Chapter 4: Best Friends

I slept late on Tuesday morning. I don’t usually, so I was surprised when my phone came to life and woke me up a little after eleven. Guess it must have been jet lag or something. I forced myself to sit up in bed, grabbed the phone and grumbled a greeting without looking to see who it was.

“Paul? Did I wake you? You sound tired.”

“Ems? Yeah, I overslept.”

“Jet lag,” she said. “I should have known. Sorry, it’s my fault. I got it when we went to Florida a couple of years ago. The flight, driving back here, then the welcome back party and everything. You must be shattered. Sorry. I should have told them to leave the party until today.”

“Ems, it’s fine. Seriously, it’s no big deal. It’s partly my own fault. I should have gone to bed earlier last night.” I paused, probably expecting Emily to fill it, but for some reason, she didn’t, so I took a deep breath. “Ems, look, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Sorry? What for?”

“For snapping at you. When we came back here.”

“Oh, that! Forget about it. I have. You were tired. Like I said, I should have realised. If anyone should apologise—”

“No, Ems. I was out of order. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. It wasn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Huh?”

“What wasn’t my fault?”

I stuttered. How did I tell her it wasn’t her fault I didn’t want to be here? I didn’t want to get on with my life like I knew I now had to. I’d been running for so long, but I wanted to keep running.

In response to my prolonged hesitation, Emily said, “Paul, are we still friends?”

“Of course, Ems. You’re my best friend.”

“You sure?”

“Ems! You’re my best friend. I’d be lost without you. I know I’ve been away, but your e-mails and texts kept me sane.”

“Really? Because your replies, or a lot of the time lack of replies, would say otherwise.”

“Ems. Don’t. Please.”

I heard her sigh. “Paul, if I’m really your best friend, then you need to start talking to me. I mean really talking to me, you know? About the important stuff.”

I nodded. I know she couldn’t see me, but I was nodding to myself more than her. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try. That’s all I can promise. I’ll try.”

“Good enough. Now, what are you up to today?”

“Well, I’ve got to unpack and do a ton of washing ready to repack and take with me on Saturday.”

“Oh, of course, I forgot, you can’t move in until Saturday, can you? We’re allowed back on Friday. I suppose if I’m already there, I could help you settle in. If you’re in Wintersmith. I’m not setting foot in any of those other skanky halls.”

“You really have a thing about this Wintersmith place. Is hall rivalry really that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“So if I’m in one of the other three, you won’t be coming to visit me.”

“No. You’ll have to come and visit me. Besides, I’m in a flat with five other hot chicks, you’ll be coming to visit me all the time anyway.”

“If you say so. But anyway, I don’t fancy tackling the dirty clothes today. I’ve got all week. What I really do need though is a car.” I’d sold the car I bought to travel around Europe with... her ... before flying to New York. I didn’t see the point in paying insurance and tax to keep it on the road outside the house.

“Car shopping? Cool. Need a buying buddy?”

“You read my mind. But I’m not going to Old Man Jones’ place—the cars he has are never very good. I was thinking of a trip to either Westmouth or Walminster. Probably Walminster—I bet you get more car for your money there.”

“Okay, I’ll take you. But you’re driving—I hate the road to Walminster. It’s too twisty. I’m ready now, but I guess you’re not. When shall I pick you up?”

“Twelve-ish? We’ll grab some lunch first.”

We stopped at a drive-through on a retail park on the edge of Walminster then sat in the car, wolfing down fries, burgers and milkshakes, while Emily told me about one of the girls she’d be sharing a flat with. Amanda sounded a little bit crazy to me, but it seemed like she and Emily were good friends so she couldn’t be all that bad—Emily tended to pick her friends with care.

The retail park was home to, amongst other shops, main dealerships for three car manufacturers—Volkswagen, Ford and Renault. I didn’t want a brand-new car, as it would take a while to be delivered, but all three dealers carried Approved Used cars. You know, part-exchanges that are just a couple of years old, cars they used for test drives or ones they sold to themselves to increase their sales figures and now needed to get rid of quickly.

We spent the whole afternoon looking and took at least one car from each garage out on a test drive. We actually test drove two from the Ford dealer.

When I first got my inheritance, Will had convinced me not to splash the cash on a teenager’s dream car but to buy a small, conservative run-around instead. For the planned trip around Europe, I bought a practical car, big enough to carry all the luggage we’d need. In America, I bought the most stereotypical American car I could think of—an old pick-up truck. But this time, I wanted a car that I’d be proud to own, a car that I actually wanted. Something a bit sporty, a bit flash. It’s not like I couldn’t afford it.

In the end, I agreed on a deal for a nearly new, high spec, Ford Focus—Midnight Blue, sweet little spoiler, eighteen-inch Alloys, kick-ass stereo, built-in sat-nav and it even parallel parked itself. Really nice car. The dealer seemed happy, and so was I. I signed the paperwork and agreed to return to pick it up on Thursday after they’d serviced and valeted it and I’d had time to arrange insurance.

Emily didn’t seem as thrilled with the afternoon’s work as I did. Sure, she’d enjoyed looking at the cars and riding on the test drives with me, but she’d gone very quiet once I’d picked the one I wanted. But then, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d just dropped over fifteen grand on a car and not even really haggled with the guy. I’ll bet her car, the one we were riding back to Micester in, wasn’t worth even a third of that. Probably less.

“Are you sure you’ve done the right thing?” she asked as we neared the town. It was early evening and I was hungry, so I’d said I’d buy dinner.

“The car?”

She nodded.

“It’s a good car.”

“But it’s so expensive.”

I shrugged. “I can afford it. You know that.”

“I know, but ... The insurance is going to be huge too.”

I grinned, “I can afford that too, you know.”

She nodded. Then she bit her lip. She always did that when she was about to say something that she knew might upset someone. I’d seen her do it a hundred times.

“But ... I mean ... Are you sure it’s what ... I mean ... Would she have wanted...?”

“Ems, relax. I haven’t used that money.”

“You haven’t? Then how can you afford it? How have you been living this past year?”

I looked at her, then back at the road. “It’s like this, by the time Will had done what he needed to do and was ready to pay the money over to me, I was already in America. It was just before Christmas. I’d discussed it with him beforehand—what to do if he could pay me before I came back—and I agreed to give him authority to look after it for me. I told him to lock it away somewhere. Get the best interest rate he could but lock it away so I couldn’t touch it until I’d finished uni.”

“Oh. I just thought ... I don’t know what I thought. I guess I thought it was sitting in your normal bank account or something.”

I chuckled. “Not a chance. Will would have skinned me alive if I’d have even suggested it.” I smiled. “Well, he’d have strongly advised me against it or something. Anyway, the point is, I’ve got five million sitting locked away for the next few years, earning me nearly four per cent per year.”

“Four per cent? Is that good?”

“It’s good in this market given it’s in a no-risk account. The interest, though, gets paid to me every month. It’s about sixteen and a half thousand pounds.”

“A month?” She stared at me open-mouthed. “Sixteen thousand pounds a month?”

I nodded. “Three-quarters of it goes into an account where I have to give them sixty-days notice to withdraw from it, but it pays good interest. Will said I’ll end up having to pay a lot of that over to the government in tax, which doesn’t seem fair to me. The rest goes into my current account—which is about four thousand or so.”

“And you spend that much every month? How?”

I shook my head. “Not even close. I haven’t checked my account since I got back, but I’d be surprised if there was much less than twenty thousand in there. That’s why I’m not worried about spending this much on the car. It’s the difference between the interest over the past eight or nine months and what I’ve actually spent. And I don’t see myself spending any more each month this year than I have been. Less probably.”