after a while and a couple more drinks, the conversation flowed a lot more smoothly. Sophie had a surprisingly dry sense of humour. She hadn’t had that when we’d been friends, had she? She must have grown it or bought it off the Internet or something.
As the evening progressed, the inevitable reminiscing began. Like the time we’d scared ourselves shitless, climbing in the window of the old deserted house at the top of our road. I’d somehow become obsessed with the idea that a creepy bald man with bloodshot eyes and no eyelids lived there, lying in wait for the neighbourhood children. The crack addicts who were hanging out in the attic actually gave us a bigger scare than anything my overactive imagination could ever have come up with.
Sophie was handling her drink a lot better than I would have expected. I couldn’t help thinking that you don’t build up that kind of tolerance by sitting in your room every night, studying like a good little girl.
‘I have to say, Soph, you’re pretty hardcore. Most people would be on the floor by now.’
‘Don’t look so surprised!’
‘Well, I kind of am,’ I admitted, a tad sheepishly. ‘I suppose I didn’t think …’
‘What? You didn’t think that I was “that sort of girl”? More an “in bed by ten, cuddling a teddy bear and reading a book” sort of girl? Is that it?’
I shrugged. ‘Welllllllll …’ We both laughed.
‘Oh, Grace, you really have no idea, do you?’ I noticed a slight edge to her voice, but we were both still smiling. ‘We haven’t been friends for five years … Do you not think that maybe, just maybe, I might have changed a little bit in all that time?’
‘Er … course. I was just …’ I stammered.
‘Just what?’ Sophie looked amused at my discomfort.
‘Nothing.’
‘You know, I bet I could tell you a thing or two that would surprise you.’ Her words weren’t exactly slurred, but she was definitely tipsy.
‘Oh yeah? Like what?’
‘You think I’m going to spill out all my deepest, darkest secrets just like that? Not a chance.’
‘Well, maybe if we did this again some time? I think that would be … cool.’
She looked at me, weighing up the truth of my words. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. I’ve had fun. Haven’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ She paused and then went on: ‘You’ve fallen out with Sal, haven’t you?’
‘What makes you say that?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘You should sort it out.’ Now this was all turning a bit strange. I had half a mind to tell her to fuck off and mind her own business.
‘No offence, Soph, but I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘Fair enough, but don’t just give up on her. It’s easy to do that when things get hard.’ She stood up, a little unsteady on her feet. ‘Sometimes you need to dig a bit deeper and find out who someone really is instead of walking away.’
‘Are we talking about you or Sal now?’
She shrugged again, and laughed. ‘Who can say? I’m wasted … Don’t listen to me! Right, I’ve got to run or my mum’s going to kill me. You’re OK to get the bus on your own?’ I nodded dully. ‘OK. I’ll see you soon?’ Another nod from me. And then she was gone. Bizarre. And what’s with the not-so-cryptic words of wisdom?
When I got home I had a sudden drunken desire to look at old photos. So I dug out my photo album from under my bed. I’d put it together a few years ago, decorating the cover with a collage of cat pictures for some unknown reason.
The first few pages were filled with pictures of a little me. Quite cute, bad hair and a gappy smile. Then there was one of me and Sophie in the back garden, arms slung around each other, mischief in our eyes. You could just make out my dad in the background, tending to the barbecue, can of beer in one hand, tongs in the other. He loved that barbecue. Any opportunity to cook outside (and it didn’t even have to be summer) and he’d be out there, blowing on the white-hot coals, explaining to me the finer
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ylugin
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