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It was warm, and it was lovely, and Tom was sweating and feeling lonely.
He’d always liked weddings.
How incredibly wonderful it was when two people decided they wanted to spend their lives together. That was definitely something to celebrate.
The thing about weddings was that a great, great many people turned up. A great many people.
And unless they were weddings within his very closest circle – and to be honest, they never were – Tom usually knew about 15 percent of those present.
And, naturally, that meant he didn’t know the other 85 percent.
Which, in theory, wasn’t that much of a big problem. It just meant that, over time, he usually began to feel a bit lost. Of course you could walk around, strike up conversations and get to know people. But that took energy.
Energy that Tom didn’t have.
At least not today.
Naturally, he still went to weddings where it was clear in advance how things would go. Feeling lonely and out of place was no reason to stay away from a wedding; especially when it involved old friends from uni.
And so Tom had put on his really smart charcoal-grey suit and took three buses to south London to celebrate Sarah and Mike – or rather, their newly wedded union.
The ceremony at St Leonard’s had been truly lovely, and now, here in the spacious garden of the fancy restaurant, everything seemed even more festive and magnificent.
Tables laid with white tablecloths, fresh cut flowers, red and white and pink and green. A stunning buffet. A fricking live DJ.
Tom took a sip from his glass.
Even the punch was excellent.
The weather was beautiful. Everything was just so damn perfect.
And Tom smiled and looked around, trying not to feel so bloody lonely.
He could get up now and go and look for Sam.
That of course was an option, that was always an option.
Sam wouldn’t mind. He’d been invited too and was somewhere back there amongst the crowd of guests.
Classic Sam.
Sam belonged to that peculiar group of people in this world who thrived as soon as they were surrounded by lots of people.
So yeah. Why not check on Sam?
Well, yes. Because it might be a bit silly, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t keep taking advantage of his friends’ company every time. Perhaps he should just pull himself together.
After all, he was a grown man.
A lonely, grown man.
He watched a white butterfly as it made its jerky yet elegantly carefree way through the warm air. The little animal lent the whole scene such a cheesy, romantic flair that Tom had to take another sip to stop himself from grinning.
They’d met at uni back then, in the cafeteria to be precise.
Strange that he still remembered that.
He’d taken a liking to Mike right from the start, and in fact they’d never lost touch over all those years. At some point, Mike had met Sarah. And Sarah was a pretty cool person. Incredibly intelligent. She’d studied law. Very, very easy-going. She had made Mike very happy, and Tom was pleased about that. He really was.
Even so, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit here on the bench without it getting awkward.
“Fancy a dance?”
“JESUS!”
“No, not quite. Just Sam.”
Tom laughed and set his glass down. “You gave me quite a fright, mate! What are you sneaking up on me for?”
“You won’t believe this, but I wasn’t sneaking up on you at all. You were just off somewhere in some mind palace.”
“Fair enough. What did you ask?”
“If you’d like to dance?”
“The two of us?”
“Why not?”
Tom looked up, searched Sam’s dark eyes for that dangerous glint of mischief. But there was no glint. Only warm, carefree serenity.
He grinned. “I’d love to!”
“Let’s go then.”
Tom stood up and gave his shoulders a brief, barely perceptible roll to loosen his spine. Luckily, today was a back-pain-free day. That was partly because he hadn’t yet spent four hours straight on his laptop today.
He followed Sam over to the dance floor. As always, it felt a bit surreal to see Sam in a gleaming white shirt. And Tom knew that Sam wasn’t a big fan of gleaming white shirts either, but he would never have flouted a dress code set by the bride and groom.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep, everything’s fine.”
The two men stepped onto the dance floor and took each other’s hands. Tom eyed Sam intently. “Shall we go for equality, or the classic men-and-ladies split, or…?”
“Let’s just have Tom and Sam dancing together, okay?”
“Perfect. Are you okay with me putting my hand on your waist like this?”
“For fuck’s sake, Tom, stop thinking and get on with it!”
