London, England
October 2016

If you need a friend

"Found it!" Preti cries and rushes over to me, almost stumbling over a pile of papers in her haste.

I catch the paper she waves around in front of my face. It's a gas bill and the amount standing at the bottom of the page matches the final missing sum in the youth centre's February accounting exactly.

"Well done!" I praise her. "You're a great help!"

Preti beams proudly. "What's next?"

Pulling up the March numbers, I take a long look at them and sigh. "Well… any bill or invoice from March, I think. We first have to find out what we have to figure out what we're missing."

"I'm on it!" she announces and eagerly bounces back to the mess of papers she's spread out in the floor in front of the desk. I bend back over the numbers and try to make sense of the chaos Simone calls 'accounting'. She truly wasn't lying when she said she needed help with the paperwork.

I, for my part, wasn't lying when I praised Preti for being a great help to me. I mean, I guess that technically, I shouldn't have one of the kids help me with the office work, but Preti was so proud when she declared herself my assistant that I didn't have the heart to send her away. Ever since, she's absolutely proven her worth, too, so I don't even want to send her away anymore. In my defence, getting a general idea about how accounting works might one day prove useful for her, so at least she's learning something for life down there on the floor between all those papers.

While Preti happily sorts the papers into piles according to her very own system that I don't understand but also don't question since it yields good results, I frown down at the lists in front of me, trying to understand the system Simone uses. I don't understand that either, but I definitely do question it, since it yields no useful results at all. It's a mess and if I had truly known the extent of its messiness, I might have thought twice about taking this job.

(I'm lying. I always would have taken this job.)

Preti and I work in silence for a while, she quite contently and I increasingly frustrated, until she suddenly raises her head and listens intently.

"What is it?" I ask, even as she jumps to her feet. Seconds later, I hear it, too.

Footsteps in the hall.

"Quick!" I urge Preti, but there's no real need. She's already pushing her paper piles to the side of the room (never once, I notice, breaking her system of organisation). I shove the lists on my desk together into a messy pile and hide it below a dark green folder, while Preti sits down on the chair opposite me and adopts an innocent expression.

When the footsteps stop outside the door, all evidence of Preti helping me with the paperwork are gone. (She does it voluntarily, but I have a feeling that argument wouldn't matter for much with Simone and neither would my point about her learning something for life.) There's a knock on the door and Preti grins at me briefly, before schooling her face back into an expression of polite interest. She's good at this, I must say.

"Yes, please!" I call out cheerfully. As the door swings open, I've already jumped into explanation mode. "Preti just came in here to ask me –"

The door opens fully and I shut up abruptly.

It's not Simone standing in front of us.

It's Sam.

For a long moment, no-one says a word or even moves as Sam stares at me and I stare back at him.

Finally, it's Preti who breaks the awkward impasse by sliding from the chair. "Uh, I'll be out there," she informs me and points her thumb vaguely in direction of the hall. When I nod slightly, she slips past Sam and disappears, her feet making soft sounds as she rushes towards the big common room, no doubt to inform everyone there that something potentially juicy is happening in this crappy little office.

Both Sam and I look after her. When he turns back towards me, I can see that this feels as awkward to him as it does to me.

"Hello Sam," I greet him carefully. "If you're looking for Simone, I'm afraid you have to wait a little. She went to the park with some of the younger boys, but she should be back soon."

"I, um, didn't come to see Simone," Sam replies, shifting from one foot to the other.

I raise a single eyebrow. "Well, in that case…"

"May I come in?" Sam asks and takes a step forward.

Briefly, I consider saying No, but then incline my head into a nod anyway. "Do, if you must. But leave the door open."

He already began closing the door, but stops himself when I speak. A look of confusion passes over his face, but I make no move to explain myself. For one, it's none of his business. For another, he could really figure this out on his own. After everything that's happened between us, does it really surprise him that I neither want to be alone in a room with him nor want to be seen to be alone in a room with him?

I briefly gesture at the chair opposite me that Preti just vacated. "Have a seat and state your business."

Sam sits down and flashes me an experimental grin. "You make it sound very formal."

"I don't know anything informal that we had any reason to talk about," I inform him, keeping my own face impassive.

The grin slips from Sam's face. "Right," he mutters. "Right."

