Best Friends Better Friends

This one is a romance loosely based on a couple of friends from work who are in each others lives and insist they are just mates; well Sarah and Gary (names changed... a bit...) are perfect for each other and they are the only two people that don't know;, I'll let Sarah take up her imaginary story.

This is my first romance, please be gentle...

My Divorce from my husband had not been good. He was convinced all of the time that I was to blame, for everything. I had left him twice before but he had convinced me to go back.

The last time he hit me, and that was that. He did his usual 'look what you've driven me to' and stormed off melodramatically. I knew that in half and hour he'd be back crying, begging me not to do it again. This time I was ahead of him and piled the kids, as many of my clothes, their clothes, towels and toothbrushes and as I could fit into the car and drove away. I went to the next nearest town, pulled into a Travel Lodge and that was that.

Two nights later I went to a mate's house and then two days later to my parents. We stayed there while everything was sorted and he bought me out of the house, demanded my car, which unfortunately was registered in his name, and pleaded for me to return again; this time when he got angry, my six foot eight soon to retire police officer father was stood just behind me listening and came to my rescue quoting at least four crimes that he could have my Ex arrested for their and then. He sloped away like a nine year old arguing about bedtimes while my wonderful Dad told me just to let him know if 'that arsehole' ever came at me like it again.

But after a month or so, with the generosity of friends and colleagues, we were moving into a new house and starting our life all over again. My Ex only contacted me to discuss the first few weekends with the children. As soon as the new woman entered his life that stopped also. The kids' resilience was fantastic and they came through it. After about a year he stopped contacting me or the children and played the part of being well rid of us – I understood that she was pregnant within a few months. His money continued to arrive by direct debit with the occasional stop. But to be honest I was virtually OK without it.

Two years on, all was going well; the kids were settled again and looking forward to Christmas, the mortgage was arranged and being paid on time and it was all looking good.

Being the party season my parents of course offered to babvsit their beloved and wholly spoilt (at least when they were with them) grandchildren and I had a few nights away out with my team, the last being the obligatory office do. We were all getting a bit tipsy, and dancing. In the corner of the room was Gary, one of the guys of the office, he was my age, slightly taller and quite above average looking. He was wearing what my Dad called 'the thousand yard stare' – looking into the room but miles away. The beer bottle he'd been given was still three quarters full and he didn't seem to be talking to anyone. One of the girls said that we should go get him and make him cheer up.

I told them not to and that Gary was fine; he was actually far from fine. His wife had almost died from cancer; that is the MRSA she got from a mastectomy operation killed her first. Gary had nursed her and cared for his two children, one of whom suffered with cerebral palsy. Liking his privacy he'd only told the boss, who told no one else. Gary got in later and went home early, the bags under his eyes got bigger and we found ourselves with more and more of his cases.

Eventually an email came round that he had taken a fortnights leave at short notice. Some of the team grumbled at that; they'd never be allowed that much leeway and some felt that we'd been carrying him for the last few months.

Finally, after one of the nastier... OK gobbier girls in the office had grumbled at Mike the team leader, he burst out,

"His wife has just died! That make you feel any fucking different?"

The office went silent; Mike never lost his temper or shouted – at anyone. He walked to the middle of the room,

"Guys, I would have had to tell you sometime so it might as well be now; Some of you will remember Carole, Gary's wife. She died on Friday evening, she had tumours of almost everything and apparently one of those superbugs did what the cancer couldn't. Gary doesn't want a fuss made or a collection for flowers; but if it's all the same I going to have a collection and send it to the Hospice she was staying in."

He did and we all put in to it; everyone in the team felt for him, he was such a nice guy, kind and generous and a great sense of humour. A few of the single girls had eyes for him, but no one wanted to be the first.

It was ten months since he'd lost her and his sad and lost look made me want to go over and talk to him.

"Hi Gary," I said with a smile, "you driving I suppose?"

"Yes," he said smiling back, "Paul is with my Mum and she struggles to put him to bed sometimes, so I'm on duty tonight."

"My Mum has the girls," I said, "so I'm almost free, but I can't do all of this anymore." I looked at my rum and Coke which was actually almost all Coke.

