Friendeavours

i went to visit my oldest best friend last week. I drove along the busy-again motorway to London and found myself humming that Paul Simon song, Still Crazy After All These Years, about meeting your ex in the street and sinking a few beers and realising you’re both still weird and in love.

My oldest best friend and I are still friends, very much so, but life has changed a lot lately, even before coronavirus. We’ve known each other almost 25 years but, in the last five, our vibe has morphed from full-on party animals to knackered working mums, both writers; both still with wild sides, albeit rarely indulged. We had our first children two days apart (we joked we’d got pregnant at the same party) and, even though our sons, now aged three, see each other rarely, they play like brothers when they get together, seemingly connected on some deep DNA level. Now my friend also has six-month-old twins and I’m expecting my second baby in November, and she’d saved me all her newborn stuff, so we thought we’d make a date out of it.

Sitting in her lounge, I felt that old comfort that always enveloped me when I was around her; the easiness that made me relax to my bones, whatever state we were in. Still, it was tough to connect. Trying to have a meaningful catch-up with toddlers around is like trying to write an essay about quantum physics with a lancinating earache. Excruciating. Halfway through the day I realised that being with her was like watching a film with the sound off. It was half the story. A tantalising taster.

We reached a point where we both apologised for it, looking at each other with crumpled faces, realising our error: trying to have a catch up with the kids present, what were we thinking? ‘Sorry, this is dreadful isn’t it?’ I said.

‘It’s hard work, yeah,’ she replied.

Oh, for a quiet bar in Soho! Or even a noisy crowded sweaty one. (OK, maybe not.)

But often I think when you both acknowledge the same thing, even if it’s a bad thing, it’s still a moment shared. A fast-track to the old love. The kinship. As I watched our sons play hide and seek (up and down the stairs, for Bonus Added A&E Potential) I realised why kids love that game so much. It’s the thrill of being found. How much does that metaphor last all our lives? Isn’t that the ultimate human desire – to be seen?

For me, the best friendships have always been about that. Being understood. And to understand someone else, just as truly, madly and deeply. Tenderness and understanding are the things that last. Beyond the words that might not be able to find a way out around the noise and chaos.

After a few hours we waved our tired farewells and she packed me off with a boot-full of baby stuff. When I got home I opened one of the bags to try on a maternity dress and, as I pulled it over my head, a scent knocked me out – her old familiar smell, just her, and I had a little nostalgic cry.

She texted me soon after to say she wished we lived closer. It’s bittersweet when you grow apart, but your souls are linked by a bright line forever. When you’re both still weird and in love.

‘ It’s bittersweet when you grow apart, but your souls are linked forever’