“But we weren’t at it,” she says. “I did it to see if the spark was there but it wasn’t. Can’t you understand? I realised as soon as it happened that it was wrong, that it wasn’t going to work, that the spark just was not there.”
Being a guy I want to know things like where it happened and when? Was it day or night? Were you alone? Inside or out? You know; stupid things. Even though it had happened I still could not visualise it. Every time I see them together, even now, I still try to imagine them kissing.
It happened one morning outside of Rosie’s house. There’d been the usual all weekend session. I’d dropped out because I don’t take as much base amphetamine as all of them (the paste posse I call them) and coming back that morning Nero decided to do it. Talking later, months later, to R he told me that when she had done it had freaked him right out and he had backed off. I don’t believe him. Anyway, when it all came out and Nero was discussing it with me she said that her relationship with R “was special”. A “special friendship” that I’d “better not fuck up” and, here’s the crunch, “like I’d done before” Pow! All this talk of our relationship being fucked up for years came flooding right up to the surface.
“What do you mean ‘like I’d done before?’”
There she said it. Glynn¸ Glynn¸ Glynn, Glynn. What had I fucked up?
Nero, Glynn and I were good friends at University for fucks sake. My head was reeling. What did I fuck up? And why wasn’t I aware that I had fucked something up.
“What?” I said. “I fucked up yours and Glynn’s relationship?”
“He was another special friend…”