Not deigning that with a reply, I merely sit and wait. If he came here to see me, he can bloody well say what he wants to say without me helping him along.

Truth to be told, I'm a little surprised we're only seeing each other now. His career means he spends much less time at the youth centre than he used to just a year ago, but according to the kids he does occasionally turn up and I thought we'd run into each other eventually. That we didn't come face to face before today actually points towards him actively having avoided me. This, of course, makes his sudden desire to talk even more puzzling, though I must admit that I'm also a little relieved it is finally happening. It was bound to happen at some point and I prepared for it by talking at length with both Mum and Ken, so a part of me is a little bit glad that the suspense is over now and we're finally having that inevitable conversation.

"I just thought we could, you know…" Sam trails off, waving a hand in the air vaguely.

"Talk?" I suggest.

He shrugs. "Yeah, talk."

"Okay." I shrug. "So, talk."

But instead of saying something immediately, Sam bows his head, probably to consider his next step. He must have come here with a plan, so the fact that he now has to reconsider means I didn't behave as expected. Somehow, the thought pleases me.

Half a minute passes, before Sam looks back up at me and the sheepishness evident on his face also pleases me. He ought to feel sheepish!

"I came here to apologise," he begins and I must admit that it's not a bad beginning at all.

Still, I'd like to milk this a little more. I have earned it, I think. "Apologise for what?"

"For using our connection to get recognition," he replies bluntly.

I nod slowly.

Not a bad beginning at all.

"You did use me," I state.

He grimaces. "I didn't mean to. I know that's no excuse, but I didn't mean to. I just didn't…"

"Think," I finish for him. "You didn't think it through."

He lowers his head slightly. "No, I didn't think it through to the end."

Evidently.

"I…" Sam takes a deep breath. "It probably won't surprise you to learn that there was a point last year when I wanted more than your friendship. I thought… for a little while, I thought it was a possibility and then he came back and I… I was jealous. I convinced myself I'd be better for you and I… when they offered to release the song I wrote about you, I saw an opportunity to make a… a grand gesture of sorts. I thought I saw an opportunity, anyway."

"You were wrong," I tell him plainly. "If there ever was a possibility – and that's a big if – you destroyed it by dragging me into the limelight, regardless for what purpose."

"I know that now," Sam replies. "I wish I'd known it then."

"You thought you knew me," I state, shaking my head slightly. "It's funny because you hit the nail on the head with some things about me and what you said made me work through quite a few issues, but in other ways, you didn't understand me at all."

He smiles wryly. "No, clearly not."

Since he doesn't offer up anything else and I don't see the need to say more either, we both lapse into silence after that. It seems to make Sam more uncomfortable than me, which is really how it should be.

Finally, he takes a heart and asks what he probably came here to ask in the first place. "I know it's probably an impertinent question but… before it all went wrong, you and I were quite good friends and… I was wondering whether you see a way for us to, well, go back to being friends."

There's the rub.

Up until now, nothing about his visit truly surprised me (except, maybe, the fact that he actively approached me at all) and the question doesn't truly surprise me either. It is, however, a question I don't have an immediate answer to, so this time, I'm the one lowering my head to think.

To Sam's credit, he sits relatively patiently as I take a moment to mull over his question. When I do look back at him, he looks nervous, but also hopeful.

"I appreciate you asking, but I'm sorry to say that I don't think friendship is an option anymore," I tell him calmly, looking him straight in the eye.

Sam takes a deep breath and then another. "May I… ask why not? If it's because I had that stupid thing for you, I can assure you that's in the past. I know you're back together with your prince and I wouldn't dream of trying to –"

I interrupt him. "Kenneth."

"Huh?" He frowns, confused.

"He has a name," I elaborate. "He's called Kenneth."

Sam blinks. "Yes. Yes, of course. Kenneth."

"He's also not bothered by you, so he's not the reason why there can't be a friendship between you and me anymore," I continue, secretly crossing my fingers beneath the table as I do.

Ken handled the news about those photos beautifully and he's been great in helping me prepare for this conversation, but I remember he was more than a bit irked by Sam's presence in my life last year, so to say he wouldn't be bothered by Sam reappearing suddenly is taking it a bit far. I've got a point to make though and anyway, I dislike that Sam talks about Ken at all.

