March 5th, 1989

March 5th, 1989

Written on the M25, somewhere close to London

One of the things I love the most about a night out with a friend like Pamsy, is the morning after, when we dissect the events of the previous evening, before we’re even out of bed.

Plumping up the pillows behind her, Pamsy asked, “Are you going to ring Jon?”

“I suppose I should.”

“Why wouldn’t you? He offered to come and pick you up.”

I yawned. “I know.”

“Why the hesitancy?” she asked.

“I don’t know how Ben will react when I tell him Jon is helping me.”

From her bed, she glared at me. “Ben isn’t here. You need a car. And Jon works with cars.”

“He’s also someone I previously went out with.”

“Yes and you’ve remained friends. And now he’s offering to help you with something your boyfriend isn’t around to help you with.”

“You’re right,” I said, getting out of bed. “I’m going to ring him.”

When I came back into the bedroom, Pamsy was making her bed.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Yes, Jon said he’ll be here around one.”

“Oh good. Let’s get some brekkie then we can take a drive down to the beach before you have to leave.”

It was breezy but we walked on the beach. Pulling her hair into a ponytail, Pamsy said, “I’m so glad you came down.”

“Me too, it’s been great, I’ve really enjoyed it. And I got to meet Matt.”

“What do you think of him?” she asked.

“I think he’s lovely. And way more into you than you are to him.”

“Ah, love stuff,” she sighed.

“So, am I correct in my assumption?”

“I do believe you are.”

In the car on our way back, we did our impersonation of Belinda Carlisle singing “Circle in the Sand,” by tapping on our chests while we sang.

Jon arrived one minute before one and we left Pamsy’s soon thereafter. About an hour into the drive, he asked, “Do you want to look at the cars first or stop at The Harrow for a quick drink?”

“I’ve kind of lost interest in looking at cars today.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Why is that funny?” I asked.

“There’s never a dull moment with you, McGarr.”

“I’m just not in the mood for traipsing around a car lot.”

“We can stop for a drink if you want. Or I can keep driving and take you home?”

“How much longer?” I asked.

“About an hour and a half or so.”

“No. That’s too much.”

“You’re not making any sense, McGarr. I don’t mind driving you home.”

I turned to look at him and excitedly said, “Let’s go to London.”

“Really? Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes! What do you think?” I asked.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he smiled and said, “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

 

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