**Andrew and Simon – Friends Forever**
Simon was wrapping up a meeting in his office when his phone buzzed on the desk. He almost dismissed the call until he saw the name of his old school friend.
“Excuse me,” he told his colleagues, picking up the phone and stepping out.
“Hello?” he answered cautiously. He hadn’t spoken to Andrew in years—hadn’t even known his number still existed after so many phone upgrades.
“Simon? Bloody hell, is that you? It’s me, Andrew. Thought you’d changed your number ages ago—never expected you to answer,” came the familiar voice, bright with excitement.
“Andrew. How’ve you been?” Simon replied automatically, still taken aback. But Andrew barrelled on.
“Brilliant! Listen, I’m in London—I know it’s work hours, but any chance we could meet? Been donkey’s years, mate. Who knows when we’ll get the chance again.”
“Bit tied up now. Free in an hour—tell me where to find you. Good to hear your voice, you old sod,” Simon said, warmth creeping into his tone.
“King’s Cross station. Near the main entrance.”
“Stay put. Don’t wander off,” Simon said before hanging up.
Back in the meeting, his mind kept drifting to Andrew. Fifteen years, gone just like that—since he’d left their hometown for university.
Parking his car, Simon scanned the bustling station. A grinning man weaved through the crowd toward him—Andrew, though it took a second to recognise him. They hesitated, then shook hands before pulling each other into a rough hug.
“Simon…”
“Andrew…”
“Can’t believe it’s you,” Andrew said, clapping his shoulder. “Look at you—proper successful, eh? Knew you’d go far. Bloody noisy here—fancy a cuppa?”
Simon nodded. “I’ve got the car. There’s a decent spot nearby. Here on business?”
“Brought my mother-in-law for surgery—hip’s gone. Took ages on the NHS. Blimey, is *this* yours?” Andrew gaped at the sleek Range Rover.
Simon smirked. “Hop in.”
As they drove, Andrew whistled at the leather seats. The café was quiet, dim despite the daylight, a world away from the station’s chaos.
“Right, let’s hear it,” Simon said as they sat. But the waitress appeared.
“Black coffee for me. And for my friend—” Simon glanced at Andrew.
“Same,” Andrew said quickly.
“—a full English, coffee, and pudding.”
The waitress left. Andrew blinked.
“Don’t give me that look. You’ve got a train later—bet you skipped breakfast.”
“Fair point. Took three hours to get my mother-in-law to hospital. But I’m paying my share.”
Simon ignored him.
“Not after handouts, mate. NHS sorted the op. Just… wanted to see you. Dialled on a whim—didn’t think you’d answer,” Andrew admitted.
“Yeah, yeah. So, married?”
“Two kids. Jack’s eleven, little Emily’s seven—just finished Year 2. Took over my father-in-law’s garage after he passed. Sarah—my wife—won’t believe I ran into you.”
“Sarah?” Simon frowned. “Wait—*Sarah from school?* The one who—”
“—fancied you rotten? Same one.” Andrew grinned. “Remember us bunking off to dodge her? I had a thing for her even then. When you left, she was gutted—wanted to chase you to London! Her mum put a stop to that. We got together after. Beat you there, eh?” He nodded at Simon’s wedding ring.
“Married. No kids yet,” Simon confirmed.
“And the job?”
“Sales director at a firm.”
Andrew whistled. “London life, flash motor… You’ve done alright.”
Simon shrugged.
“Remember that fishing trip? Or when we tried to run off to Scotland? Nearly got a hiding off my dad—couldn’t sit for a week…”
“—or when we nearly torched the shed?” Simon cut in.
“Yeah. Proper lads, we were.” Andrew’s smile faded. “Always knew you’d go far.”
“Don’t sound so jealous.”
“Not jealous. Well—maybe a bit. Nah, I’m lucky. Fixed up the old Rover the father-in-law left me—runs like a dream now. Sarah’s a gem, kids are sound. Can’t complain. But you? Big job, money, all that… You happy?”
