Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play (41 page)

“I’d
improvise!
” she said.

“Give that to me,” I said, and took it. I flicked it open at random. “‘
Cabbage.
It is bad to dream of cabbage. Disorders may run riot in all forms.’ Who dreams of cabbage?”

“
Some
people dream of cabbage!” she said. “And if not cabbage, then lettuce.”

“‘Mallet’!”
I said, still reading. “‘To dream of a mallet denotes you will meet unkind treatment from friends on account of your ill
health’!”

“Could happen!”

“‘To dream of a bullfrog, denotes, for a woman, marriage to a wealthy widower, but there will be children with him to be cared
for.’”

I closed the book.

“They’re quite
specific,
” I said.

“How about you?” she said, taking the book off me.

“How about me what?”

“Like, what was the last dream you had?”

I couldn’t think.

“I’m not sure,” I said, and then: “Oh! There
was
one the other night. I had a banjo at one point.”

“You see! People
do
dream of weird stuff!”

“Not cabbage, though!”

“Banjo,”
she said. “‘To dream of a banjo, denotes that pleasant amusement will be enjoyed…?’”

“That sounds good,” I said.

“‘To see a negro playing one…?’”

“
Hang
on…”

“‘… denotes that you will have slight worries, but no serious vexation for a season…?’”

“Keep your voice down! Christ! When was that
written?
”

“Turn of the last century.”

“And you
believe
this?”

“I believe there’s
something
in it. Dreams are our subconscious telling us what it thinks we need to know. Although I’m not sure about that banjo one.
What else?”

“I remember my mate Dan telling me he was always dreaming of cows,” I said, flushed with embarrassment, and hoping
this
explanation might be a little more enlightened.

“‘To dream of seeing cows waiting for the milking hour promises abundant fulfillment of hopes and desires.’”

Lauren looked satisfied.

“Were they waiting for the milking hour?” she said.

“I have no idea!” I said. “It was
Dan’s
dream! And what does a cow look like when it’s waiting? You don’t
see
cows with watches…”

“Or babies. You never see a baby with a watch. I had a dream about that.”

And then she looked at me. And there was a beat. And I realized she was messing about. And we both started to laugh.

“So you
don’t
believe that stuff?”

“Do I
bollocks,
” she said, chucking the book onto her bag. “That’s a birthday present for my weird aunt.”

“That was really good fun.”

Lauren’s words. And I had to agree. We were standing on Kings-land Road waiting for her bus.

“It was really good to see you again, Lauren. I’m really glad I came out.”

“So when are you thirty?”

“Three weeks. The sixteenth.”

“Having a party?”

“I… don’t know,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

And then, in the distance, we could see her bus. And we shook hands, and
then
we hugged, and then we said goodnight.

And then she said, “So are you going to see any of the others?”

“The others?”

“The final few?” she said.

And I shrugged, and I said, “I don’t know that either.”

“How about the one that’s in London?” she said.

“Peter?”

“Seems like a good starting point,” she said. “If he’s only round the corner… treat it like you’re just meeting a friend for
a pint.”

I nodded.

“Just meeting a friend for a pint,” I said. “We’ll see.”

“Bye, then…”

“Wait!”

I’d forgotten something.

“I brought this. It’s my old address book. You need to write your new address in it. The others all have…”

Lauren took it and did as I asked. She flicked through.

“The World of Michael Jackson?” she said.

“Yeah, let’s not talk about that,” I said. “I don’t think it’s likely I’ll be seeing
him,
either.”

She handed the book back to me.

“You
nearly
did it,” she said. “At least there’s that.”

And I waved her goodbye as she boarded her bus.

Back at home, I thought about what Lauren had said. It
is
important to finish stuff. I knew that. As an adult, I’d always tried my hardest to finish my projects, finish my hobbies,
achieve
something
—maybe as a result of rarely having managed it as a kid. It
did
feel good. And maybe there was something I
could
finish.