"Okay, so… what is the reason?" Sam wants to know.

I laugh humourlessly. "You betrayed me," I remind him. "No matter why you did it or what you meant to achieve by it, you betrayed me. You sold me out for your own gain and you were not the cause but certainly the catalyst for a whole lot of problems. That's not a small thing."

At least he has the good grace to be embarrassed. "So, you're still angry with me?" he asks.

Another hard question and once more, I take a moment to consider it before answering slowly, "I'm not angry. So much has happened since then and I don't have the energy to be angry anymore. It wouldn't lead anywhere either." I pause briefly and look at him. "I'm not angry. I forgive you, even. But I can't trust you again and without trust, how's there supposed to be friendship?"

Sam swallows heavily. "I don't know."

"But I do," I reply calmly. "Look, I don't mind working with you and I'm absolutely sure we can be friendly when we run into each other here. That's perfectly fine and I know we can be adults about this. I just don't want to have anything to do with you beyond that anymore."

He grimaces slightly. "I guess I deserve that. But I had to try."

"Nothing wrong with trying," I acknowledge, inclining my head and softening my expression a little. "I wish you well, Sam, I truly do. Your music is beautiful and I hope you have all the success in the world with it. I won't be one of the people celebrating it with you though and I ask that you respect that."

He nods, slowly at first and then ever faster. "Alright. I have to accept that and I do accept it." He raises a small, regretful smile. "I wish things had gone differently, but if that's your decision, I respect that."

"It is my decision," I reiterate, politely but firmly.

Still nodding his head, Sam scrapes his chair back and gets to the feet. "So, um, thank you for hearing me out. I guess… I guess we'll be seeing each other around?"

"I assume we will," I confirm.

He remains standing by the chair for a moment, looking awkward, but then pulls himself together and turns towards the door. Briefly, he looks back to raise his hand in goodbye.

I nod to acknowledge it. "Have a good day, Sam."

"You, too," he replies quickly, before, without another word, he steps through the door and disappears around the corner.

I remain sitting at my desk, listen to his footsteps growing fainter and slowly let go of a breath I didn't realise I had been holding.

That went…

That went reasonably well.

Not from Sam's perspective, of course, but the way I see it, it went about as well as could have been hoped for. I wasn't sure how it would feel to see Sam again, but now that that conversation is over, I realise that I'm contend with the way it went. Sure, there's a slight twinge of regret when I think of the friendship we had last year and will never have again, but it's nostalgia more than anything. I'm glad Sam and I talked this through, but I'm also relieved I stood my ground.

Perhaps it helped that in some ways, I've been in this situation before. It all reminds me achingly of Tracy and the locker room photos, because that, too, was a situation when betrayal put paid to what I had thought was a good friendship. I forgave Tracy, don't get me wrong, and I even helped Joy in supporting her while she cut loose from her husband for good, but after what happened, a true friendship was out of the question.

It's really the same thing with Sam. I don't wish him ill, I even still like him, but I could never trust him again. Friendship needs trust, so with that destroyed, amiable acquaintanceship is the best he and I can ever achieve. That we did and did it so civilly leaves me with a feeling of relief.

That went well indeed.

Still, when I emerge from the office half an hour later, I'm not sorry to see that Sam already left. I meant it when I said I'd work with him, but I don't need for it to happen quite this soon.

"There's Rilla," calls out Kelly when I enter the common room.

Immediately, everyone turns to look at me and I mentally brace for having to tell them that no, what Sam and I talked about is none of their business (even if I'm reasonably sure that they sent someone to stand in the hall and eavesdrop), but it doesn't come to that. Instead, Jasmine points to the TV screen hanging on a wall and announces, "Your boyfriend is on TV."

"When is he not?" I ask back rhetorically and Jasmine grins.

Still, I step closer to the TV and take a better look. It's indeed Ken visible on the grainy screen (the children have long been clamouring for Simone to use part of her funds on a proper flat screen TV, but so far, they haven't been able to move her heart). As usual when he's on a royal thing, he's surrounded by various people, but the dogs by everyone's feet are an unusual addition.

"He's doing something with dogs," Lindsay informs me helpfully as she appears by my side.

The other girls hover in the background, but I know they're listening. Even after all this time, my relationship with Ken is still fascinating to them and while I know they'd never prattle to the press, they always try to wheedle bits of information out of me for their own amusement.

