Forgetting Yesterday

Tom arrived at the pub just before seven o’clock. He scanned the bar, which was rather quiet as it was a mid-week night, and there was no quiz or football on TV to bring in the crowds. There was no sign of his friend Dean. His friend still might turn up, though. Tom was always early to everything, and Dean, well, he just turned up whenever he wanted. 

Tom hoped his friend would be along shortly. Things hadn’t been great between them recently, but Tom still hoped to meet up and that they would get on as well as they often did. Dean could be quite highly-strung and he did keep people on their toes, but he was a good laugh and good company, and after all, he was Tom’s best friend. 

Tom had text Dean earlier in the week suggesting they meet up for a few beers and a chat. Dean hadn’t replied to the message, but that was just Dean.

Tom perched on a stool at the bar, sipping his pint of beer. Each time the door opened, Tom glanced around hopefully, expecting Dean to appear. He hoped his friend would come through the door, with a grin and a bad joke apologising for running late. Tom would greet his friend warmly with a hug, regardless of the recent tensions between them. 

He checked the time on his mobile phone. Twenty past seven. If Tom was running even five minutes late, he would have text or called to warn the person waiting for him. Dean, however, was a law unto himself and did exactly what he wanted, and was notorious for not replying to text messages, never mind keep you informed of his running late. While no news may mean nothing, Tom started to sense that his friend would not be showing up after all. 

He found Dean’s number on his mobile phone and hit dial. A second later, after ringing twice, an automated voice told him that his call could not be taken. Tom tapped out a short message hoping he was okay, and saying he was in the pub waiting for him, and that Tom would be buying the first round of drinks. 

Tom felt a nudge at his elbow. He turned, grinning, he knew Dean would turn up, he knew his friend, his best mate, would not let him down. Disappointment punched him in the chest, as rather than his friend, he saw a guy in his seventies standing beside him, grey hair sticking out from under the sides of his flat cap. Still no sign of Dean.

The guy smiled at him pleasantly.

‘What’s a young lad like you drinking on his own for?’ The guy asked.

‘Young? I’m almost thirty years old.’ Tom said.

‘That’s younger than me, son.’

He introduced himself as Jimmy.

‘I was due to meet my mate, my best friend, for a few drinks and a catch up, but he’s not showed up yet. Things haven’t been great between us. I am hoping to build a few bridges tonight.’ Tom said. 

‘Have you guys fallen out?’ 

‘Things have been a bit strained recently, but that’s just life, isn’t it?’ Tom said.

‘And you’ve been arguing?’ Jimmy asked.

‘Yeah, over nothing really. I couldn’t even tell you what the arguments were about.’

 ‘And he was a good friend?’ Jimmy said.

‘He’s my best mate.’ Tom said.

‘That’s not what I asked. Was he a good friend to you?’

Tom said nothing. He didn’t want to admit it to Jimmy nor to himself, but if it actually came down to it, he knew the honest answer to that question was no, Dean wasn’t a good friend. Now that he stopped to consider it, his former friend had always looked after himself first and foremost, and dragged Tom along, whether he wanted to go or not. 

Over the years, Dean had bullied and berated Tom until he acquiesced and did what Dean demanded. Dean had got Tom in a lot of trouble, almost costing him his job on more than one occasion, with his demands to go late-night drinking during the working week. Tom would reluctantly agree, and go out on the tiles with his friend, before turning up for work extremely hung-over the next morning.

Dean had also borrowed large sums from him over the years. When he was asking for the money, whether for a holiday, the deposit on a new car, or even to pay back other friends, Dean would insist Tom would be paid back in full over the following few months. The repayments would start well for a couple of weeks but then inevitably dry up. Tom had chased Dean for a payment once. Dean had angrily stuffed the cash into his palm the next time he saw him, grumbling that he thought they were friends.

Things always had to be on Dean’s terms. If Tom disagreed with Dean, or if Dean didn’t get his own way, then there would be arguments, shouting and yelling, followed by bouts of sulking. Tom thought back to a recent time when Tom had said he’d rather not go to the pub one Wednesday night as he had a big work meeting first thing the next morning. Dean had calling him boring, insisting he had changed and was no fun anymore. After that Tom hadn’t heard from him for weeks.

Tom’s girlfriend Stella had eventually left him following endless arguments over how much time he was spending with Dean. Stella would complain, claiming that Tom was forever dropping her and cancelling their plans if, as she put it, Dean clicked his fingers.

Tom often found himself in a tough spot trying to balance things between the woman he loved, and his demanding best friend. He often found his loyalties being tested, trying to be in two places at once, trying to keep them both happy. He had to admit, Stella had been right. There were lots of times, when Dean would request his company at short notice, and Tom would cancel or change their plans, to suit Dean’s whim. She had been right. It had never been the other way round. Whatever Dean wanted, he got.

