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 B

for it.
     But I
had
to be ready for it. I had to at least
pretend.
I knew something was wrong. I knew something didn’t feel quite right. But I didn’t know what it was. And not knowing what
     it was really didn’t help me understand how to make it better.
    Lizzie let me buy a packet of Doritos on the way home and I ate them on the bus. I told myself I would be fine, so long as
     I never stopped eating Doritos.
    A week or two later, I got a text from Ian.

CHAPTER TWO
IN WHICH WE LEARN THAT
NOBODY
MOVES TO CHISLEHURST…

    L ike its sender, the text had been fairly simple.
    I have important news. We must meet up.
    I had been in the queue at the post office when it came through. Someone had just coughed on the back of my neck and a large
     woman was arguing with her dog. I’d texted back immediately.
    All right then!
    I began to wonder what Ian’s important news could be as I edged closer to the front of the queue. I like it when people tell
     me they have important news. It makes me think they’re considering invading a country, or they’ve discovered the whereabouts
     of an ancient scroll that will save all humanity. He texted back, mentioning neither scrolls nor invasions. Perhaps he was
     being watched. We agreed to meet in an hour’s time at a pub near me.
    “Next, please…” said the man behind the counter.
    I handed him the slip of paper that had arrived through my postbox that morning. He disappeared for a few moments and came
     back with a large and mysterious box.
    The day just kept getting more exciting.
    “Hello?”
    “Mum?”
    “Yes! Who’s that?”
    “Your only son.”
    A pause.
    “Daniel?”
    To be fair, I’d only given her one clue.
    “Yes, it’s Daniel!”
    “Hello, wee bean!”
    My mum has a way of inventing names for me that have never before been said to anyone. Her strong Swiss accent somehow makes
     them sound quite sensible, and she says them with such confidence you wouldn’t be surprised if heads of state used the same
     terms when addressing each other at conventions. She doesn’t allow herself to be constrained by words that actually exist,
     either, creating new ones out of the ether or inserting strange Swiss German nouns. In the past few weeks alone, I have been
     greeted as Pomplesnicker, BimpleWicker and Bobbely. I got off lightly. My dad’s had thirty-five
years
of Minkeybips and Toodlebear. I’m not even sure if he knows his first name anymore. I’m not even sure if I do.
    “Mum, did you just send me a massive box?”
    “Oh
no!
” she said. “Was it
too
massive?”
    She also has a knack of thinking everything is a potential disaster.
    “No, it’s just the
right kind
of massive,” I reassured her. “But what’s in it?”
    “Just some things we thought you might need. You know. We’re having a clearout at home, and we didn’t want to throw this stuff
     out, and we thought it might be handy.”
    “What kind of stuff?”
    “Oh, you know. Old things we found in the loft.”
    I’ll be honest—“old things we found in the loft” didn’t scream “handy.” Suddenly, opening a massive box—ordinarily a deeply
     exciting moment—was something I didn’t mind putting off for now. So I thanked her, and promised I’d go through it all later,
     and somehow managed to lug it all the way to the pub to meet Ian.
    It had been a recent discovery, this pub. It had pot pourri in the toilets and a sausage of the week.
    I liked it here. Everyone in it seemed to be very comfortable in their skin. They belonged here. And I wanted to belong, just
     like them.
    Once the shock of the events of Stefan and Georgia’s party had died down, I’d realized the only way to deal with what was
     happening was to let it. To succumb to its inevitable, brutal force. To allow myself to be swept along on the crest of this
     magnolia-colored, basil-scented wave. I’d just have to accept it. Stefan and Georgia thought I was ready. Lizzie thought I
     was ready. Which meant: I was probably