Page 2 of Wish You Were Here

Clapham, London

Ben

There are a variety of ways of walking into my flat after a day at the office.

The most common is that I walk in, dump my bag on the floor, grab a beer from the fridge, then fall onto the sofa next to Flatmate Simon, glad to be done at work for another day, and settle in for a night of watching rubbish television together, a few beers and either, if I can’t be bothered to heat something up in the microwave, a takeaway, or, if I can be bothered, a frozen ready meal.

Another way is I walk in, dump my bag on the floor, go straight into my bedroom, put on my running clothes, lace up my trainers, poke my head around the living room door to tell Flatmate Simon that I am finally going to go for that run, but then realise he’s watching a new episode of Escape to the Country , and I ask a simple question like, ‘Are they in Dorset?’ Then before I know it, I am sitting on the sofa, watching Escape to the Country and waiting for the mystery house.

Another, and a far less common way to walk into my flat after a day at the office, is to walk in, dump my bag on the floor, wander into the living room to find a group of my closest friends and my sister standing there with a large sign that says: INTERVENTON!

‘What’s this?’ I ask curiously. ‘What’s an interventon?’

‘Flatmate Simon messed up the sign,’ says Poppy, a frustration caught in her voice.

Poppy is my sister. Thirty-two, works for Lambeth City Council, something in planning, light blonde hair like Mum, big green eyes like Dad, in blue jeans, a beige shirt and a pair of white Veja trainers.

‘It’s meant to say intervention, obviously. ’

‘Right, so what’s the intervention for?’ I enquire.

Will steps forward. Will Robinson is my best friend from university.

Tall, short brown hair, enjoys travel, exercise and outdoor things.

He went to university to study law, but after a year dropped out to start his own fitness and outdoor adventure business.

He lives in a flat in Battersea, but spends much of his time running fitness classes across London, camping in some remote, far-flung part of the UK, or travelling the world in search of adventure.

He’s a bit like Bear Grylls, but without the silly first name.

‘Ben,’ says Will. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but this is for your own good. We all love you.’

‘We do,’ gushes Abigail enthusiastically.

Abigail Gorman, dark hair, caramel skin from a Turkish mother, and we slept together once before realising it was a mistake and we were better off as friends.

She works in the media and is single. She had a boyfriend, but that didn’t work out – chiefly because he slept with someone else.

‘But it has to stop, Ben. It’s gone too far. ’

‘Sorry, guys, but I still don’t know what this intervention is for.’

My friends and sister all look towards Flatmate Simon.

‘It’s Saffy, mate. Sorry, but you have to break up with her. She’s horrible, none of us like her, and it’s clear she makes you miserable.’

Flatmate Simon, thirty, filmmaker, and despite living together for the past eight years in our Clapham flat, I still don’t fully understand how he makes so much money.

He has his own production company, and they create brand videos.

He’s currently working on a series of YouTube videos about the London food and drink scene, and yet he always seems to be at home, usually watching television with a cup of tea in his hand.

‘Oh, right,’ I say, before I add. ‘So this isn’t about my massive gambling habit then?’

No-one laughs at my joke, which I have to admit, isn’t one of my best. Saffy Pembroke, my habitually on and off again girlfriend.

I understand their point of view, and I know that none of them has ever really warmed to her.

She is, without doubt, difficult, opinionated and possibly racist if you take onboard her views on immigration, but she can also be lovely (to me, sometimes), is generous with money (with me, occasionally), and we have the healthiest sex life I have ever had.

Saffy is like the late-night kebab you eat after a night at the pub.

You know you shouldn’t do it, you’ll definitely regret it in the morning, but there’s just something quite enticing about it – especially after a few drinks. Poppy steps towards me.

‘Ben, little brother, this isn’t a joke. We’re genuinely concerned about your mental health.’

‘I think that’s a bit of a stretch,’ I say, feeling somewhat defensive. ‘I agree she’s probably not long-term wife potential, but she’s not doing me any harm.’

‘Oh, really?’ says Will pointedly. ‘Last month, we had that boy’s night out that Flatmate Simon and I had spent weeks planning, and everything was ready to go. We were all looking forward to it, reservations had been made, and then at the last minute you cancelled. Why?’

Everyone looks towards me.

‘I mean, that’s not really—’

‘Why?’ says Will firmly.

‘Saffy wasn’t well. She had a headache, an upset tummy, and, you know, allergies, if I remember correctly,’ I reply, realising as I’m saying it how woefully pathetic it sounds in hindsight.

‘So you cancelled a boy’s night out that had been strategically planned, jotted into calendars for months because Saffy was feeling a little under the weather,’ says Will.

‘I’d say she was feeling a little worse than under the weather, Will.’

‘Remind me again for everyone in the room. Where did she go the following day?’

‘The next day?’ I ask, bidding myself some time because I know exactly where she went the following day, and I know that Will knows too.

‘Yes, Benjamin, the following day,’ says Will, in an accusatory tone.

‘I mean, is that really—’

‘Answer the question!’

‘Thorpe Park.’

‘She wasn’t really sick at all, was she?

’ says Will, prosecuting the case. His one year studying law at university is coming to the fore.

‘I bring into evidence this post from Saffy’s Instagram account dated the day of Thorpe Park.

Would you look at my phone, Ben, and describe for the benefit of everyone in the room, what Saffy is doing in said photo? ’

I look closely at the post, and I know exactly what she is doing. I liked the post.

‘She’s riding the Colossus roller coaster.’

