on.’

Sophie snatched her arm away, suddenly defensive. ‘Two years isn’t long, Libby!’ she said.

‘For God’s sake.’ Libby, usually the coolest of cucumbers, was beginning to sound impatient. ‘Look, you’ve got to stop feeling so guilty about everything. What happened to Tom, it was awful. But you know, it happened to you too. You deserve happiness. And who’s to say what would have happened if Tom hadn’t got sick. I mean, things weren’t… great with you guys before that, were they?’

‘They were OK.’

There was a silence as the two women looked at each other. As if neither could quite believe Libby had said that.

‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘Too much. No relationship is perfect, after all. I suppose I’m just saying… We don’t know what life might have waiting around the corner. And maybe it’s time to think about living again?’

Sophie’s body filled with indignant adrenaline. She wanted to march out of the theatre, into a taxi and get home as soon as possible. She wanted to yell at her friend. She wanted to shake her to say, ‘Tom and I – we weren’t like that! We loved each other!’

But looking at Libby’s face, she softened. People sometimes said the wrong thing for the right reasons. So many of the friends on the periphery of Sophie’s life had melted away when she was bereaved. Had crossed the street to avoid an awkward conversation. Had not known what to say, so had said nothing at all. Libby had always been there. And while Sophie didn’t always appreciate her interventions, didn’t always agree with what she said, she was grateful that she was still at her side, still talking to her. Not worried, as others seemed to be, that bereavement might be catching. She felt a shiver of longing and frustration, sadness and residual anger run through her and wondered, not for the first time, how the simple five letters of grief could encompass such a range of emotions.

‘Shit,’ Libby said.

‘What?’

‘I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I’m such an idiot.’

‘You’re not, you’re not!’ Sophie wiped her eyes, annoyed that they were betraying her. ‘I mean, you aren’t exactly tactful.’

Libby snorted.

‘But you’re here. You’re saying something. And there isn’t anything you can say that would be right. Most people run away from that.’

Libby nodded. ‘Soph, you guys loved each other. Anyone could see that. Just, I love you too. And I want to help. I’m just not very good at it.’

‘Not very good?’

‘Shit. I am completely and utterly shit at it.’

Sophie felt the ghost of a smile flicker on her lips. ‘That’s more like it.’ She slipped an arm around her friend. ‘But thanks,’ she said.

Libby’s eyebrows raised. ‘For what?’

‘Ah, you know.’ And she gave her friend a small smile, which was returned.

The pair walked into the theatre to lose themselves in other people’s misery and heartache and redemption, and forget about their own traumas for a while.

She’d book tickets again, thought Sophie now. To another musical. Because Libby loved them. And it was time she started being a better friend.