We chatted and watched the party go on around us, until he said that he had to go. A check of my watch and the heat of the room had me ready to leave as well.

"Do you want a lift?" he asked. My house was not far from his parents place.

I thanked him and said that I would, I hadn't booked a taxi and the buses were unbelievable at that time of night.

We drove home discussing what our various plans were and what we had bought our children, and how great it was. But as he stopped at a set of lights he looked at me and said,

"Yeah but it is a bastard doing it all on your own isn't it."

"Yes," I said, "It bloody well is."

We then had a general discourse on the shortcomings of doing everything on your own and having to rely on babysitters, and once you had sorted everything you were always to tired to go anywhere and everything was based around couples, after all going for a nice meal on your own was always so boring.

"I'm luckier than most," he said, "Paul goes into respite every fourth weekend and I get a live-in sitter on a Thursday once a fortnight." He paused, "she saved my sanity. He stopped talking, and it was one of those too quiet for too long, moments. "When did you last go to the pictures?" He said boldly.

"I can't remember," I said, "it's a shame because I want to see the last of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy on the big screen."

"So do I," he said, "How about we go on the Thursday between Christmas and New year, that's if you're free of course." As it happened I was.

"Great!"

"We can grab a burger in Frankie and Benny's afterwards."

"Fantastic!" With that we were entering my road, we swapped mobile numbers and I said I'll call him once I'd sorted a sitter.

And so we went to the pictures; having something to look forward to was great, even my Dad noticed the change in me next morning. And being a man was satisfied with the 'going to the pictures with a mate from work', gender irrelevant.

And so we went, the film was brilliant and it was so much nicer being with someone else. We went through the shopping village until we found the restaurant and we ate a mountain of food and had a laugh, probably the first one we'd had in ages.

As he dropped me home, he made apologies that he couldn't come in and meet my parents but his babysitter would turn into a pumpkin at midnight as she had a party to go to and he'd promised she could finish early.

With no more than a 'See you at work – next year!' we parted. Meeting at work we chatted in the way we always did, saying how good the film had been and how we had both eaten to much. He asked if I wanted to go and see another film, which was plastered all of the billboards in a weeks' time; he did and again didn't want to go on his own. I said I would and that I would drive this time.

And so it became a regular thing, once a month or so we'd take turns in driving and go to the cinema then have a meal, or just have a meal if there was nothing good on. It was still a secret in the office, and we both made sure it stayed that way only discussing our outings on the phone in the evenings. We became close friends, and would discuss everything and anything, but in a matey kind of way. When we were out, we were often treated as a couple and it was nice, and neither of us complained. I'd peck him on the cheek when we parted for the evening it was sort of a big brother/little sister king of thing. Invited out to a leaving party, I became the object of a nasty little squirts attention. Gary noticed and grinned a big grin and whispered, "Sarah, come here..." he put an arm around my waist, smiled down into my face, "No problem," he grinned putting his chin to mine to whisper in my ear, "He's gone."

Indeed, the squirt had taken one look at Gary's impressive frame and proprietary attitude, he'd gone back to the bar and his mates. From that night Gary became my F.O.G. or 'fuck off guy'. I explained this context to some of the girls in the office and that was enough for them. A few even commented that I should make him my boyfriend for real!

As that long summer drew into a warm and balmy June, I received an invite from my University for a Centenary ball, and I was very tempted to go but wasn't sure. If I was going there was one guy I knew I could rely on to come with me.

Chatting with Gary over our Thursday meal, he said that he was going to have a weekend away on his next respite weekend and planned to do some camping and fishing in the West Country.

"I'm going to my old Uni' that weekend," I said, "It's the centenary of the department I was in and being star pupil they've asked me back." Synchronicity reared its unplanned head again – it was his weekend off in August.

"Cool!" he said, "I'm going to see my sister in Glastonbury. Half an hour away."

"Do you have a dinner jacket?" I asked.

"Yes,"

"Would you escort me to my Summer ball?"

"It would be an honour," he said with a grin, and it was 'Outlooked' into our diaries.

