John and Dave—Friends Forever
Dave 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 flash across the screen.
“Excuse me,” he muttered to his colleagues, stepping out into the corridor.
“Hello?” he answered cautiously.
There had been a time when he and Andrew were inseparable, but that was years ago. Dave had changed numbers so many times—how had Andrew even kept this one?
“Dave? Is that really you? It’s me, Andrew. I didn’t think you’d still have this number,” came the cheerful voice on the other end.
“Andrew. How are you?” Dave replied, still stunned, his tone flat from habit. But Andrew didn’t notice, barrelling on eagerly.
“Brilliant! Listen, I’m in London—just popped in for a bit. I know it’s work hours, but any chance we can meet? Feels like a lifetime since we last saw each other.”
“Yeah, course. Give me an hour. Where are you?” Dave’s voice warmed despite himself.
“King’s Cross, right out front. Just standing here like a lost tourist.”
“Stay put. I’ll find you.”
Back in the meeting, Dave’s mind drifted. Fifteen years since they’d last spoken, since he’d left their hometown for university and never looked back.
Parking his car, Dave scanned the crowd outside the station. A grinning man strode toward him—Andrew, though it took a second to recognise him beneath the years. They paused, sizing each other up, then shook hands before pulling into a tight hug without a word.
“Dave…”
“Andrew, you old sod…”
“Can’t believe it’s you,” Andrew said, clapping him on the back. “Look at you—proper city bloke now. Knew you’d go far. Too noisy here, fancy a cuppa somewhere?”
Dave drove them to a quiet café, tucked away from the bustle. Dim inside despite the daylight, it felt like stepping into another world.
“Right, now we can actually hear ourselves,” Dave said as they sat. Before they could speak, a waitress appeared.
“Black coffee for me. And for my friend—” He glanced at Andrew.
“Same, cheers.”
“—A full English, coffee, and a slice of Victoria sponge.”
The waitress left. Andrew blinked.
“Don’t give me that look. You’ve got a train later—bet you skipped breakfast.”
“Right as rain,” Andrew admitted. “Took my mother-in-law to hospital—her hip’s gone. Three bloody hours on the Tube. But I’m paying my way, alright?”
Dave waved him off.
“It’s not about that. Just tell me how you’ve been. Married?”
“Two kids. Tommy’s eleven, little Emily’s seven, just finishing Year 2. Took over my father-in-law’s garage after he passed. Wait till Jenny hears I saw you—she’ll flip.”
Dave frowned. “Jenny? Hold on—you married *Jenny*?”
Andrew laughed. “The one who fancied you rotten in school! Remember how we’d bolt out the gates to dodge her? Always had a soft spot for her, though. After you left, she was gutted—wanted to chase you down to London and all.” He grinned. “My one win over you. And you? Ring says married.”
“Yeah. No kids yet.”
“Fair. What do you do now?”
“Head of sales. Corporate life.”
“Bloody hell. London flat, flash car… You’ve done alright for yourself.”
Dave smirked, but Andrew’s expression shifted.
“Remember that time we tried to run away to the Arctic? Thought we could hitchhike to Scotland and find Santa or some rubbish?”
“Or when we nearly torched the garden shed?” Dave cut in.
“Those were the days.” Andrew’s smile faded. “Knew you’d go far, though.”
“Don’t envy me,” Dave said.
“Not envy. Just… a twinge. But I’ve got no right to complain. Fixed up the old Rover my father-in-law left me—runs like a dream now. Jenny’s a saint, kids are sound. Wouldn’t trade it. But you—London job, money, all that… You happy?”
Dave hesitated. “Never really thought about it.”
“Course you have. We’re from different worlds now. Look at you in that suit—don’t even know what to say to you half the time.”
“Don’t be daft. I’m chuffed to see you,” Dave said.
“Chuffed, eh? Then why’d you vanish for fifteen years?”
“Why didn’t *you* call?”
Andrew sighed. “Pride, I suppose. Forget I said anything. You’ve done well—earned it all fair and square.”
“Suppose so.”
“Wife at least pretty?”
Dave pictured Helen—sleek, polished, always camera-ready.
“Stunning.”
The food arrived. Andrew dug in like a man starved.
Dave studied him—jeans, scuffed boots, curls going grey at the temples. He suddenly felt ridiculous in his designer watch, his crisp shirt.
“If you ever need anything—”
“You offering me money now?” Andrew’s voice went cold.
“Just helping an old mate.”
Andrew set his fork down. “Turned into a proper London snob, haven’t you? Thought I’d see my friend today. Not some bloke throwing cash about.”
“Andrew—”
“Ever miss home? Your mum’s there still, yeah? Ever just fancy wandering the old streets, breathing proper air? Not this exhaust soup.” He leaned in. “Come visit. Seriously. We’ll go fishing, have a barbie. Bring the missus. Jenny won’t mind—she’s mine for good.”
For a second, it was just them again—two boys plotting adventures.
“Maybe I will.”
The plates emptied. Silence settled.
“Sorry for dragging you out of work,” Andrew muttered.
“Don’t be daft. This place… it swallows you whole. Climb and climb, forget what you’re even chasing. You said you’re happy—I believe you. But me? Feels like I’m still scrambling. That bench by the school—our names still there?”
“’Course. They paint over it every year, but it ghosts back through.” Andrew checked his watch. “Best get going. Jenny’ll worry.”
Dave drove him back. They lingered in the car, then parted with a back-slapping hug.
Watching Andrew disappear into the crowd—shoulders hunched under his rucksack—Dave felt something twist inside.
That night, Helen found him at the window, London glittering below.
“You’re home early,” she said.
He turned. Flawless as ever.
“Ran into Andrew today. Wants us to visit. Fancy a weekend in the sticks?”
Helen’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Your dad’s birthday is Sunday.”
“Right. Next time, then.” He poured a whisky. “We should walk more. Remember how we used to? Whole city on foot?”
“I’m shattered, Dave.”
“Jenny—Andrew’s wife—she was mad for me in school. Now they’ve got two kids, a half-decent life. Says he’s happy. And us? What’ve we got?”
Helen sighed. “Most people’d kill for our life.”
“Would they?”
That night, they made love for the first time in months.
He dreamt of fishing—a monstrous catch fighting his line, no one there to help. Woke gasping, tangled in sweat-damp sheets.
Next morning, Helen surprised him.
“Let’s go. If it means that much.”
They drove north, Dave chattering about childhood schemes, the Arctic escapade, how Andrew had married his schoolyard shadow.
Helen nodded along, thinking: *Let him get it out of his system. Let him see that dingy garage, that worn-out wife. Then we’ll come home, and everything will go back to normal.*
Dave glanced at her, buoyant. “Kids someday. Boy and a girl.”
She smiled. “Someday.”
The motorway stretched ahead, endless.