I made my way to eBay and typed a few words into the search box. And
bingo.
A man called Christian from somewhere in Germany had exactly what I needed.

A Panini World Cup Mexico 86 sticker album.

Completed.

Christian had managed to do what I hadn’t. He’d even got the bloody Hungarian.

I didn’t bid on it. I clicked on the
Buy It Now!
button and paid the asking price in full.

I went to bed, knowing that at least I’d finished
something.

Friday.

Wag’s welcome-home, bon-voyage party.

Ian was wearing a very odd shirt indeed.

“That’s a very odd shirt indeed,” I said.

“Why do people keep
saying
that?” he said. “This is what
everyone’s
wearing in Chislehurst!”

“What do you
mean?
It’s not a different country! It’s just past the M25!”

“I happen to think it’s quite a statement.”

“Dirty protests are quite a statement.”

“You’ll
all
be wearing one of these come the winter,” he said. “And
then
you’ll be sorry.”

“Yes we will,” I said. “So it’s nice to see Wag again, eh?”

We both looked over at him. He was doing the big belly laugh he always does, and then he hugged yet another new arrival.

“Where’s Lizzie?” asked Ian.

“On her way,” I said, and just like that, in she walked.

“It’s rammed!” she said. “So many people!”

There were indeed. It was great. They’d all turned up to say hello to a friend they hadn’t seen in a while, and weren’t likely
to see again for quite some time. I couldn’t help but think of Neil’s thirtieth, those few months ago, before any of this
had started.

*   *   *

An hour later, and the whole gang was round a table. Ian, Wag, me and Lizzie.

“Listen, I’ve got some bad news,” said Wag.

“What about?”

“Your birthday. I’m not going to be back in time. The tour’s been extended. We’re going to be in Australia on the sixteenth.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry. We’ll hang out when you get back.”

“But your party!” said Wag, outraged. “I’ll miss your party!”

“Yeah… I’m not really sure I’m going to have a party this year.”

“What?” said Lizzie. “It’s your thirtieth! You’ve
got
to have a party!”

“This is my party shirt, Dan!” said Ian. “Don’t retire my party shirt!”

“I’m just saying, maybe we can have a little thing. Just a couple of people. But I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s
just another year. What’s the difference, really, between twenty-nine and thirty?”

“A year,” said Ian, working it out on his fingers.

“I don’t mean
mathematically.
I just mean in the grand scheme of things. Anyway, nothing will ever beat my sixth birthday, so there’s no point even trying.”

“What was so good about your sixth birthday?” asked Lizzie.

“I got a bike and the bloke from Radio Tay read my name out on the radio. And even though it turned out the bike was a
girl’s
bike, it would be very hard to top that…”

“But my shirt!” said Ian.

“We’ll see…” I said, and then, looking at Lizzie: “And I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t want a surprise party. So
can we just leave that idea there?”

Lizzie bit her lip, and just nodded.

“Anyway, tonight’s about me,” said Wag, raising his glass. “To me!”

“To soon-to-be-absent friends!” said Ian.

And though I tried hard not to, I couldn’t help but think about Andy.

*   *   *

Back at home, Lizzie was in bed. And I was in the living room, looking through the Box. It had been fun, this. I’d had a laugh.
But maybe it was time to finally close the Box.

I started to pile everything back in. Pictures, and letters, and memories had been spread around it for weeks. Clues, and
pointers, and stories waiting to happen, with them. I’d put Andy’s letters at the top of the pile, along with my returned
replies. But something made me want to have a last look at them.

Not all of Andy’s letters I’d managed to reply to. There were still one or two left. I’d read them, of course, but not needed
to think about what to write in reply. If I’m honest, the replies had just been a bit of fun. A way of reintroducing myself
to Andy in an unusual way. A way of highlighting the fun we’d had—the friendship we’d had. But now it was like I’d been saying
goodbye to him.

