Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play Read Free

magical new experiences like holding Pot Noodles.
    I got a pen and paper out.
    “What are you up to?”
    “I’m going to get rid of
this
little numbnut.”
    I probably shouldn’t use words like “numbnut” in front of five-year-old boys.
    I wrote a message on the paper and gave it to Owen, who was laughing and pointing at my shoes.
    “Give this to your daddy,” I said.
    Owen beamed at me. He’d been given a job. A job, by a grown-up! Me! I was his boss! This was precisely the same innocent beam
     of gratitude I could expect from the builders. He scuttled off to find his dad, pushing past Stefan and Georgia, who were
     walking towards us with big smiles and rosy cheeks.
    “Listen, guys,” said Georgia. “Time for the question. We were just wondering… and you can say no if you want to… but would
     you two possibly consider being… well…”
    She paused, and looked to Stefan.
    “Being what?” I asked.
    “Godparents,” said Stefan.
    There was a silence.
    My mouth dropped open.
    And I realized.
    Somewhere deep inside me, the earthquake had finally hit.
    Godparents! Responsibility! Adulthood!
    Forget buying focaccia instead of Hovis! Forget buying wheels of brie instead of Dairylea Dunkers! This was the moment!
This
was grown-up! How had I not seen this coming? How had I been lulled into this? How could anyone see me as someone worthy
     of being a godparent?
    We had just registered on the Richter scale.
    All this had happened in a tenth of a second.
    I looked over their shoulders. Poppy, their six-month-old daughter, was asleep on the sofa, a picture of calm and beauty.
     So tiny, and so frail, and so precious…
    “We… what,
us?
” I said, in disbelief, and not a little panic.
    Stefan’s smile started to fade, but Lizzie jumped in.
    “We’d love to,” said Lizzie, who is excellent in almost every situation, her job in PR helping her to put a distracting spin
     on my rather surprised reaction. “We’d
love
to be Poppy’s godparents.”
    Stefan and Georgia nodded, then smiled. And then Lizzie smiled. And then I pulled a face which I hoped was one of confidence
     and adulthood—a face that said “yes, of course I am capable of looking after your child and rearing it should anything render
     you unable to do so yourself!,” but which doubtless actually looked like I’d just trapped something I needed in my zipper.
    And then we all hugged.
    Stefan and Georgia walked away, arm in arm, under some kind of impression that they had just made a wise parenting move. As
     they went, I realized with a sigh that during the hug I had managed to smear some Chicken & Mushroom Pot Noodle down the back
     of Stefan’s shirt.
    I grabbed Lizzie’s arm.
    “Jesus, Lizzie, this is it!” I whispered. “This is how they get you!”
    “Who?”
    “The grown-ups! It’s like a club. We’ve been
selected.
”
    “You
are
a grown-up.”
    “I’m not! I’m a child! A boy! I’ve been faking everything else so far! I didn’t understand a bloody
word
of those DVDs. I watched
Kung Fu Soccer
when you went to bed! Sometimes when you’re out I buy Doritos! The other day I went on eBay and looked at
Star Wars
figurines!”
    Lizzie smiled and touched my arm.
    “You’re twenty-nine years old!” she said. “I’m pretty sure you would’ve got into the club one day. And there’s no crime in
     the eBay thing—everyone looks back when they hit thirty…”
    “But this is
automatic
entry! This is responsibility! Am I ready for this? I need more time! And what do you mean, ‘when’ they hit thirty? I’m still
     in my twenties!”
    “You’ll be thirty in six months,” she said. “But yes, you’ve got time…”
    She smiled, soothingly, not realizing she’d just added to the terror.
    “I’m here to help you, baby. You’re
ready
for adulthood…”
    It sounded reassuring. The trouble was, when she’d said “you’re ready for adulthood,” she’d said it in the way that mothers
     tell small children they’re