Page 22 of Wish You Were Here

Ben

I am barely awake when I get a WhatsApp message from Saskia asking if we can FaceTime.

I ask her to give me five minutes because I don’t want her seeing me like this.

Barely awake, bed-head at dangerous levels of unruly, and looking like, well, I just woke up.

I dash to the bathroom, brush my teeth, run my hands through my hair, splash some water on my face so I feel marginally more alive, and then for some reason apply a dash of eau de toilette.

I go back into my room and throw on a shirt as my phone rumbles with a FaceTime request from Saskia.

‘Hi, good morning, although evening for you, obviously,’ I say with a smile, but when I look at Saskia, it’s clear something has happened. ‘Oh, shit, what’s the matter?’

‘I had a huge argument with Jess and she said such horrible things to me.’

‘Jess, your best friend Jess?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Shit, sorry. What happened?’

She’s sitting on her bed and she looks so sad, and I want to reach into my phone and give her a hug.

I would give anything to be there for her, to make her feel better, but I’m ten thousand miles away.

It’s the first time I have seen this side of her, so full of sadness and sorrow, and it only makes me want her more.

She takes a second, then she tells me everything.

‘I know she hates Brad, but why did she need to bring Dad into it? It felt cruel.’

‘I don’t know Jess, and she’s obviously your best friend for a reason, but using your dad like that feels wrong. Whatever her intention.’

‘Jess knows I’m still so sad about Dad. It was the worst time of my life Ben, and Jess was there through the whole thing.

She knows Dad was my biggest supporter, we were best mates, and then he died and it crushed me.

She knows how many years I have been dealing with this, and the fact she brought it up like that, I’m not sure I can ever forgive her. ’

‘She thinks you’ve been sabotaging your life since your dad passed?’

‘It’s what she said. I can’t believe it, especially what she said about my singing career because I thought she supported me, and all this time she was just thinking what a sad loser I am. It’s like, thanks, Jess, but guess what? You’re not invited to any more of my gigs.’

Despite myself, I laugh, and she looks at me and then after a moment she smiles. ‘I’m sorry, Sas, I didn’t mean to laugh.’

‘It’s okay, Beno. Better than crying, eh.’

We both take a moment and I look at her on my screen. It breaks my heart that I can't be with her right now.

‘So, this Brad fella, is he good-looking?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Tall? Ripped? Abs for days?’

‘All of the above. Plus, he’s a chiropractor with an awesome flat in Bondi.’

‘He sounds like a dream,’ I say, wishing her new boyfriend didn’t sound like my worst nightmare.

‘Yeah, I guess. Although like I said, he might be too good for me, and he does have a track-record of breaking girls' hearts.’

‘I suppose that’s what Jess is worried about. Perhaps she’s just looking out for you.’

‘Maybe, but she didn’t need to say all the other stuff. Now I just think everyone thinks I’m like this big loser with dead dad issues.’

‘Come on,’ I say firmly, and hopefully reassuringly. ‘Losing a parent like that would crush anyone, and she had no right to use that against you. If you want my advice—’

‘I do, Beno.’

I love that she calls me Beno.

‘You need to go out there and prove Jess wrong. Be a great singer, make this thing with Brad work on your terms, if that’s what you want.

Prove to yourself, to Jess, that you’re amazing.

You said your dad was proud of you, your biggest supporter, channel that belief.

He believed in you for a reason and I believe in you too, Saskia.

You’re incredible, talented, and there is nothing you cannot do if you put your mind to it. That’s my advice.’

I stop and look at Saskia and she has tears pooling in her eyes.

‘Why do you always know exactly what to say?’

‘I suppose it’s a gift,’ I say and she laughs.

‘Thanks, Beno.’

‘You’re welcome, Sas.’

‘Wish you were here.’

‘With all that sunshine? You know I burn easily, and I think we’ve covered my feelings on giant spiders.’

‘You’d get used to it.’

‘Or you could live here? You’d love London. Nothing deadly, and it has the best museums, art galleries, music venues, and again, normal sized arachnids.’

‘Maybe. Although I think we’ve covered my feelings about pebbly beaches.’

‘Not a real beach, were your actual words, I believe.’

‘A beach needs sand, or it’s just a bunch of fucking rocks!’

‘Fair enough,’ I say, and then there is a pause and she looks at me.

‘Have you really given up on finding love, Beno?’

‘In London, yes, no, maybe, I don’t know. It’s statistically unlikely.’

‘So, you’re going to move?’

‘I think I have to, or resign myself to a loveless life of celibacy and porn.’

‘Like I said, you could move here?’

‘But you have Bondi Brad,’ I say, and despite being on our phones, so far away from each other, I can feel the flickering, scintillating tension between us.

The thing we don’t really talk about because it’s weird and there is nothing we can do about it.

So, we just sort of let it sit there, and do our best to ignore it, until after a moment she says.

‘Only because you’re so far away, Beno.’

Just the fact she says the words makes me excited and I get a momentary head rush, and I know I am going to spend the morning at work researching flight prices and daydreaming about flying to Sydney and seeing her in person, even though I know I won’t do it – absolute fucking coward that I am.

‘Now you’re just being cruel.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. It is what it is. You live there, I live here, and—’

‘There’s nothing we can do about it?’

‘Right, exactly.’

‘Unless …’ says Saskia.

‘Unless?’

‘You decide to risk everything for love, Beno?’

Risk everything for love. Is that even possible?

It’s definitely not something that is a part of my DNA.

I am not a risk-taker by any stretch of the imagination.

I make decisions using spreadsheets, best and worst-case scenario role-plays and taking my time to get to the right decision.

The idea of jumping on a plane for a girl I have only ever met online feels ridiculous.

Plus, I’ve already used all my holiday days this year, so I don’t have any time to take off work.