The last straw with his girlfriend had been when Dean had booked tickets for Glastonbury music festival without checking with Tom. Dean called Tom one morning. 

‘Great news, amigo! I have managed to blag us tickets for Glastonbury festival. We can sort the money out when I see you, but you and I will be having it large the weekend after next at the biggest music festival in the country.’ Dean said.

‘I can’t do that weekend, mate. I’ve got this family thing with Stella on the Saturday night. It’s a big deal actually.’ Tom said.

‘Tom, this is Glastonbury festival. Have you any idea how hard it was to get these tickets? Don’t back out on me now, mate.’

Tom felt like saying that he could hardly have backed out earlier, as this was the first he’d heard about it, and it might have been an idea if Dean had checked if Tom could make it before getting the tickets. But Tom said nothing.

‘I don’t believe this, Tom.’ Dean continued. ‘That’s the thanks I get? I get the tickets of the year and you throw it back in my face?’ 

‘Don’t be like that, mate.’ 

‘I’ll see if any of my other friends, my real friends, are up for it.’ Dean said.

After a long silence, Tom sighed, then spoke.

‘Leave it with me. I’ll speak to Stella.’ Tom said.

‘Good man, I knew you wouldn’t let me down!’ Dean said, before hanging up.

When Tom had mentioned it to Stella that evening, she hadn’t been happy.

‘Are you really putting your friend and this festival before me and my family?’ She snapped.

‘It’s the Glastonbury festival. We’re lucky to get tickets. It sells out in minutes. I don’t know how Dean has managed to get the tickets.’ Tom said.

‘It’s my Aunt’s 60th birthday party. I’ve told everyone we’ll be there. Relatives are coming over from Ireland, it’s a big family bash. We’ve had it booked for months, love.’

‘We could go and see your Aunt Elaine the week after, bring her round a nice present. And we can go and see the Irish relatives in the summer. Make a holiday of it. How does that sound?’ Tom suggested.

‘I was looking forward to showing you off and introducing you to my family.’ Stella said, quietly. 

‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ Tom said, kissing her on the forehead.

Tom had rang Dean to tell him he’d sorted things with Stella and was definitely up for the festival.

‘I should think so. You okay driving?’ Dean asked.

‘What? Really?’ Tom said.

‘Yes, that okay?’ Dean said, an edge to his tone.

‘How far is it?’

‘It’s just over two hundred miles, about a four hour drive. You’ll do it, though, yeah?’ Dean asked.

When Tom pulled up outside Dean’s house to pick him up, he found two other lads waiting with his friend. 

‘This is Kev, and that’s Beansy. I said they could jump in with us.’ Dean said. 

Tom flinched. It was a statement, not a request, not asking would you mind, or asking if that’s okay. Before Tom could agree or protest, Dean and the lads, climbed in his car.

Tom had gone to the music festival for the weekend with Dean. He had had a good time with his friend, and they had seen some incredible bands, but deep down, at the back of his mind and in the pit of his stomach, he felt a resentment about the way the festival had come about, and how his friend had rail-roaded him into going along, and then made him drive him and his two random friends all that way.

On the long driver home, as Dean snored in the passenger seat next to him, Tom couldn’t help thinking that his friend wasn’t pulling his weight in their relationship.

While Tom was having doubts about his friendship with Dean, Stella was having her own doubts about their relationship. The cracks that were already there between them widened over the festival trip and never really recovered. A few months later, she announced she was leaving him. Tom understood completely. Things hadn’t been right for a while. 

The day after Tom had split with Stella, he joined Dean in the pub. When Tom informed Dean that Stella had finished with him, he had downed the last of his pint, waved for another round of drinks and thrown an arm around him.

‘Good riddance, if you ask me. She was holding you back. Now you’re a free agent, like me.’ Dean declared, throwing his arms out wide.

And now, months later, Tom was sitting in their local pub hoping that his best friend turned up. Tom hadn’t been as willing to meet all Dean’s demands and requests since he’d split from Stella. If Tom really didn’t feel like going along then Tom would politely decline. Dean would shout and sulk as he always did, but for Tom it was as though the spell had been broken somehow. Tom did feel guilty about the distance that was between them now. He didn’t want any fallings out. Friends were friends. You only had one best mate, didn’t you? 

As Jimmy ordered them both a double whiskey, Tom glanced to the door as a couple came in carrying ukuleles in cases, either on their way to or from a playing session. Still no signed of Dean. Tom turned to Jimmy.

‘He’s not coming, is he?’ Tom said.

‘It doesn’t look like it.’ Jimmy said.

‘He was my best mate.’ Tom sighed.

‘You know what I think?’ Jimmy said as they sipped their whiskies. ‘You don’t need friends like that. You’d be better off on your own, doing your own thing.’

Tom said nothing, but he had to admit, Jimmy had a point.

‘And if you want a best friend, get a dog.’ Jimmy said.

Tom laughed and ordered another round of whiskey.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom