Me and You
Heartbreaking and uplifting, Me and You is a story about how hard it is to leave our old selves behind, the tough choices we sometimes have to make and how love and friendship can heal the most damaged of hearts.I’m fine. I’m sorry. Please take care of him for me. And maybe one day I’ll get to explain.Angie knows a lot about her best friend Kitty.She knows Kitty is mad and wild and loves to wear clashing colours. She knows she’s incredibly funny and generous but also very unreliable.And she knows that there is a perfect explanation for Kitty standing her up on her birthday.She thinks she knows everything about Kitty, except she doesn’t.Kitty knows that she is the happiest she has ever been.She knows she’s so lucky to have a lovely boyfriend, Simon and a best friend like Angie.But what she doesn’t know is that on this night, her past is finally going to catch up with her and change everything.
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CLAUDIA CARROLL
Me and You
To my old* pal, Karen Nolan.
With love and thanks, always.
*though when I say old, she’s actually really young.
*(Ok, so maybe she told me to write that last bit.)
Hands trembling, heart palpitating, she recognised the handwriting instantly.
I’m fine. I’m sorry.
Please take care of him for me.
And maybe one day I’ll get to explain.
Table of Contents
Christmas Eve,The Sanctuary Spa, 9.30 a.m.
My birthday. My actual birthday and I’ve just been stood up.
No hang on, keep reading, it gets worse. By my best friend. In the same week I was turfed out of a flat I really loved, (and v. annoyingly, after the landlord had finally got round to getting Sky Atlantic in). In the same month I lost a job I loved even more. In the same year I got dumped by the man I loved most of all. Bastard not even having the good grace to leave me for someone younger or thinner.
Will spare you the details. Whole other story for a whole other day.
9.44 a.m.
Maybe Kitty’s just a tiny bit delayed? Then suddenly I think, maybe it’s me? Maybe I got the day wrong?
Remind myself; it’s my birthday. Got the day right. No question.
Have to accept it; definitely in stood-up territory here.
9.52 a.m.
V., v. weird. Can’t quite get my head around the fact she’d do this to me. Today of all days. Getting a bit wobbly lipped and almost on the verge of tears now.
9.53 a.m.
Wouldn’t mind, but this whole spa day was Kitty’s idea, not mine. She booked it, made appointments, even made brekkie and lunch reservations at the Spa Café, the whole works. Not a chance in hell of my being able to afford it right now, for starters. But Kitty insisted, said it was my birthday treat. Said it was something she really wanted to do, to make it up to me for having had the single shittiest, annus horribilis anyone ever had to suffer. Kitty’s like that, though, ridiculously generous. Would gladly give away her last bean. Can’t even walk down a street without running into the nearest Starbucks to buy a sandwich and a hot drink every time she sees a homeless person. But now … is it really possible that she just hasn’t turned up? Has even forgotten?
Anyone else I know, not a chance. Absolutely none whatsoever. But reluctantly, I have to admit with Kitty? Meh. Very distinct possibility.
9.55 a.m.
This is ridiculous! I’m a complete and utter bitch for not even giving my best friend in the whole world the benefit of the doubt! Because she will get here, I just know it.
9.56 a.m.
She doesn’t, though. Kitty was supposed to meet me for a big birthday brekkie at eight this morning; she’s really, seriously late now. So late, I’m actually starting to palpitate, but then I remind myself Kitty’s done this before. Is, in fact, famous for it. Sometimes it’s not her fault, she’s just held up at the restaurant where she works and can’t get away. Genuine excuse. But I have to admit there’s been other times, and plenty of them, when she just went out on the piss night before, then slept it in. More often than not, in all her clothes and full make-up from the previous night, knowing her.
I’ve nagged her about this carry-on loads of times, but she just laughs at me, tells me to stop acting like such a designated-driver type and to get out there and start enjoying myself a bit more. Can almost hear her catchphrase ringing in my ears: ‘Sure, we’ll be a long time dead!’
So that’s why I’m not overly worried about her. Just a bit disappointed that she’d do this to me today of all days, that’s all.
Wobbly bottom lip starts to get a whole lot wobblier now, even thinking about it.
It’s akin to smashing up unwritten commandment of friendship, then dancing barefoot on it.
9.58 a.m.
Blanket ban on phones in here, there’s a big snotty sign above reception saying so, so I step out the Sanctuary door into the street outside, to try calling her. Practically immune by now to the weird looks I’m getting, in the ridiculously over-sized dressing gown and white fluffy slippers.
Icy cold air’s calming me down a bit and I’m starting to breathe a bit easier. Like a bleeding sauna back there.
10.00 a.m. on the dot
Ring Kitty’s mobile for about the twentieth time; still no answer. Ditto her landline. Ring Byrne & Sacetti’s Restaurant, where she works, and ask if she’s there. Yet again.
Same voice as before answers. Remembers me. Even with a crappy mobile phone reception and with ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ blaring away in the background, I can still hear how hassled this one sounds. Tells me, v. curtly, Kitty definitely, definitely,
