Sixth night out in a row, I'm in the twilight bar, with Alice and Edward, my very best friends. "glass of rose for you Alice, and a pint of Copperhead pale ale for the gentleman in the corner." Passing Edward his pint.
"Aww thanks bells, you're a star." He downs half his pint in one go. "I tell you, to kill a mockingbird and 15-year olds, such a bad mix, wears me out every time."
"So, Eddie," Alice say, "How come to managed to get dragged to Swan Lake? How Come you're going to the ballet when you don't even like musicals?"
"It's not that I don't like musicals as such, I just don't like all musicals that's all." Edward nervously pulls on his jacket collar.
"Exactly which musicals do you like? I remember when we went to see Les Misérables for my birthday you said it was just a load of old women with massive tits, bounding about on the stage for what felt like days."
"I like Chicago, you know the one that was made into a gangster film?" Edwards states.
"The one with tons of gals in suspenders and stockings, you mean?' I join in.
"That's the one" winks Edward.
Alice nods her dead perceptively. "Ah yes, I should imagine you like that one."
Edward Looks at us, gives a short laugh, then looks away, shaking his head. This is his teacher face. It says, 'will you all just grow up' And the thing is, annoyingly, it kind of becomes him. Whereas everyone else went through, and came out of the other side of the 'I want to become a teacher' stage, Edward did it. And he's a natural too. So much so that in less than three years of English, he has been made head of the department. Edward knows his stuff, is genuinely mad about the subject and yet manages to never sound like a pretentious wanker. Well, hardly ever…
"Look," Edward Says, resignedly. "This girl's quite pleasant, she happens to like the ballet, she quite likes me and wants me to go. Since when is a crime for a man to indulge in some culture anyway?"
"No, it's not a crime as such, it's just quite a girlfriendly, going to the ballet just because 'she likes it'." I poke his arm playfully. 'Selflessness, I'd say, is the first sign of true love."
Alice folds her arms, "you know Irina won't be best pleased." She chips in.
Irina and Edward = a holiday fling that goes on being a holiday fling. Edward met her in Florida on lads' holiday a few years ago and they've had a 'understanding' (basically to be each other's bit of no-strings fun when he visits Florida, or she visits Seattle) ever since.
"Give it a rest will you." Edward sinks back into this chair. "Irina wouldn't carte anyway. Angela is a lovely woman but doesn't want anything serious any more than I do. You two are just jealous. I've got a date, I'm going somewhere interesting. Meanwhile you're in this bar talking about make-up and periods."
We tend to do this a lot, wind each other up. Sometimes I forget I've had sex with Edward. I forget he has seen me naked in all sorts of compromising positions. I don't remember how he's caressed my boobs, taken baths with me and commented on my rather relaxed upkeep of hair removal. It's like we are experts at compartmentalization. When we're having sex, we're tender and intimate. When we're not, we're friends. That's all, nothing more, nothing less. Just friends.
Edward Stands up and announces he's going. "Well, thanks but I'm going now. Going to get myself some refined company. A woman who knows how to conduct herself." He downs the rest of his pint, puts his glass on the bar, flashes up a V-sign and dashes out of the door. I watch him as he goes, bouncing along the pavement, hands in pockets, head down.
When I turn back, Alice is staring at me. "What?" I ask.
"You're smiling," she says.
"Am I?"
"Yeah, you're really smiling."
Here we go again. A night out with Alice is predictable, I know exactly what's coming, as many bottles of house rose as we can fit in and the obligatory 'but-you-are-really-secretly-in-love-with-Edward-aren't-you?' conversation.
Alice has a hug soft spot for Edward. "so, are you like fuck buddies? I mean is that how you'd define yourselves?" ash asks, looking at me over her wine glass.
Friends who have sex, that's exactly what we are. But we're not either, not in my eyes anyway, because 'fuck buddy' suggests it's all about the sex and not much about the friendship, and Edward and I are the opposite of that. "fuck buddies are all about the sex on tap without the emotional complications that come with actually caring about someone," I say to her. "And I do care about him, I love him to bits."
"I know you do," she says, Over-enunciating the words as though I am deaf. "And he loves you – a lot."
"But not like that," I say, staring into my glass. I always feel uncomfortable when she starts on this one. "As disappointing as it is and believe me, I'm disappointed too, it's not like that Edward and I are just friends. Friends who occasionally have sex and probably shouldn't, I know, I know; but we're still just friends."
Alice shakes her head, defeated. "Pretty weird ones if you ask me."
And on we went. Until I found myself stumbling out of the bar, at almost midnight, into the crisp ring of night air and no hope of getting home before one a.m.
I snake though crowds of people queuing for late-night bars, member's clubs and restaurants. It's like the playground of the free. A Zone of those who don't have to make any decisions yet, the circumstances of their lives still unravelling, for those still playing. And just for now, I'm playing too. But I've got a funny feeling that for me, the games almost over, the final whistle is nearly up, and I have to make some decisions and sort out what I actually want from life.
It's ridiculous to thing I could have been pregnant with Edward's Baby last week. Besides anything else, As I held that test in my hand, the potential father of the potential baby was on a date, just as he is tonight, and that can't be right, can it?
"It's Negative," I texted "You're off the hook."
I didn't even get this reply until I was standing in a bar an hour later: "Thank fuck for that. And you had me believe that belly was all baby."
Cheeky Fuck! So much for sharing the weight of responsibility.
I get the feeling that I've accelerated through most of my twenties in a beer-fuelled haze, when really I should be putting the brakes on, or at least starting to look where I'm going.