‘Do you think that’s something I’m capable of?’

‘Do you?’

‘I have no idea. What about you? Would you jump on a plane for love, Sas?’

‘Honestly, I think I would, but at the moment I don’t have a brass razoo to my name.’

‘By which you mean?’

‘I’m skint, Beno. Broke as.’

‘Oh, right,’ I say, laughing, which seems to get rid of some of the sexual tension between us, and we keep talking until eventually I have to get ready for work.

We talk, laugh and it’s always so easy with Saskia.

She thanks me for listening and tells me she’s feeling so much better, and we both repeat the same phrase we have repeated over and over again since the beginning of our relationship: Wish you were here.

But the reality is we aren’t. I don’t have the courage – or the annual leave – to jump on a plane, and she doesn’t have a ‘brass razoo’ to her name.

So we are stuck in this weird place, where she is dating Bondi Brad, and I’m searching for love in London, but we both wish things were different.

As predicted, I spend a large portion of my morning checking on the cost of flights to Sydney, and wondering what would happen if I took the time off unpaid.

I quickly realise that I don’t have the courage to ask my manager whether this is possible because she is quite scary, and also flights to Sydney over the winter period are ridiculously expensive.

I would have to fork out for the flights, plus various sundries, and I wouldn’t get paid for the days I was off.

All of this means a week’s holiday to Sydney to visit Saskia, would cost me in the region of three thousand pounds, which I do have in savings, but is a week even enough?

What if I go there and we have an incredible connection and it’s clear we are destined to be together, then what?

Could I move there? Could she move here?

It’s mind-bogglingly difficult to comprehend, and so after a morning of little work and some heavy daydreaming, I head outside to get some lunch.

I leave the office and walk to the nearest branch of Gail’s because I love their coffee, and they have some delicious lunchtime options.

It’s actually a nice day, windy but warm for the time of the year, and I am almost there when I stop dead in my tracks because standing in front of me in the middle of the pavement is Jemma.

‘It’s you!’ she says.

‘It is me. And it’s you,’ I reply.

‘It is me,’ she says with a huge smile, and then before I know what’s going on she is hugging me, my face is pushed into her hair, which smells like a delicious combination of vanilla and sandalwood, and then we stand in front of each other in complete and utter shock.

It has been eight years. Almost nine, actually.

Jemma Shelby is my university girlfriend.

We went out for two wonderful years, then university ended and so did we.

We had different life goals, felt too young to be tied down and so we took the rather grown-up decision to break-up.

I remember how mature and civil it all felt at the time, meeting in the pub, two meals for ten pounds, a couple of drinks and we felt like we had just made the best decision of our lives.

Looking back now, we were both clearly out of our fucking minds.

It’s the stupidity of youth because for some reason, you assume that falling in love is easy, and if one comes and goes, another will be along soon – like London buses.

How wrong we were – also like London buses.

‘How are you?’ I say after we have both recovered from the shock of seeing each other.

‘I’m good. Great, actually! I just moved to London.’

‘Oh yeah, where have you been?’

‘Well, you know that after uni I went travelling. I trod the usual backpacker path through South East Asia, Australia, New Zealand and South America. After that I taught English in Japan for two years, then three years in New Zealand, where I almost got married but didn’t, a year in Canada, where I almost died but didn’t, and then I came back to the UK last year, lived at home with my folks in Cambridge, and now I’m here. ’

‘Blimey! You’ve been about a bit.’

‘What about you?’

‘After uni, I moved to London to work in finance, got on a graduate scheme for an asset management company, and found a flat share in Clapham.’

‘And now?’

‘I work for the same asset management company and live in the same flat share in Clapham,’ I say, realising as I am saying the words out loud how monumentally dull I sound.

Jemma laughs. ‘Same old Ben.’

‘Yes, same old Ben.’

Jemma looks really good. I haven’t seen her in eight years, but she hasn’t changed much.

She still has the same lovely chestnut hair, beautiful chocolatey brown eyes, and I think she might be a tad thinner, and she’s dressed in far more grown-up clothes than she used to be.

At university she was a typical indie girl with her Adidas trainers and vintage second-hand t-shirts, but now she’s dressed like the perfect version of a twenty- nine year old woman I can imagine.

She’s smart, trendy and gorgeous. Of all the women I have dated recently, ran nearby on parkruns, tried to chat-up or get to know at work, she is certainly the most attractive.

‘Look, I have to dash, but I’d love to meet up for a drink or something.’

‘Yes, definitely, that would be brill. Sorry, I don’t know why I said brill. I never say brill. I think I said it once in the 2000’s but that was it.’

‘Give me your phone,’ says Jemma with a delicious smile. I do as I am told, hand over my phone, and Jemma puts her number into my contacts before she hands it back to me. ‘Promise you’ll call me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Cross your heart? Hope to die?’

‘Stick a needle in my eye,’ I say, and we smile because that’s an old routine we used to do at university.

Even speaking to her for a minute, and it is like all the years since we have seen each other just melt away.

Sometimes in life, things fall into place and people come back into your life at the exact moment you need them – this feels like one of those times.

‘Can’t wait,’ says Jemma excitedly, before she leans in and plants a delicate kiss on my cheek. ‘See you, Benji.’

She is the only person to ever call me Benji.

‘Bye, Jem,’ I reply, using the shortened version of her name I used to call her.

She gives me another ridiculously large smile, then she is gone, and I start walking towards Gail’s , a definite spring in my step.

The statistical chances of finding love in London are slim, but the chances of bumping into Jemma in a city of almost nine million people is even slimmer.

I’m not entirely sure what this statistic means, but surely it means something.

When it comes to asset management we always go with the odds.

If something seems too good to be true then it usually is, so we go with the odds because more often than not, you’ll end up on top.