Tom had to laugh. “Sorry, Sam. I’m trying to switch my brain off. It’s not easy, you know?”
“I know; that’s why I asked you.”
So Tom did place a hand on Sam’s waist.
Warm, smooth cotton.
The scent of Sam’s deodorant found its way to his brain, tickled memories of days long gone. Sam really liked this deodorant, had been using it for years now.
He felt Sam’s hand between his fingers.
Sam had quite large, strong hands. Hands that suited him perfectly. A beautiful, simple wedding ring. A little scar on the back of his thumb. Tom knew this scar. Last year, backstage after the show in the Bill Murray -
Sam looked up at him, raising his eyebrows.
“Everything all right up there, Mayo?”
“Yeah, yeah…”
“You said you wanted to switch off that silly brain of yours.”
“I’m on it, I swear. My autonomic nervous system’s about to take over.”
“Okay, alright, take your time, buddy.”
A gentle folk-rock song was droning over them, and Tom sighed loudly. “I like that song; it always reminds me of Edinburgh 2024. You remember? That weird cocktail bar with the purple wallpaper?”
“Oh my God, yes… we were so drunk.”
“Yeah, but we had every right to be. We so owned that show.”
“We did. Really looking forward to the Fringe this year.”
“I’m afraid people are staring at us.”
“Don’t tell me that bothers you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Really? We could go back down—”
“Sam, please, I’d really love to dance with you.”
“Okay.”
The song was drawing to a close, and the DJ pulled off a real masterstroke with his transition.
“A waltz! It’s getting serious now, can we do this?”
“Yeah, mate! Let’s go!”
Together with the other couples on the dance floor, they settled into a slow three-four time.
It had been a few years since he’d last danced a waltz, but fortunately his muscle memory didn’t let him down. In fact, Tom could feel his body gradually relaxing. A certain lightness was slowly filling him; a lightness that was largely due to the fact that, despite the public nature of the dance, he felt very safe.
It wasn’t the first time he’d danced with Sam, but never before had it been such a formal occasion – and, consequently, a more or less proper dance. And Sam was an excellent dancer. He moved with the effortless grace of a heavy man who was nevertheless astonishingly light on his feet; a man who knew exactly which way was up and which was down in his body.
They took turns leading without needing to communicate it verbally.
It was a bit like being on stage. An instinctive, highly sensitive response to one another.
The warm breeze, the scent of lilac and barbecue, and the colourful spectacle of all the cheerful people around him gently transported Tom away from reality.
It really was beautiful.
“Oops, sorry!”
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I… I just happened to be thinking about how long we’ve known each other.”
“Almost twenty years.”
“Yeah…”
Tom raised his arm and spun Sam round. Then they stepped aside a little, as the bride and groom were now entering the dance floor.
“Sorry, Tom, I’m a bit sweaty.”
“No worries. I know your sweat very well.”
Sam snickered. “That’s a very odd thing to say!”
“But it’s true, isn’t it? My day job involves standing on stage with three sweaty men; I really don’t mind that at all!”
“That’s very reassuring to hear. Otherwise I’d probably have had to point out that you’ve likely chosen the wrong career.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”
They danced for nearly half an hour.
Waltz
Discofox
Waltz
Cha-cha-cha
At some point, Tom felt the balls of his feet burning; and Sam was so drenched in sweat that his shirt was almost see-through.
They ended their dance with a very deep bow (Sam) and an 18th-century courtly curtsy (Tom) and made their way to the bar.
*********
“So your daughter has a granny-weekend?”
“Yup.”
“You think Jay is asleep already?”
“I highly doubt that. Probably still out on one of her friend’s graduation party. At least that’s what I hope. I mean, for her sake! I love my wife!”
“I know you do, Sam.”
“But she hadn't been out partying in such a long time, and she fucking deserves a party, man! She's so hardworking and so dedicated to everything she does—family, work, everything. She’s incredible!”
Sam stumbled and nearly knocked Tom to the ground. Both men managed to catch themselves just in time, before they would have slammed into the orange-glowing asphalt of the dimly lit street.