They days passed and we didn't discuss the ball until the Thursday night before the event on Saturday.

"I've had my suit cleaned especially," he said, and I told him what I'd bought and eventually gave him the notes from the University on where he needed to be and at what time.

I was waiting by the square in my frock that had stretched my credit card to its limit and wondering where he was in all of the line of cars I could see lining up to drop off the many guests that were arriving. Not seeing his tall Volkswagen I began to wonder if he really had made it, thinking irritably about the noisy motorcycle jumping the queue along the outside of the line of cars. It pulled over parked by some smaller bikes and the owner swung his leg over the back and pulled off his helmet – it was Gary. He stashed his helmet in a box on the back and smiled. Next he peeled off a form fitting leather jacket which he stowed next to the helmet.

"Thought you'd never make it," I said, trying really hard to keep the peevishness out of my voice.

"Don't get to bring the hog out that often these days," he said with a grin "Sorry, I'll buy you a pint once we get inside to make up for it."

Pulling his jacket down and straightening his bow tie, finally happy with the result, "Mam," he said extending and arm.

I smiled, and slipped my arm through his.

Although we had been out on 'mate dates' dozens of times, this time seemed different. I could feel the solid muscle of his arm through the suit, and I had to admit he did look very good in it.

Mind you, I hadn't been lazy, my tailored and lightly boned dark blue satin dress reached my black strappy sandals, the string of my knicks would give nothing away either as the clever designer, a local girl, had built some detailing in to that part of the dress on purpose to hide the tell tale bit at the back. We headed for the uniformed waiters and waitresses and I gave our names. We were welcomed in, handed champagne flutes and we moved into the huge refectory dining room that looked palatial compared to how I'd last seen it seventeen odd years ago. I instantly spotted friends. We'd been discussing this evening over email and Facebook and my three best mates were already waiting in the main hall, two of them with their partners. We all cheered and hugged and kissed cheeks and looked each other up and down, we'd all of us had at least two children to thank for sags and bags on our figures.

I introduced Gary as a good friend from work that had been kind enough to escort me. David, the husband of Davina shook hands with him and asked if he could get him a drink. Gary smiled and nodded and asked for a Coke. David worked his way around the crowd and achieved a right list, so Gary offered to go with him and help carry them.

The second he was gone, all three girls where on me.

"Shit! Sarah!" said Davina, by far the noisiest of the group, "he's a 'friend'? Jesus," she breathed out, straightening her not insubstantial cleavage, "If I had a mate like that I'd be out with him, or should I say 'in' with him every evening. He's not gay is he?"

"No!" I made to slap her wrist, "He recently lost his wife," I admonished, "Go easy on him."

"Given half a chance I would," said Davina, looking across at Gary and her husband at the bar. "Will you look at the arse on him," she giggled, "like two hardboiled eggs in a handkerchief."

Everyone laughed, but I had to admit, in the arse department, Gary was very well supplied. While he and David waited, they both turned and waved indicating the queue. Gary winked. Not rude, not lascivious, but more than enough to make my toes curl.

For the first time I consciously noticed his dark brown hair with only a hint of grey at the temples, his dark blue, soulful, heart breaker eyes and his broad chest and slim waist. I winked back, my heart beating just the tiniest bit faster.

He came back with a white wine spritzer, one of my favourite drinks. He sipped his Coke, the way he always had it, slice of lime, no ice.

He dipped his head to one side to whisper in my ear,

"Sorry about that mate," he said, "didn't mean to walk off and leave you alone straight away." I waved a hand to indicate it was fine. He sipped his Coke, "Still gave you all a chance to talk about me I suppose."

I giggled, fighting the urge to explain exactly what the discussion had been!

The bell rang and we slowly made our way to the long trestle tables that were laid along the huge room, with benches and forms rather than tables and chairs.

All of the ladies struggled with their long dresses but that was how my college had done this event for a hundred years and the men were kind enough to help their ladies and not comment on the sudden exposure of a few hundred white thighs and stocking tops, although I was lucky we had the very end of the table.

Gary was sat opposite me and smiled.

