Chapter Four
I’m not begrudging the Rendalls an invitation. They probably changed our nappies as often as our parents did, and love us like their own. They’re Mum and Dad’s best friends and one-floor-up neighbours from the old pub days. They’re also parents to the one person in the world I’ve ever been madly in love with.
Skate and I were best friends growing up. With the pub sitting in the middle of the busy high street, we didn’t have any other children as neighbours. And Marley didn’t want her little sister tagging along everywhere with her, so Skate and I were friends by default as much as by choice.
Father Christmas gave him his skateboard when we were eight and he tumbled off that thing more often than Lindsey Lohan has fallen off the wagon. He was only allowed to ride it when fully padded-out and wearing a helmet, which completely ruined his street cred. Not that we had much to begin with. Other kids could tempt friends home with Wendy houses in their gardens or conservatories full of games. We only had cheap lager in the basement. Nobody was impressed that I could tap a keg, least of all my classmates’ parents.
Once Skate learned to ride, his nickname was a lot less fun to use (he no longer cried at the irony), but by then it had stuck.
Then, when I was fifteen, Mum and Dad bought the house and for the first time I faced the prospect of being further than a stairwell away from my best friend. I agonised over our move, even writing my one and only, squirmingly sentimental poem, which he solemnly read when I gave it to him.
We stayed at the same school after the move, so at least we saw each other then. But we were changing and the childish things that bonded us no longer seemed so important. Skate started liking girls and with his easy-going nature and burgeoning good looks, finding willing dates wasn’t hard. I was slower to bloom, not really attracting any meaningful attention to speak of.
Skate went to the University of Sheffield and I was a few hours away at Cambridge. About a month into the term he came to visit for the weekend. I didn’t think anything of it until I showed him through the door to my room.
‘It’s nice,’ he said, taking in my dismal attempts to cheer a room that had slightly less warmth than a maximum security prison cell. ‘You’ve always been a minimalist.’
We stood looking at each other. Then he glanced at the bed. I did too. Why was he looking at the bed? Had he seen me do it too? Was he wondering the same thing?
He broke the tension that had suddenly swelled in the cramped room. ‘Want to go to the pub?’
‘Definitely,’ I said.
It didn’t take long to find our rhythm again. And by rhythm I mean our ability to take the mickey out of each other. He gave me plenty to work with – he was studying ecology.
‘How long till you start wearing hemp clothes and growing your dreads?’ I asked when we were several pints into the evening.
‘At least I don’t think engineering is interesting.’
‘You know it’s environmental engineering.’
‘It’s still engineering.’
‘You’ve always had hippy tendencies.’
‘And you’ve always been a geek, yet somehow we make it work.’ He raised his glass to mine. ‘It’s great to see you, Carol. There are some nice kids at uni but it’s not the same.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Nothing beats old friends. We don’t have to explain ourselves. You get me and I get you. I love that.’
Later, we were very drunk. It didn’t dull the awkwardness when we got back to my room, though. There was my single bed again, still posing its question. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t have a blow-up mattress or anything.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I’ve got trackies that might fit you, if you want.’
‘Nah, I don’t mind.’ Unselfconsciously he stripped off his jeans. ‘I did forget toothpaste, though. I’ll use yours, yeah?’
I tried not to stare at his muscular legs as he ambled into the hall to the shared bathroom. I nearly concussed myself trying to get my pyjamas on before he returned.
We didn’t kiss that night, or even touch. We just laid awake thinking about doing it. By the time we crawled into bed the next night we both knew what was going to happen. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. I couldn’t think why we’d waited so long.
The East Coast Line and First Capital Connect saw a lot of us over the next three years as we shuttled between Cambridge and Sheffield. We generally alternated weekends, although by Skate’s last year he was pretty busy with his environmental projects. He became a fully-fledged campaigner while I dutifully studied the engineering that would get my career started at the bank. Needless to say, we were never short of topics to spar over.
Despite our differences, I loved Skate more than I ever thought possible. Often I’d lie awake at night marvelling at how someone under my very nose could turn out to be the love of my life.
When I got my job at the bank the world opened up for us. And after the years of student poverty, it was fantastic. We could have gourmet dinners instead of pot noodles. We could see shows and go to gigs without waiting for half-price tickets. And we could travel the world. I’d spent my adolescence devouring Mum’s bonkbusters and listening to Dad’s stories of being on tour. I dreamed of a jet-set lifestyle and, thanks to my new job, I could have it.
But Skate couldn’t. Or rather, he wouldn’t let me pay for us both. ‘I don’t want you wasting your money,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we just stay in London this weekend? We’ll find fun things to do.’
Sure, I thought. We’d make food from the farmer’s market and maybe go to our local pub for a drink. Same as last weekend. Whoop di doo. ‘You’re no fun. I get so little time off, Skate. I want to make the most of the time I do.’
‘You work too hard, Carol. It’s not always easy being the one waiting around.’
‘At least you can wait around for me,’ I said. ‘If we both had schedules like mine, we’d never see each other.’
How true that became.
We started unravelling when he got the contract with Greenpeace. It paid a bit better but meant he was away more than he was home. With our contact reduced mostly to long-distance telephone calls and emails, the different paths our lives had taken were increasingly noticeable. While I dined at Nobu he was blockading trawlers in the North Sea. ‘I think we should talk when I get back,’ he finally said.
I felt sick. I loved him just as much as I had when we first went out. How can your feelings about a relationship change when your feelings about the person haven’t?
I asked him this when he returned for Christmas. He didn’t have an answer either. ‘We’re just so different, Carol. That’s not a negative judgement against either of us. It’s just a fact. You’re going to be a huge success at the bank and I don’t want to hold you back. You’ll just resent me for it and then we won’t be friends. We can get over breaking up but we’d never get over losing our friendship. For me, that’s the most important thing.’
There was no way to argue against him. I stared at the little Christmas tree I’d dragged back to our flat, decorated with stupidly expensive Harrods blown glass ornaments that I’d justified as a good future investment. Now there wouldn’t be a future. No romantic Christmases together, no delighted surprise when he opened the silver hip flask I found at Gray’s Antiques Market. No future for us at all. I felt sick looking at that tree.
I couldn’t dispute that we were on very separate paths and wanted different things. And I knew I couldn’t let a four-year romance threaten what I desperately wanted to be a lifelong friendship. So I did the sensible thing. I swallowed my feelings, shut up my heart and agreed to part as friends.
For my own sake, I asked Skate not to get in touch for a while and he respected my wishes. A while turned into a year, then several. We exchanged the occasional birthday card or email, but we never regained our friendship. So despite our best intentions I still lost everything.
The stupid thing is, even after so many years, even with our differences and what happened and the distance we’ve maintained since then, I still love him as much as I did when I was eighteen.
It’s a good thing he’s not coming to the wedding. It’ll be bad enough having to deal with Robert the Rat tomorrow. Nobody should have to juggle three exes at once.