Ive always believed there are two kinds of friends the ones you meet for a coffee, and the ones you keep for life.
Agnes Harper had a story to prove it.
Alright, thatll do for today, she said, brightminded. The boss will be home soon, and I havent even started dinner. And you, kiss your man and ring me the moment you settle on the travel dates!
Her friends husband was due to visit their daughter in Paris, so a real chance to see each other was on the horizon.
Its such a shame Vera lives so far away now, and everythings become so pricey and tricky, the Countess complained again. At least we can chat away on the phone.
Even though they met rarely and lived in completely different worlds, the conversation always clicked as if it had never been interrupted. Most of the women Ive met after moving abroad in my thirties never manage that. Youd think a common circle, the same festivals, trips to the same spots would give endless topics yet it rarely does. Too often we end up forcing a chat, and Agnes never tolerated empty small talk.
Agnes and Vera had known each other since the first year of primary school, but true friendship only blossomed after Gwen left England. Back then each of us kept to our own little bubble, barely crossing paths, though Agnes always dreamed of a proper FRIEND the kind you read about in novels.
Writers dont lie; they draw from life unless theyre dealing in fairy tales. Theres a popular notion, bolstered by countless jokes, that women dont have real friendships, only strong male bonds. But what does a male friendship look like? A footy match, a hand with the heavy lifting, a chat about politics, perhaps a loan of cash Theyll never pour their souls out to each other. At best theyll gripe about a spouse or a boss.
Gwen split female bonds into chums and friends. She always had plenty of chums you could talk about anything with them, but only on the surface: fashion, health, beauty, books, movies, travel, home, raising kids, or caring for ageing parents.
A FRIEND is something else. Its a person you can be yourself with, who will listen to your deepest secrets without a hint of ridicule, and who will rally to your side at the drop of a hat, rain or shine, bottle in hand or not. Shell nod as you retell the same story in different versions, wiping away your tears and snot.
Agnes knew such a friend existed because shed be the one to act that way. Maybe she couldnt dash over at three in the morning first her parents, then her husband would stop her but otherwise she was always ready to lend a hand. After a long, thorny road she finally found that in Vera.
There were blunders and heartbreaks along the way, starting with a neighbour on the same block whod been a friend almost from birth. They fell out over a broken walkalong doll that Veras parents had given her for her birthday. The doll was ruined when a visiting cousin soaked it with water during a game of motheranddaughter. Gwen took the blame; Vera didnt defend her, and that was the end of that friendship.
Later, a friend in the States snapped over some trivial slight and cut off contact, despite years of shared struggle in exile and sincere apologies from Agnes.
The star of this misguided troupe was Beryl. She appeared in Year Two and slipped straight into the group. Small and lowstature, with a tumble of curly hair tied into a thick plait, she made up for any lack of glamour with boundless energy, confidence, and a laugh that some called infectious, others likened to a snort.
The girls clicked fast; they lived on the same street and rode the tube home together. They started a ritual: each day on the way to the station theyd buy a cone of sherbet with a pink swirl from a stall. Beryl usually paid, as she got only a pound a week from her mum with the instruction, Heres your money dont skimp on anything. But Gwen thought petty calculations had no place between friends.
Eating that icecream every day toughened them up; colds stayed away, and their parents even signed them up for a swimming club, which they attended together after lessons.
They did everything side by side: cinema trips, theatre outings, gallery visits (if Gwen didnt fancy a painter, Beryl would declare, You just havent grown into it yet), pioneer camps, dance and art classes. Gwen loved drawing but quit after Beryl tore apart a quail shed painted, saying the bird looked more like a cow but was done in oil, so it was better.
Both fell for the same boy in primary school and broke off at the same time, or so Gwen thought, until she discovered Beryl still nursed secret feelings for him.
Their parents were preoccupied, and Grandma would shake her head, Stay away from that Beryl, shes jealous. Gwen would wave her off, You dont understand, were true friends!
Gwen was ready to cede leadership, accept unchallengeable opinions, and tolerate perpetual tardiness. Those seemed trivial compared to the certainty that a friend would be a rock if needed.
Beryl once meddled, telling a classmate who was courting Gwen that he wasnt right for her and should leave her alone. Gwen chalked it up to Beryls overprotectiveness and strong character.
Later, when Gwens mother, a psychologist, gave her a harsh lecture about a budding romance with a fellow student, Beryl soothed her crying friend and bravely defended her.
Their bond survived university, tempting new crowds, weddings where each stood as the others maid of honour, and the birth of their first children. Then the world pulled them apart: Agnes moved to the United States, Beryl to Israel, and contact dwindled for years.
They bumped into each other unexpectedly on neutral ground in Amsterdam. The initial thrill gave way to Gwens puzzlement when she learned Beryl had visited the States several times over the years without ever letting her know. Beryl boasted about a fling with Agness most ardent admirer, even trying to spill intimate details that Gwen never wanted to hear.
It hurt, but Amsterdam also brought Vera from Moscow, and soon any lingering grudges were either forgotten or buried deep.
A few more years slipped by in lazy correspondence and occasional reunions. By then Beryl was divorced and constantly on the lookout for a new partner, while Agness marriage was also on shaky ground. Children grew, and they thought they could just ride it out.
Eventually it became unbearable. An old acquaintance resurfaced; they began emailing, met when he attended a medical conference in her city, reminisced, and, as you might expect, ended up in bed. A romance ignited.
Gwen wasnt proud, but her life suddenly brightened, and she couldnt or didnt want to stop it. Meetings were scarce sometimes she escaped for a conference, sometimes he was away on business.
One day the lover suggested a perfect plan: meet in Israel, where both had relatives, with Beryl covering the backstop. The scheme was shaky from the start, but they took the risk.
Gwen threw herself into it, approving the lover (Now thats the bloke you need, not that chap you married!), even trying to seduce him while she was out, only to be rebuffed. She accompanied them to chic galleries, pricey restaurants (she chose the places, he footed the bill). Everything went smoothly, so the pair decided to spend three days on the Red Sea in Eilat.
Beryl started packing, hoping to be invited, but the lover refused to fund her travel. Why do we need a blacksmith? he asked reasonably, leaving Beryl behind in Jerusalem, inventing excuses over the phone should his wife call.
Three days flashed by. When the sunkissed lovers returned to Jerusalem, Gwens phone rang:
Your husband called me last night. He caught me off guard, I was flustered, tried to calm him all night, but he seemed to know everything already, she babbled. Better that way, or youd never have made a decision.
Then came the long, painful homecoming, awkward talks with her husband, and a marriage patched together for a few more years
And the friend? What about her?
She never owned up to any guilt, perhaps believing shed done Gwen a favour. Agnes never raised the sore topic again.
They still exchange occasional messages, but they havent invited each other to repeat weddings, and they no longer see each other in person.
Her phone pinged Google Photos had compiled a new album of pictures of Agnes, Vera, and the gang from years of trips and meetings.
Theyre reading our thoughts now, Agnes muttered, but she let herself linger over the images, smiling at the memories.
True friendship does exist, she thought, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.