I opened one of his letters at random and began to read. It was the one telling me he’d got a new desk. Such a small event.
Such a forgettable event. I’m sure, had we met, we’d never even have thought to mention it. But it was a peek into a life.
Small moments of normality. And those small, lost moments—once remembered—can often mean more than you could ever guess. Like
a forgotten joke, or a final hug, or a local restaurant’s fourth anniversary.

In the past few months, I had a whole host of new moments to remember.

I thought back to what Lauren had said.
Life is for living.
A cliché, yeah, but a cliché, I now realized, for a
reason.
A cliché because it was absolutely
true.
And it summed up, in its four words, a million
other
things, all of which were
also
absolutely true.

I found another letter. A sentence jumped out. “I’m having such a lot of fun!” Another sentence. “I wish we can meet up again
soon—that would be really good!”

Well, now we couldn’t.

And suddenly, it hit me. I’d been down lately because yes, I’d uncovered an uncomfortable truth. But I’d reacted in the wrong
way, and that had only served to make it worse. Lauren had been right. Reading these letters made me realize how alive Andy
had been. I don’t mean “alive” in a singing-and-dancing, musical number kind of a way. Nor in the way people say “I feel so
alive!
” after they’ve just done a bit of abseiling or jumped out of a plane. I mean alive in its most basic, normal, literal alive
kind of a way.
Everyday
alive. Alive like we are right now. Me telling you some stuff. You listening.

Okay, so the events in question weren’t the most exciting events ever put to paper. Moving rooms. Getting a new desk. Going
to Leicester for some printer ribbon. But they were
life.
They
happened.
For a brief moment of however long, they
mattered.

And that made me realize that
my
days mattered. Whatever I was doing. Fixing a canopy. Walking about. Painting a shed.

So if even
that
stuff
matters
—what was
important?

Family.

Health.

And
friends.

I’d seen that tonight, with Wag. I’d seen it at Neil’s thirtieth. I’d experienced it myself, not just with the friends around
me, but with the ones that I’d let go and now found right back where they were—right back in my address book.

I suddenly realized that every moment of tedium, every disappointment, let-down and sadness I’d ever felt… every moment of
depression or boredom or blues, every hung-over Sunday, every heartbroken Monday… each of those moments was one
trillion
times better than no moment at all. Life
was
for living.

Finding out about Andy shouldn’t have stopped me from seeing people. It should have taught me that people are what life is
all about. I should have been grabbing more chances in honor of Andy, doing more things that I was lucky to be able to do
at all. Because one day is all it takes for lives to change. Every single second I’d had since I was eighteen was a second
Andy had never had the chance to live. I shouldn’t have stopped for him. Like Lauren said, I should’ve
started
for him.

There I’d been, bemoaning the fact that I was turning thirty, that perhaps youth was ending, and suddenly that me of then—that
former
me—felt like the most trivial and self-absorbed man alive. I am sure there are those of you who will agree. But I’m hoping
that there are others of you who will think that now—
right
now—you’ve got an opportunity of your
own.

As for me… there was a very simple way for me to get back on the horse.

I picked up a postcard.

Peter Gibson.

I fired up my computer, clicked on my email, frantically finding one from Peter.

He’d sent me his phone number. I
had
his phone number. Where?

I found it.

I tapped it into my phone, and sent him a text…

Peter! Where are you? It’s Danny!

Moments later, I had a reply.

Just got up! Hello mate.

Just got up? It was after midnight! The people of Tooting must lead
very
exciting lives. I ignored it and urgently typed away…

Let’s meet!

I waited for what seemed like an age. I paced about. Moved things on my desk around. Peter hadn’t replied. Peter wasn’t
replying.

I picked up the Book and flicked through it. I just wanted to update his address. That’s all I wanted to do. All I
needed
to do.

The page fell open on a random page.

A page which read:
Forever Friends.

I stared at it.

A moment later, my phone buzzed. The reply was in.