It could have been the tone of her voice or the incredulous look on her face. It could have been the vodka, or the weed, or the fact that I was somehow in Reading with this girl who was suddenly a stranger again. Whatever it was, the tears had spilled before I’d even realized they were coming.
‘Oh, Cads,’ Suzanne said, instantly softer. ‘Don’t cry.’
I hiccuped, a humiliating, double-gasped hitch of a noise that made me think of a toddler mid-tantrum. ‘Sorry,’ I choked out, sinking down on to the floor and pressing my forehead into my knees.
I felt rather than saw her slide down beside me, her arm curling around my shoulders and squeezing me in close to her. There was a softness to being hugged by Suzanne, I thought through the drugged, drunken fog of my mind. At arm’s length she was jagged edges and fire, but in her close affection she was cosy and warm. Which one is real? my fuzzy brain asked. Which one is you?
‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. Squeeze. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed her head momentarily against mine. ‘I’m being a bitch. It’s not you. Blame me.’
‘I just wanted to have fun,’ I said. The words were meaningless. ‘I wanted to know what it was like.’
‘Sex?’
‘Well, yeah, but I mean not being so . . . quiet and crap. I wish I was more like you.’
Her smile was sad. ‘You really don’t.’
‘I do,’ I insisted, my voice coming out petulant and ever so slightly slurred. ‘You’re confident and like . . .’ I tried to find the word, sure it was somewhere there in my mind. ‘Like . . . more.’
The sad smile quirked; amusement flickered in her eyes. ‘Confident? Me?’
‘Don’t say you’re not,’ I snapped, a sudden anger welling in me. ‘Girls like you – you don’t get it; how it feels to not be confident.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘You mean confident, like, with boys?’
I nodded.
‘Oh, Cads, that’s all crap,’ she said. ‘They’re the easiest. Honestly. They just want you to smile at them, act like you want them. That’s all.’
That’s all.
‘You’re confident,’ Suzanne continued. Her head tilted slightly, nudging mine again. ‘I get that you think you’re not. But you are. In your life. In yourself, you know?’
Like that means anything when you walk into a party full of people you don’t know and all you want to do is hide in a corner until it’s over.
‘I’m a massive wuss,’ I said, then hiccuped again.
She laughed, but it was friendly. ‘You’re not.’
‘I am.’ I felt tears start to rise up again.
‘You came here, didn’t you?’
‘Because you tricked me.’ I felt my face scrunch up, as the vodka and the weed and the weight of my own inadequacy spilled down my face, salty and hot. ‘Oh God, I’m such a loser. I’m such a loser even my best friend has to trick me into doing fun stuff.’
I could tell Suzanne was trying not to laugh again. ‘Caddy. Caddy! Calm down. You’re not a loser. You’re so not.’ Her breathy chuckling stopped abruptly. ‘Did you just call me your best friend?’
‘Oh God!’ My voice came out as a wail. ‘I didn’t mean to say that. Don’t tell Roz I said that. I didn’t mean it.’
‘Oh, great, thanks.’ Suzanne’s fingers pinched into my side. ‘Now I feel super-special.’
‘You’re like . . . sort of best.’ I scrabbled for sense. ‘You know? Like second best.’
‘Do you think a shovel would help with this digging?’
‘No, Suze,’ I said earnestly. ‘No, I mean really. Like, if it wasn’t for Roz, you’d totally be my best friend. ’Cause you are, like, the best. But just not my best. ’Cause Roz is my best. My very best.’
‘I am so very, very flattered,’ Suzanne said drily. ‘Nothing’s better than a drunk friend telling you how much they love you. As second best.’
‘I do think you’re brilliant though,’ I insisted.
‘OK, Cads. Time for bed.’
‘I thought you wanted to stay up and talk.’
‘I think we should save that for a time when you might actually remember the conversation afterwards.’
The rest of the night passed in a foggy haze. I’d forgotten most of the details by morning, but I retained a clear memory of throwing up into the toilet, the bathroom tiles pressing into my knees, Suzanne’s hands holding back my hair. Slumping on to her bed, looking up at her spinning ceiling.
When I woke up on top of the covers on her bed, feeling an awful lot like death, the sun was bright through the open curtains, hurting my eyes. I lay there for a while, trying to sift through the jumble of blurry memories in my head, before giving up and going to find Suzanne.
I found her in the living room, curled up asleep on the sofa. When I touched her shoulder – as gently as I could – she jolted up, pushing my hand away. ‘What?’
‘It’s me,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just me.’
She relaxed back against the cushions, letting out a breath. After a moment she smiled. ‘Oh yes. Super-Cads.’
‘Oh God,’ I managed. The first memories were starting to unblur. Me, standing in her hallway, announcing that I wanted a hug. Oh God.
‘It’s OK,’ she said, laughing. ‘Trust me, it could have been a lot worse.’