Simon paused. “Dunno. Never thought about it.”
“Course you have. We’re different now. Look at you—suit, Rolex… Don’t even know what to say to you anymore.”
“Cut it out. I’m chuffed to see you,” Simon said.
“Chuffed? Then why’d you vanish? Not a word in fifteen years.”
“You didn’t call either,” Simon shot back.
“Pride, innit?” Andrew sighed. “Ah, forget it. You’ve done well—earned it all.”
Simon nodded.
“Wife at least a stunner?”
Simon pictured Helen—sleek, polished, always camera-ready.
“Gorgeous.”
The food arrived. Andrew dug in like a man starved. Simon sipped coffee, studying him—faded jeans, scuffed trainers, salt-and-pepper curls. Suddenly his own tailored suit felt absurd.
“If you ever need help—just say,” Simon muttered.
Andrew set down his fork. “Offering me cash? Christ, Simon. Thought I’d see my old mate. Not some City tosser throwing money about.”
“Just trying to help.”
“Help?” Andrew’s voice turned icy. “When’s the last time you went home? Just to walk the old streets, see mates, breathe proper air? Not this London smog. Come visit. Seriously. We’ll fish, have a barbie. Bring the missus. Sarah won’t mind—she’s stuck with me.” His grin returned, crinkling his eyes.
“Maybe I will.”
The plates emptied. Silence settled.
“Sorry for dragging you out,” Andrew mumbled.
“Don’t be. London life—it’s a treadmill. Easy to forget. You said you’re happy. I spent years proving myself, climbing. Got the car, the flat… But the last time I felt *properly* happy? Back then. That bench—remember?”
Andrew smiled. “Outside school? Still there. They paint over it every year, but you can still read it.”
Simon checked his watch.
“Work calls, eh? I’ll head off too. Sarah’ll worry.”
Simon paid discreetly, ignoring Andrew’s stiff expression at the bill. Driving back to the station, they sat in quiet. At the kerb, they hugged roughly.
“Come visit,” Andrew said, hefting his bag.
Simon watched him vanish into the crowd—shoulders uneven under the weight of his things.
Home was empty. He poured a whisky, stared at the skyline. Lights blinked like distant stars. He remembered meeting Helen—broke students, walking everywhere, dreaming big. Then marriage, the first car, the promotions. Endless meetings, networking, keeping up appearances. Helen had her PR firm now. Weekends were facials and functions. No time for kids. No time for *them*.
The lock clicked.
“You’re home early,” Helen called. “Rough day?”
He turned. Flawless as ever.
“Ran into an old mate today. Andrew. Wants us to visit. Maybe this weekend?”
Helen sighed. “Your dad’s birthday’s Sunday. How about next time?”
“Right.” He hesitated. “Fancy a walk? Like we used to? Look at the stars?”
“I’m shattered, Simon. Another time.”
He grabbed her hand. “Why don’t we have kids?”
“Where’s this coming from? Is it Andrew? His little garage and two-point-four kids?”
“It’s not about him. We’ve got money, status—but what’s it *for*? We don’t talk. We’re just… coexisting.”
She frowned. “People *kill* for our life. Fine—let’s walk.”
Outside, silence thickened. Over dinner, Simon spilled stories—fishing trips, their botched runaway attempt to “the North Pole” (they’d made it to Newcastle before being hauled back). Andrew marrying Sarah, his schoolyard admirer. Helen stifled a yawn.
“Am I boring you?”
“Just knackered. You never talk about this stuff.”
Later, in bed, he whispered, “Do you love me?”
“*Obviously*.”
“Say it properly.”
She sighed. “Simon, I love you. Christ, we’re not teenagers.”
“Is that so bad?”
They fell asleep tangled together—the first time in years.
He dreamed of fishing. A monster on the line, bending the rod, fighting. No one to help. He screamedThe next morning, as sunlight spilled through the curtains, Simon reached for his phone and dialed Andrew’s number—this time, not to reminisce, but to plan that long-overdue trip home.
