The Best of Friends by Alex Day (english novels to read .TXT) 📗

now we feast upon quinoa salads and deliciously moist carrot cake.’

Naomi drops her eyes bashfully for a second and then reverts to type and gives Dan a playful thump. ‘Are you teasing me? You are awful.’

I grit my teeth as my blood temperature rises, perhaps not quite to a boil but definitely a gentle simmer. I totally understand Charlotte’s anxiety and, though she didn’t express it as such, her resentment at Dan’s open acceptance of Naomi’s enthusiastic attentions. She’s simpering at some joke Dan has made that I didn’t hear with all the adulation of a well-trained dog to its owner.

Poor Charlotte. It must drive her mad – as well as being disconcerting and somewhat worrying. But on the other hand, I ponder, left out of the Dan-Naomi mutual admiration zone – they’re discussing some new protein balls she’s put on the menu now – if Charlotte spent more time with Dan, involved herself in his hobbies, came to play tennis with him, the Naomi threat would inevitably diminish. Then I remember that it’s her bad back that prevents her from being part of it all and I feel sorry for her, and guilty for being critical of her for even a second. She can hardly sit around in the cafe all the time Dan’s here just to keep an eye on its manager, after all.

Naomi lets go of Dan’s arm, which she’s been gripping like a vice, and turns to me.

‘New to the village, are you? Well, there’s lots for you to find out about this man but just remember that he’s mine, OK? I’ll not be letting anyone else get their hands on him.’

I gulp, speechless. She’s obviously joking but still … It’s all a little surreal, like walking in on an episode of a reality show where some dolly bird is blatantly trying it on with someone else’s man on national television.

I’m struggling to think of anything to say in response when Dan steps in.

‘Enough already, Naomi,’ he says, teasingly. ‘We’ve got a court booked so we’ll catch you later.’

‘Don’t forget to come back for your balls,’ Naomi hollers after him, and the raucous guffaw that follows echoes down the corridor, ricocheting off the bare white walls.

‘She’s … very lively,’ I venture hesitantly, as Dan ushers me towards the courts.

Dan laughs. ‘She tends towards the overenthusiastic. All totally harmless, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I echo, my words sounding unconvincing even to me. I’m not sure how much I should ask about the nature of their relationship, or how deep I should delve. I don’t want to find out anything I’d be happier not knowing, or that would leave me with a dilemma as to whether to tell Charlotte or not.

‘Charlotte doesn’t like it much,’ Dan continues, as if reading my mind. ‘But as she only comes to watch me play once in a blue moon it doesn’t really affect her,’ he concludes, bluntly.

‘Oh.’ I think about this for a moment, feeling that I must defend my new friend. ‘I suppose it’s a bit boring just spectating, isn’t it? I’m sure she’s got so many things to do she doesn’t really have time for it.’

Dan merely shrugs in response and then the moment is gone as we step outside where the brilliant green grass glimmers in the morning sun.

‘Toss for first serve?’ I need to keep my mind on the game and not let myself be distracted by the puzzle of Dan and Charlotte’s relationship, their somewhat troubled marriage, Naomi’s involvement, and what it all might mean.

Dan wins the toss. As the match progresses, we both work up a sweat. I notice how the muscles in his arms become more pronounced as the perspiration gleams upon them, how deceptively youthful is his agile body.

Dan wins, but only just. It wouldn’t have taken much more from me to have beaten him fair and square but men’s egos don’t always respond well to losing. And Charlotte has already warned me about Dan’s.

‘That was the best game I’ve had in a long while,’ he says, after his winning point. He reaches over the net to shake my hand, which I’ve hastily wiped on my dress to get rid of the worst of the sweat. A tingle runs through my body at his touch, at the firm hold he has taken of my fingers, his palm pressed against mine.

Since I separated from Justin, I have hardly touched anyone.

No one tells you that when you no longer have a partner, you will forget the feel of human warmth, the sensation of skin upon skin, the solidity and comfort that comes from simply holding someone’s hand. The only bodies that come close to mine now are those of the boys and it suddenly hits me that once they have outgrown cuddles and hugs, which won’t be long, there will be nothing. I will be an island, alone in a sea of indifference and exclusion, just like I was after … Well, suffice to say it won’t be for the first time, but I really prefer not to go there, to leave that part of my history as just that – the past.

Dan’s handshake has morphed into a hand hold but amidst my bleak thoughts I’m so distracted that I’ve hardly noticed. Now that I do, I realise that my legs have turned to jelly and that my stomach is fizzing with suppressed excitement.

I snatch my hand away as if I’ve been burnt. I can’t believe what I’m feeling, how for a split second there I forgot that Dan is someone else’s husband. My friend’s husband.

‘Susannah?’ Dan’s questioning voice brings me to my senses.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, trying not to sound too flustered, ‘I was miles away then. You were saying?’

‘I was just saying that you play very well?’

It’s a question not a comment, demanding an explanation. I force myself to focus on my answer.

‘Thank you. I played a lot when I was younger.’

Rubbing my towel around my neck, I think about what to say, how