“Whoah whoah whoa, easy there, bud! You okay?”
“Sorry. Thinking of my wife always kinda knocks me off my feet."
Tom looked at his friend with deeply-rooted affection. He kept to himself what was on the tip of his tongue, because this was not his moment. Instead, he put his arm around Sam’s shoulders again, even if it was just for the last few meters.
“But she’s really okay with me staying over?”
Sam looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re part of the furniture, Tom.”
“Very charming.”
But Sam was probably right. Hardly a week went by without him being at Sam’s.
When they reached the stairs, Tom realised he was really, really hopelessly hammered. He had to hold on to the banister to stop himself from falling into the bushes.
Sam chuckled. “So how much did you drink exactly?”
“No more than you!”
“So punch, four beers, two shots and a glass of wine?”
“…what a thirsty beast you are, good Sir!”
Sam laughed, loudly and raucously, and unlocked the door. Tom followed him over the threshold and closed the door.
Cool and dark.
An immense sense of relief washed over him when he was finally, FINALLY able to take his shoes off and put them under the coat rack. They were lovely shoes, but new, and he hadn’t broken them in properly yet.
He had to hold on to the wall.
“Beer?”
Fucking Sam
“Um… yeah, okay. I can probably manage one more.”
Tom staggered into the living room and flopped down onto the couch. Into his usual spot. He put his feet up on the table – he knew he was allowed to – and leaned back.
Just after eleven.
Not bad at all for a wedding.
Oh fuck, they’d really been drinking. His head felt heavy, but his mind was light, airy even.
“Are you hungry?”
“Nah. You?”
“Nah. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Sam came in, two bottles of beer in one hand and a bowl of crisps in the other. He set everything down on the table next to Tom’s feet, pulled his shirt out of his trousers, and then flopped down on the couch next to Tom.
“It’s done. Sarah and Mike are successfully married.”
Tom pulled the bottles towards him and opened them. “Here’s to Sarah and Mike.”
“Here’s to Sarah and Mike.”
They clinked bottles and drank. Good beer. Of course. Sam didn’t have bad beer. Simple rule. Very old, very simple rule.
Tom took a handful of crisps.
“Let’s hope it lasts.”
“Don’t you think it will?”
Sam leaned back, his fingers wrapped round the bottle. He smiled thoughtfully. “I hope so. They’re a good match. They seem to really, really like each other. I just hope they really, really know each other.”
“Apparently they’ve known each other for four years.”
“Four years! We’ve known each other for nearly twenty years!”
“But we’re not married, are we?”
“True.”
They drank.
“By the way… thank you. For the dance.“
Sam grinned and lazily blew him a kiss. „Just felt like it, you know? Being on a wedding and all that, and a really good live DJ, I mean… yeah. Thought to myself, why not ask my old buddy Tom for a dance? Was really nice!“
“Yeah man.“
They were silent for a while, sluggish and relaxed.
Completely drunk and content.
It was glorious.
Then Tom sighed deeply. “Twenty years. Nearly twenty years. That’s quite a long time for a friendship, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“2009. Back then, the world was still black and white. There was no Instagram and no TikTok. Brown was Prime Minister—”
“Cameron.”
“No. I’m pretty sure it was Brown.”
Sam pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket, tapped away briefly and stared at the screen. “Fuck, you’re right.”
Tom grinned smugly. “Brown was Prime Minister and the Royal Holloway University found itself dealing with three oddballs who’d decided to study there and get up to all sorts of weird shit.”
“D’you remember that room on the ground floor with the broken blackboard?”
“R-034.”
“The legendary theatre lab. Holy shit.”
“Holy shit.”
They drank. And Tom took another handful of crisps.
Sam laughed quietly. “It feels like a completely different life. I mean, it’s kind of crazy to think that this was once mine, you know what I mean?”
Tom gave Sam a sidelong glance.
“I… I suppose…?”
