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 Page A

“ready to use the
big
pot.” It rather took the edge off the whole “adulthood” thing.
    And then I heard the rumble.
    The rumble of anger, and danger, and fear.
    It wasn’t the earthquake. It was an aftershock. It was…
    “WHO GAVE YOU THIS?”
    It was loud and aggressive and instantly I knew—it was Owen’s dad.
    “Oh Christ,” I said.
    We looked over the crowd, to the French windows. Owen’s dad, with a copy of Stefan’s book and a glass of something that looked
     rather strong, was leaning over his son, demanding more information.
    “OWEN—WHO HAS DONE THIS TO YOU?”
    “Shit,” said Lizzie. “What did you write?”
    I was panicking now.
    “It was a joke!” I said. “It wasn’t meant in a bad way! He was rubbing donkey sausage in my shoes!”
    Owen was now looking out into the garden, into the crowd, trying to pick us out, while his father flung Stefan’s book to one
     side and tried to do the same…
    “What did you
write?
”
    I tried to think. What had I written? My mind was racing.
    “I think he really thinks Owen wrote that note!” I said, terrified. “Why would he believe Owen wrote that?”
    “Wrote
what?
”
    “He’s going to see us in a second!”
    “What did you
write?
”
    I had to come clean.
    “I wrote, ‘Dear Daddy, they have been feeding me booze. I am pissed off my tiny tits.’”
    Lizzie looked horrified. She went into crisis-management mode.
    “Just keep still and don’t look over at him,” she said, and so consequently we both instantly turned and looked straight at
     Owen. He locked eyes with us and his little arm shot forward to point us out. His dad’s face turned to one of thunderous fury.
     There was rage in his eyes and violence on his mind. Stefan and Georgia had heard the bellowing and were now upon him, calming
     him down and asking what the problem was. Owen broke free and ran towards us.
    “This isn’t looking very good,” I said.
    “No, it’s not looking too good at all,” said Lizzie.
    “What do we do now?” I asked.
    “I’m not really sure,” said Lizzie.
    We looked back towards Owen’s dad, who was now pointing us out and whisper-shouting at Stefan.
    “I think it’ll be okay,” said Lizzie. “Stefan will simply explain the situation and how we would never give a five-year-old
     booze, and—”
    We looked down at Owen. He was standing at the buffet with a glass of red wine in his hand.
    “Whose wine is that?”
I cried.
    “I think that’s
mine!
” said Lizzie, her face suddenly white with terror. “I only put it down when we all hugged!”
    “OWEN! YOU PUT THAT DOWN! YOU PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW!”
    Owen looked at me and smiled. Although Lizzie would later claim he did not, I
swear
to you it looked like he mouthed the word “numbnut” at me.
    Lizzie started to walk towards him, but I pulled her back.
    “Leave it! Don’t go anywhere near him! It’ll look like you gave it to him!”
    Stefan was calming Owen’s dad, but Georgia was quick off the mark, replacing the wine with orange juice. But his dad hadn’t
     finished.
    “WHO ARE THEY?” he demanded. Everyone looked round. “THOSE PEOPLE HAVE BEEN GIVING MY CHILD ALCOHOL!”
    Lizzie and I suddenly found very interesting things in the garden to turn and point at.
    “I think maybe we should go,” whispered Lizzie.
    “Yes, I think maybe we should,” I whispered back.
    “How do we get out?” she said.
    “I think we should simply walk past them with our heads held high,” I said. “And try to convey a sense in our general demeanor
     that as responsible adults we would never feed a child alcohol.”
    And so we turned, and we passed them, and it was only when we were in the hallway on the final stretch that we heard, from
     the garden, and in a tone of disbelief and anger that lives with me to this day, the words: “POPPY’S FUCKING
GODPARENTS??
”
    One minute I had been welcomed into the adult world, the next I had proved beyond all doubt that I just wasn’t ready