"Yes," I confirm. "It's a shelter working to rehome dogs that would otherwise be put down. Normally, it's something his sister would be more likely to go to, but these dogs are former police or army dogs, so it falls in Ken's wheelhouse as well."

I know all of this mainly because I prepared cliff notes for Ken ahead of this visit. With his parents still in Scotland, Ken has mostly taken over the running of the royal firm and it's eating up quite a lot of his time. The red boxes with government papers get sent to Owen, but the rest of it falls to Ken and, to a lesser extent, to Teddy. It's a rare day that Ken doesn't have two or three engagements in a row, in addition to which he's overseeing most of the staff, too. Luckily, he doesn't need my help coordinating the way he did in spring, but I still like to do my bit to support him.

One way to do that is to go through the material he's given for all of his engagements and prepare cheat sheets for him to read. His staff already breaks it down, but their reports are still too long when it's 11pm and he's dead on his feet and has to know all this by next morning. He's reluctant to tell them so, because he has some weird fear of appearing like he doesn't care about the charities and groups he visits, so I've taken it upon myself to read the staff-prepared reports and write the most relevant information on flash cards for him.

Something else I've taken to do with some regularity is sit in on staff meetings for him. That's really not so very different from what I did back in April, though I refer far more decisions to Ken or Owen than I did then. Even so, by now, the royal staff (and among them, Ken's people especially) have come to accept my voice as being relevant and as being one they can trust in. Ken was very amused when, two weeks ago, Roisin informed him blithely that he needn't bother with a certain question anymore because I had already decided it and they were going with what I told them. He teased me about it quite a bit afterwards, but I know he didn't mind.

What's nice is that in doing all that and other little things in support of Ken, I've gotten quite a bit closer to his staff. I know they had no idea what to make of me in the beginning and in some ways, I think they still don't, but they've obviously decided I'm an alright person, which is certainly true for them, too. Thus, when I'm at KP, I regularly find myself wandering over to the office to have a chat or maybe spend lunchtime with whoever is there. It's nice and while I'm aware that being Ken's girlfriend sets me apart from them, it does still make me feel like one of the team in a way and that, too, is a very nice feeling.

Similarly, here in the centre, Lindsay and Co also like to treat me as one of their group, which I must say is quite fun as well. I mean, who wouldn't enjoy being sixteen again for a little while?

"Preti would love to have a dog," Sujata tells me as she steps up to stand on my other side. "My parents won't allow it though. They say we aren't home enough to be there for a dog."

I have a feeling it's not just Preti who'd like to have a dog, so I put an arm around Sujata's shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. "Your parents probably aren't wrong about that, but maybe it doesn't have to be your own dog right away?"

"What do you mean?" asks Kelly as she scuttles closer, too.

Shrugging, I point at the TV. "That animal shelter Ken is visiting today isn't far from here. I could ask him to get me in touch with them – or rather, I'd ask Melissa, his assistant – and maybe we could go there someday to walk the dogs or something?"

"They totally let you do that!" Jasmine announces eagerly. "My grandma volunteers at a shelter and she takes one of the dogs for a walk every day. They have rules though. They don't let just anyone do it."

"No, I didn't think they did," I agree. "But I could find out about the rules and ask whether they'd be okay with us." Leaning a little closer to them, I add, "Just don't advertise it yet. I don't know if this will happen at all and if it does, we don't want this to end in disaster, so we've got to choose very carefully who to take along."

"We won't breathe a word," promises Lindsay. The other three nod quickly and Kelly even motions locking her mouth and throwing away the key.

Their enthusiasm makes me smile. Usually, they pretend to be so grown up with their make-up and their boy talk, but they're really only halfway to being adults and the child part in them is still big enough to get excited about walking shelter dogs. But then, who am I kidding? I like the thought no less than they do and what's with everything that's happened, I don't think I can deny anymore that I've fully crossed over to the dark side of adulthood by now.

The girls drift off, chatting excitedly among themselves, and I absent-mindedly turn back to the TV. At first, it's just even more footage of Ken being given a tour of the shelter, which he quite seems to enjoy (Preti is not the only child who wanted a dog of their very own and never got one because the parents were too busy), but then he suddenly stops in front of one of the kennels and looks at the dog huddled in a corner farthest away from the group of humans.

