Page 4 of If We Were Young

“Ronnie. I’m not going to sugar coat this; I’ll say it how it is so then you can move on. You can get on with your life, instead of sitting here all broken hearted. Now, I know you won’t tell me what happened, what it was you think you messed up, but know I’m your best friend. I’m always going to be here for you. There will never ever be a guy who comes between us again.”

Again? I opened my mouth to question what she meant. I’d never had a boyfriend the whole time we’d been friends.

I didn’t get a chance. Her lips moved in slow motion, the sound numbing my ears, stretching out for all eternity. “Matthew’s getting married.”

All I heard was. “Maaaarrrriiiiiiieeeeed.” In that animated, someone’s been punched in the face way.

The air, partway through the process of transforming from oxygen to carbon monoxide, got caught in my chest. I couldn’t breathe in or out; my lungs pinched and burned like someone had lit a match within their recesses and turned the air to sulphur. I tasted it on my tongue for one short moment before the sting of acid replaced it.

I puked on the lawn, heaving my stomach dry.

Tears welled, and I didn’t want to let them roll. If one went, then they would all go, and I’d been fighting them for over a month, not allowing them to brim over the edge.

“Ronnie?” Ange rubbed my back as I heaved again. “Sweets, I swear it will be okay. He wasn’t meant for you; don’t you see that? It was all a stupid mistake.”

One fat plump tear exploded onto the dry grass, followed by another.

“Ronnie, don’t you see, you weren’t in love with him, not really. And he certainly wasn’t in love with you. He’s getting married for God’s sake, to a girl he’s been with the entire time you’ve known him. He was with her before you two even met. You and he were just friends, and not even good ones if he’s left you messed up like this. He’s a bloody player. I warned you.” Ange pulled a face. It made her look like she didn’t want to be brutal, but she knew she had to fulfil her life’s destiny to put me on the straight and narrow about Matthew Carling.

Matthew Carling.

I groaned. I couldn’t imagine a life without him in it and now I was staring at it like I stared down the barrel of a gun.

“He can’t. He’s only twenty-one.” And he can’t because I never got around to telling him that I might love him.

Ange, despite the face she pulled at my explosion of sick, came alongside me and slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Exactly. What a fucking loser. Come on, sweet. Just forget about him now.”

I raised my hand and brushed my cheeks. Hot sticky water trails smeared everywhere. My eyes stung. “Yeah. I know. I’ll just forget about him now.”

“See! That’s my girl. Come on, let’s rinse your mum for some cash and we can go out for wine and chips.”

“I don’t think so. Sorry, Ange. I know you came all this way, but I think I just need… just need…” I needed to rinse some bleach into my brain so I wouldn’t remember Matthew Carling’s name. Face. Smile. Laugh. Anything.

What I needed was to re-write the last three years of my fucking life and do it again, but differently.

“I said all along, Ronnie. Boys and girls can’t be friends. It’s just not science.”

I nodded. “Sorry, Ange. I’ve got a bit of a headache. Can we meet up on the weekend?”

“You going to be okay?” She peered closer. “You will forget about him, I promise.”

“Like you forget about every man you’ve ever been with?”

“Aha! You see the difference here? I forget about them and that’s after I’ve shagged the breath out of them. You and Matthew were never like that, were you?”

She watched me for a long pause, eyes narrowed, until I nodded. “No, we weren’t.”

“See. Now, come on, let’s go and be grown-ups.”

I forced a smile on. “Not sure how to do that when I can’t even leave the house or talk with people without feeling like I will puke or die.”

“Don’t worry, babes. I’ve got your back.” She cupped her hands around my cheeks. “Better?”

I nodded and smiled.

No. No, I’m not better.

Matthew Carling was getting married, and I knew for a fact he was marrying the wrong girl. The blame for that laid firmly at my door.