The food was splendid; typical of the kind of dinners that the college always had. Twice a year, every year for three years. Cheap to students, expensive to teaching staff and free to the few minor royals and celebs they got along to grace the high table.

After almost two hours worth of food and fantastic wine, (something else that my college was famous for) and some really sweet chat from Gary about a whole range of subjects and joining in comfortably with our banter, the dean announced that the food was over and the ladies could rise and take their ease. He joked that this was only the third time he was unable to ask the gentleman if they wished to partake in cigars, but the smoking ban was still fresh in everyone's minds and a change for the better all round.

The large doors at the south end of the hall were opened and the French windows at the other were as well. The fresh air lifted everyone's senses and refreshed the atmosphere.

Most headed for the gardens or to the bar. We made for the bar and Gary had his standard Coke.

"They have a few spare rooms if you did want to drink," I said.

"Well," he said, "S'pose I could. I haven't hung one on in years."

"You little devil," I said moving closer to him and bashing him with my shoulder.

"Gotta go mad sometime," he said.

"Does Mum have the kids tonight?"

"Just my daughter," he said, "Paul is with the sitter and off to a centre for the weekend. Horse riding, electric buggies, swimming, the whole thing."

"How did you swing that!" I said.

He looked wistfully but with a big smile,

"Those wonderful social services people have got me an entire weekend respite, first time EVER!" He made a grand gesture swinging his arm around; it was a move most unlike him and showed a lack of control that I'd never seen in him, and I started to get the impression the alcohol was taking effect.

"A pint of Stella Gary?" said David.

"I think he's had enough David," I said.

"Have I?" said Gary.

"Yes mate," I crooked an arm through his and led him to the French windows for some much needed and revitalising air.

"Your not used to it mate," I said, "and I don't want to have to carry you home and put you to bed."

He smiled and shook his head.

"Sorry honey," he said, 'just the atmos', nothing else honest." He looked around the Victorian courtyard and sighed,

"Almost makes me wish I'd been to University," he said looking around him.

"Didn't you?" I queried.

"OU," he said, "my money, my time, my achievement. Dead proud still." He smiled. "Nothing against you privileged classes of course."

"Cheek," I said in mock brusqueness, "I didn't stop paying of my student loan for five years."

"Your own fault," he said leaning forward, "if you hadn't spent four years of your life getting pissed and going to wild parties you wouldn't have run up such a debt."

"Wild parties? I wish," I retorted.

"Come on Sarah, a little darling like you? You must have been beating them off with a shitty stick with a nail in."

"White wine spritzer, Coke, chilled, lime no ice," said David handing us our drinks.

I thanked him in time to hear the small orchestra start to play.

"Come on," I said, "show me how a commoner can dance."

With drinks in hands we glided around the hall, him with one hand on my waist, me holding him around the neck. Davina and David were dancing just across from us, she mouthed 'go on then' at me.

I thought about our friendship and having to work together and everything.

"Oh Yes!" I raised my glass at him, "Soooooo, a little darling, do you think?" It took me a second to realise that I'd said it!

"What, and you don't think you are?"

"Well, I'm... OK I suppose..."

He smiled and giggled but in a nice way.

"Sarah, you are, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, fucking gorgeous, I mean look at you."

"What?"

"Somehow you've managed to wrap that perfect satin around your perfect figure, everyone is looking at you," he nodded around.

I turned my head in time to see a few dozen men all look back at their partners and friends.

"You have," he said, sipping his Coke, "THE finest arse in the ENTIRE organisation."

"What?" I said with an embarrassed squeak, "Really?"

"Really," he said with a grin pulling me a little bit tighter to him, "Lisa has a very nice package altogether, but her arse isn't a patch on yours." Lisa was the office hottie, a wonderful, bright bubbly highlighted blonde haired little thing with a heart of gold and a sense of fun to match. I knew that the eyes of most of the male officers on my floor followed her body around the room, and she never seemed to mind a bit.

So, I was letched after too was I?

He must have figured I needed more info and was kind enough to provide it.

"On a scale of one to ten your bottom has to be a nine and half, highest rated in the firm."