“Like…” Sam ran his hands through his hair. “How can it be that I really and truly experienced that? The world was just a different place! It feels as though we were different people!”
“We were, actually.”
“We had… no idea. About life, in general.”
Tom had to laugh. “That’s true. 2009 Tom would be completely overwhelmed by 2026 Tom.”
“You think?”
“Pretty sure. 2009 Tom would never have dreamed of what he’d eventually be capable of.”
Sam took a big gulp. “You mean, singing emo songs in a vest in front of hundreds of people?”
“For example.”
“Don’t you think 2009 Tom would be proud of 2026 Tom?”
“Maybe.” Tom slowly twirled his beer bottle between his fingers. He ran his thumb over the edge of the label.
It was a lovely label.
Then he took a sip too. A very big one. Slowly and deliberately. As far as he was still able to.
“I’m not sure to what extent 2009 Tom had the mental capacity for pride. I think there was a great deal of shame and awkwardness burying stuff like pride.”
He took another sip. Felt Sam’s gaze. Had to laugh.
“Sorry, but 2009 Tom was a strange creature.”
“Yep. We all were.”
“And that’s just as well! Otherwise, we probably wouldn’t have clicked. 2009 Tom got on brilliantly with 2009 Luke, but wouldn’t have had a clue about 2026 Luke. Oh man…”
Tom had to laugh again. “2009 Tom would never have dared to approach 2026 Sam!”
Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Oh, come on! I reckon I’m more approachable these days than I used to be.”
“Maybe. But your charisma can really overwhelm someone who’s not prepared for it.” Tom looked at his friend affectionately. “Besides, you can come across as quite intimidating these days. You’re a lot more bearded than you were back then.”
“And fatter.”
“Oh, you know, Sam, as that changes from year to year, I wouldn’t bet on it. Besides, you’d better stop fat-shaming yourself, is that clear?”
Sam grinned. “Relax, Tom, I’m fine with it. I’m nearly forty and a dad, I’m allowed to be a bit fat.”
“You’re not fat, Sam. You’re… cosy.”
“Let’s put it this way: if there was a sudden ice age with, like, terrible crop failures and stuff, I’d survive the winter.”
“What?”
“You’d die a miserable death. Luke too. AJ would be the first.”
“Come on, let’s drink to that.”
They clinked bottles and drank.
God, that felt so good. Just numbing everything.
“Fuck me, I’m so sorry, but while we’re on this specific subject: have you heard that Nora’s died? Nora Okomba.”
“What?!”
Sam stared at Tom, and he nodded. “Three days ago. I only found out by chance. Her former flatmate’s a make-up artist at the Clapham Grand and Pip overheard her talking about it with another artist.”
Sam had lowered his head. He was staring into space. “Fuck…”
“Yeah. Road accident.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
They were silent for a few heartbeats.
“God, she was so funny.”
“I’ll never forget how she climbed onto the table back then and started rowing away. It was so random, it was so incredibly good. I know we were in tears of laughter.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Hmm.”
“To Nora?”
“To Nora.”
They clinked bottles. Drank them dry.
“But at least Josh isn’t alone in the heavenly improv club now.”
“True.”
“That was… eight years ago now?”
“Sometimes it feels like much longer. And then there’re days when it feels as if he only died a few months ago. Why’s that?”
“No idea.” Tom shook his head. “But I still miss him. I think I’ll miss him for all eternity.”
“Hang on.”
Sam pushed himself up from the couch and staggered into the kitchen. A moment later, he reappeared in the living room with a beautifully curved bottle and two small shot glasses. He flopped down next to Tom.
“Glenmorangie. From 2018. You know what it’s called?”
“What?”
“Infinita.”
Tom couldn’t help it; he felt his eyes welling up.
“Oh Sam…”
Sam bit his lower lip, as he always did when he was deeply emotional. He pulled the cork from the bottle and poured a generous amount of whisky into each glass.
Then he raised his glass and turned to Tom, and Tom saw a single tear roll down Sam’s cheek and seep into his beard.
“To Josh.”
