Page 64 of Wish You Were Here
‘Okay. See you tomorrow night?’
‘When you finally make it to the big time!’
‘Fingers crossed. Oh, and Brad’s coming, so play nice.’
‘I always play nice, Sas. You know me.’
‘That’s the problem. I do. At least be polite.’
‘You have my word. Love you.’
‘Love you, too,’ I reply, and then we hug, holding each other tightly, before she walks inside her building, and I walk off towards the bus to start my short journey home to Glebe.
Tomorrow is my thirtieth birthday, and it feels so strange and surreal. There were moments during my twenties when time seemed to be going so slowly, and I wanted to fast-forward to a time when my life felt better, more together, and the pain of losing Dad wouldn’t feel so visceral. I honestly didn’t think it would take this long, but now those long days, weeks, months and years after losing Dad, when life and the pursuit of happiness felt impossible, feel like a lifetime ago. I haven’t forgotten about Dad, and I can still feel the pain if I let it in, and there are days when it grabs me and won’t let go, but I also know that life has moved on. I’m not in the same place I was. Tomorrow feels like a big day. Thirty! I had my first cold plunge yesterday, I am performing in front of Fudge Cake, and who knows what next week will hold. It’s almost Christmas, and as Iwalk through the streets of Sydney, a little buzzed from the wine, I am happy. Then I get a text from Joe Thompson.
Can’t wait for tomorrow night. You, me, Fudge Cake. After party? xxx
If there is one way to kill a buzz, it’s getting a text from Joe, but maybe after tomorrow, that little annoying problem will go away too. I am FaceTiming with Ben in the morning, and I am excited to finally speak with him. It’s usually the other way around, and it is nighttime for me and the morning for him, but because it’s my birthday and the gig, we’re FaceTiming early. I need to set my alarm – on my birthday! No lie-in, but I get to see Ben, and I can’t think of a better way to kick off the next decade of my life.
27
Ben
I am sitting on my bed, about to FaceTime with Saskia for the final time, and I am questioning everything. Is this really what I want? Is Jemma the love of my life? Is Saskia? How are we ever supposed to know any of these things? Today has been a strange day, and it all began about ten hours ago with a simple question from Jemma.
‘Do you fancy popping into London and doing some shopping?’
‘Sure, why not?’ I replied because I thought she meant ordinary, run-of-the-mill shopping, where you spend most of the time eating, drinking, browsing through a couple of clothes shops, and then you end up in the pub and before you know it, you’re ordering a meal, a pint, and that to me, is shopping. This is not what Jemma meant at all.
We got the tube from Clapham into central London and, before we started shopping, we popped intoGail’sin Soho for a coffee and an almond croissant.
‘This is the plan,’ said Jemma, who looked gorgeous in her thick, grey winter coat, a soft blue scarf knotted loosely around her neck. I was thinking what a lucky man I was, how beautiful Jemma looked and what Will had said about me punching above my weight. I should be thankful I had a girlfriend like Jemma,when it wasn’t that long ago, I was desperately going on blind dates in the vague hope that they might be something special. When someone as wonderful as Jemma would have been a real coup. As I sipped my coffee, I thought to myself that I needed to embrace that feeling.
‘You need a plan for shopping?’ I asked curiously, wondering what she was talking about.
‘Well, yes, Benji. I have to buy Christmas presents for seventeen people.’
I almost spat my coffee out.
‘We’re Christmas shopping?’
‘Yes. For seventeen people.’
‘But I didn’t realise, I just thought—’
‘There’s Mum, Dad, my brother, his wife, their two children, granny Shelby, grandad Morris, cousin Mollie, Cambridge Claire, Gary, Simon, uncle Pete from Peterborough, Sue, not second-cousin Sue because she’s off the list this year because of what happened in Mykonos, but Sue from work Sue, auntie Sharon, auntie Karen and Paul the baker Paul.’
‘You’re buying them all a present today?’
‘That’s the plan. What about you, Benji? How many presents do you need to get?’
‘Umm,’ I said because clearly our versions of Christmas were vastly different. I was suddenly thrust into the role of Ebenezer Scrooge. ‘Actually, none.’
‘What do you mean? Sorry, you mean just today or, wait, are you one of those ‘buy everything online’ people?’ said Jemma, taking a sip of her latte. ‘Or one of the ‘dash around Oxford Street on Christmas Eve’ people?’
‘I’m neither, Jem.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