I have to strain my ears to hear the sound of the TV over the general melee of children, but I only just manage to make out one of the shelter employees say, "This is our Lottie. She's a Dutch Shepherd and one of the more difficult cases because she came to us traumatised from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. We've been de-training her and she's making a lot of progress, but she doesn't trust easily and is still wary, especially around men. In fact, she doesn't usually respond like this."

Lottie the dog has crept closer while the women spoke and is now just a few feet from the bars separating her from the humans. Ken crouches down and puts out a hand, holding it by the bars for her to sniff at. Lottie doesn't come any closer, but stretches out her neck and visibly sniffs at Ken's hand, her nose moving up and down. I can see that Ken is murmuring, but it's too quiet to understand anything. Too quiet for me, that is, because judging from the play of her ears, Lottie is listening quite intently.

Hm…

I wonder…

It's only a moment before Ken straightens again, Lottie retreats back into her corner and everyone moves on, but it's a moment that takes hold in my mind and, for the rest of the day, refuses to budge. It's still there when I say goodbye to Simone and the kids for the day and step out into the streets, my coat wrapped tightly around me against the uncomfortable autumn weather.

My feet carry me the usual path to the train station, but then, by unspoken command, they suddenly stop and I guess that is my clue. I probably made my decision long ago.

Fishing my phone from my bag, I press the quick dial button to call Lucy. She answers after the third ring. "Rilla! Don't you dare tell me you won't be able to make it!"

I'm set to meet Lucy and Dev for an early dinner and a musical in about an hour. Dev queued at the ticket booth at Leicester Square today to get reduced tickets for us, which is especially sweet of him because he could easily afford full price front row seats. Lucy and I might be girls on a budget, but Dev's financially very comfortable and very generous about it, too. He enjoys treating us – usually under the pretence of made-up event like Best Student Buddies Day or Take Your Friend to the Theatre Day – but he knows we like to assert out financial independence once in a while, which is how the reduced tickets enter into this. He's really the loveliest of friends, Dev is. So, come to think of it, is Lucy.

"No, no," I assure her, laughing. "I'm just calling to say that I might be a little late. I have… there's something I need to do first."

"Sounds mysterious," replies Lucy and I know that she's raising both eyebrows.

I shake my head, knowing that she, too, is aware that I'm doing it. "Not so much, no. It's just a bit of a spur of the moment thing and I don't know whether it'll be successful yet."

"Well then, I expect a full report over dinner," Lucy informs me. "Try not to be too late or I'll feed your starter to Dev."

"I'll do my best," I promise, smiling. We both know that the only way Dev would eat my food would be if he was allowed to order me twice as much afterwards, so I have little to fear.

Saying goodbye to Lucy and pocketing the phone again, I turn around, away from the train station, and quickly walk the streets of Croydon towards the very place that Ken vacated just a few hours ago. (Lucky thing I wrote the address on those flash cards!) When I arrive at the shelter building, it's quiet, but there's still light behind the window of what might be an office.

Taking a deep breath, I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. It takes a few moments, but eventually, the door is opened by the very woman I saw on TV today.

"Yes?" she asks and I can see the exact moment when she recognises me and her expression changes.

"Yes, hello," I reply, suddenly feeling a little nervous. "I'd like enquire about possibly adopting a dog, please."


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' (written by Paul Simon, released by Simon & Garfunkel in 1970).


A/N: I know it's a little early, but I still want to take this opportunity to wish you a Happy New Year! I hope that 2021 treats you kindly and that your dreams and wishes for it come to pass. May it be a better year for all of us!


To DogMonday:
Thank you for your very kind words! I must say I'm selfishly quite glad you discovered fanfiction and especially my story, because I do cherish your comments!
I enjoy writing dialogue (and it comes easier to me than, say, writing sweeping descriptions of nature), so it's encouraging to know that I've had some success with writing it in the past =). I've since also written the conversation with Aunt Mary and while, as predicted, it didn't come out like it was in my head, I think I'm quite satisfied with how it looks on paper. At least I managed to get my point across and gave Aunt Mary an opportunity to explain herself, which was my main goal. I'm looking forward to reading your honest assessment when it's time to post it!