“To Josh.”
They drank, and Tom felt as if someone had set off a flamethrower in his throat; yet it was a good pain, a fitting pain. It was clear and tangible, and that felt just right.
“Fuck, this is good.”
“Yeah.”
Tom coughed and squinted.
“Fuck, Sam, I’m crying.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I think I really need a hug right now.”
Sam downed the rest of his drink, then put his arm round Tom, and Tom slumped against Sam’s shoulder. The tears just streamed down his face now, straight onto Sam’s shirt. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped them.
“Sorry, Sam, I think I’m really messing up your fancy shirt—”
“Oh, shut up, Tom.”
Sam pulled Tom closer to him. Tom felt a hand buried in his hair. He could feel Sam breathing heavily and unevenly.
Sam was crying too.
Sam hardly ever cried. Properly.
Somehow, that made Tom even more emotional.
Carefully, he draped an arm across his friend’s belly. He focused on the shirt placket right in front of his nose. The little white button. The seam in the fabric, which he could barely make out through his tear-stained eyelashes.
Josh had had long eyelashes too.
Tom closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.
Josh.
Nora.
It was crazy that they weren’t there anymore.
“We’re one lucky bunch, aren’t we?”
“You bet.”
“Can’t take anything for granted.”
“Nope.”
“Gimme one more.”
“You sure?”
“Please, I need this.”
“You’ll have to let me go for a moment.”
“Okay, but can we go back to this position? Because… because I think I need the cuddle more than the booze…”
It had slipped out before he could stop it. Tom felt a quiet chuckle vibrate through Sam’s chest. “Alright then.”
Tom pulled away from Sam, who leaned forward and poured them both another drink.
They clinked glasses, drank, and fell back into the backrest.
Tom swore under his breath. everything was spinning; his head now felt as heavy as a tonne.
he wasn’t feeling sick.
But his whole nervous system felt as if it were wrapped in cotton wool.
he hadn’t been this drunk in ages.
He settled himself back in.
“Is’a alrigh’ with you?”
“Wha’?”
“Putting my head here? On your … what’s it called? Solar plexus? I’m so sorry, Sam… I’m really, really touchy-feely right now…”
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Tom closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Could hear and feel Sam’s heartbeat, right beneath his ear.
Sam had a big heart.
Many people didn’t really give him credit for that. Those who only knew him as a stage personality. Those who had no idea what a gentle man Sam actually was.
“Sam, but honestly… I like your body.”
“Huh?”
“I mean that completely polemically. No, wait. Platonic. Platonically. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Is this another one of your fucking body-positivity bits?”
“Yeah, that too.” And Tom pressed his face even tighter against Sam’s belly. “But mainly, I’m so incredibly battered right now… and that’s when you can give honest feedback… right? You’re… You’re a sexy bloke. You really are. You’re strong… and heavy… and powerful… like a… bison…“
Tom felt Sam’s abs contract when a burst of laughter erupted from his throat.
“WHAT?!”
“… and just perfect for when you need a cuddle.”
“Ah.“ Sam chuckled quietly and ran his fingers through Tom’s hair. „Thanks I guess?”
“And I really like you, Sam. I love you so much. I love you all so much.”
“I love you too, buddy.”
“Oh shit I’ve got so many feelings right now…”
“’s okay. Take your time. I’m here.”
so Tom cried again.
just a bit.
quietly and without holding back.
Just let it all out.
He lay limp as a sandbag in Sam’s arms and cried.
because it was all just too much right now.
too much and too intense.
And because he could.
Because Sam was holding him tight. not judging him.
looking after him.
Good old solid Sam.
The fucking rock in his life.
Tom felt a boundless exhaustion wash over him.
he might just lie there like that for a few more minutes.
because Sam was warm and comfortable.
Sam was always warm. He’d noticed that before. As if he had an internal heater that was constantly on. As if Sam were literally always on fire.
It sort of fit, in a way.
and he had said it was okay.
Tom closed his eyes
just a few more minutes
it was alright