‘The girl who was on death’s door one day is riding the Colossus roller coaster the next!’ says Will, and everyone in the room gasps in horror, which is, I think, a touch melodramatic. ‘I rest my case.’

‘Bravo, Will!’ says Abigail, clapping.

‘But that was just one night. I hardly think it calls for an intervent—’

‘Last Sunday!’ says Poppy. ‘The roast at our flat. Hugh spent a fortune on that topside of beef from Ginger Pig. I spent all morning slaving over the duck fat roast potatoes, the Gordon Ramsay cauliflower cheese and our grandmother’s famous Yorkshire puddings. Then what happened?’

I have to admit that Saffy wasn’t at her best on that particular Sunday.

Although to be fair, she’d had a very stressful week at work, her father was coming to stay in London and whenever he was around, she was always on edge, and she had just started her period. Some might call it the perfect storm.

‘To be fair, she apologised.’

‘I don’t think a brief text with a sad face emoji and the prayer hands emoji, really qualifies as an apology, Ben!

’ says Poppy. ‘She ruined Sunday lunch with her constant complaining about everything from the food to our choice of plates, opened that bottle of wine Hugh and I were saving for a special occasion, and then when we think she can’t be any worse, she insults our very nice neighbours, the Sharma’s! ’

‘She was having a bad day,’ I say, and my friends and Poppy all look at me, and I know they’re right.

Of course they’re bloody right. This is the thing about Saffy.

She’s been my biggest blind spot for the past year and a half since we started our on and off again relationship.

I know she has some awful personality traits, and there have been numerous times when I have questioned myself over my decision to date her.

But here’s the thing, when it feels like we’re on the brink of breaking-up, when I feel like I’ve had enough, we share a moment when things are great, and I feel like we might make it to the next level, before she ultimately does something or says something, and I realise that actually, she just isn’t a very nice person.

Saffy and I do have a strong physical attraction, and perhaps it is that which is keeping us together.

‘Ben,’ says Poppy. ‘As your big sister, I think it’s my responsibility to look after you and make sure you’re okay. You need to break up with Saffy or you’re never going to be happy.’

I look across at Poppy, and my friends, and I know it’s time.

I have to end things with Saffy for good.

The thing is, I want a proper girlfriend.

Someone I really like, could see myself with for the long-term, perhaps even marry, and someone my friends and family genuinely like too.

I know Saffy isn’t that person. She is never going to be The One .

‘Fine, you’re right. I’ll break up with her.’

‘Yes!’ proclaims Will.

‘Good choice, mate,’ says Flatmate Simon.

‘Proud of you,’ says Abigail with a supportive double thumbs up.

‘Nice one,’ says Poppy, as the front doorbell rings. ‘That will be Hugh. He couldn’t make it here for the beginning of the intervention, but wanted to have his say.’

Poppy wanders off to let her husband in, and after a minute, Poppy and Hugh walk back into the living room together.

Our Clapham flat is tiny and consists of a narrow hallway, two similar bedrooms, a bathroom and then the kitchen, which is just about big enough for two people to stand in, as long as you don’t attempt to actually cook anything.

It’s poky, and because it’s just Flatmate Simon and me, it definitely has student accommodation vibes.

It isn’t a dump by any stretch of the imagination, more somewhere that’s on its way to gentrification but isn’t quite there yet – like parts of Hackney.

I look towards Hugh, who has something to say.

Hugh Delaney, thirty-three, works in insurance, and is a safe pair of hands.

He’s in his work suit and has a briefcase that reminds me of Will from The Inbetweeners .

‘You know me, Ben, I’m not one to speak badly of others, and I think that generally in life, I live by the ethos of, you know, each very much to their own, but I have to say, and I’m sorry if this is hard to hear, old boy, but Saffy is, and I hate to use this word, especially with ladies present, a bit of a c—’

‘It’s all right, he agreed to break up with her!’ says Poppy.

‘Oh, right, okay,’ says Hugh. ‘Phew. Well, that’s all good then.’

There is a moment of silence when no-one seems sure what to say, until eventually it is broken by Flatmate Simon, who suggests going to the pub because when all else fails and no-one is sure what to do next, there is always the pub.

I am twenty-nine, and recently I have had this overwhelming fear that time is going by so fast and if I’m not careful, I’m soon going to be turning forty and I might still be single.

After university, I moved to Clapham, into this flat with Flatmate Simon, started my career in finance, and I thought that in time I would meet the right girl, we’d eventually move in together, get married, buy a house, have children and that was the life I was all geared up for.

However, with my thirtieth birthday fast approaching, and with no clear sign that any woman is even close to becoming a long-term girlfriend with prospects, it’s a little unsettling, to say the least. You spend your life convincing yourself that you are the very epitome of normal, but at some point you have to ask yourself the question: What if I’m destined to live out my days in a series of problematic and unhealthy relationships with deeply flawed women?

After the pub, I text Saffy and arrange to meet her after work tomorrow.

I have to break up with her for so many reasons, but mainly because despite everything, I’m looking for big, once-in-a-lifetime love and Saffy just isn’t it.

There is a line from The Office , when Dawn the receptionist says, ‘It is better to be on the bottom of a ladder you want to climb, than halfway up one you don’t’.

This is exactly how I feel about my relationship with Saffy.

I just don’t want to be up her ladder anymore.

Yes, it’s been a year and a half of gradual climbing, but the truth is, now I am on the ladder, it’s clear it’s got quite a few rungs missing, and no matter how long we spend together, I am never going to make it to the top.

As it turns out, what I actually need is a whole new ladder and fast.