A short story.

Complete incompetence, a teacher once wrote on my report. Seemed a little harsh to me. And to my parents. My father wrote her a letter back. I asked to read it, but mother said it wasn’t the sort of letter I ought to be reading at eleven years of age.

Later that school year, the teacher had a breakdown. They didn’t say that, of course. But the word on the grapevine was that she’d turned up to the school, and instead of taking the register, had just sat there, feet on desk, smoking cigarettes in the classroom until about nine thirty, when the headmaster had appeared and suggested she come and have a chat with him.

Funny thing was, I liked that teacher. Obviously, I liked her a lot more after she’d gone, but she had been very easy to wind-up, and that had always made the lessons go slightly quicker. I can’t remember her name, but I can still picture her face, all mean and moody. I can also imagine her smoking cigarettes, but that must be the gossip and reality getting all mixed up.

I used to smoke. Started at school; used to go out at lunchtime, find a quiet road, and sit and smoke. That’s addiction for you. And that’s school for you. It’s funny that school wasn’t actually that addictive. I used to smoke with a friend called Rob, and this is who I think this story is really about.

Rob used to laugh at everything. A funny, staccato type of laugh. Hard to know if it was genuine. If it wasn’t, he must’ve got really fed up with pretending to laugh at everything. No one would do that, surely. Rob had a girlfriend, though he never seemed to see her very much. Maybe he just liked to keep his life separate.

I wouldn’t say I was Rob’s only friend, but I certainly felt like his best friend for a while. About six months if I had to put a time on it. I remember it being warm, spring into summer I guess. That’s us fair-weather smokers for you.

And he used to flick his hair. He had this long fringe that he would flick back and then run his right hand along to make sure it was in the right shape. And it was slightly highlighted, too. Which was strange for a fourteen year old. I guess his hair was his thing.

I heard about Rob the other day. Not directly, but I bumped into someone who knew him, and his name was mentioned. He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’d just be selfish of him. No, he’s doing okay, not living in town anymore, which I’m not surprised about. He was always quite dependant. Quite separate.

He’s still with his girlfriend, and she’s still just his girlfriend. Maybe she doesn’t want to be his wife. She didn’t seem like the sort not to want to be married. I hope she’s happy.

On the whole, he was happy when we used to go and sit and smoke. He would laugh, I would talk how teenagers talk, and we’d see each other through the hour before the afternoon inevitably beckoned us back inside hot huts, and sterile classrooms. I told him the story about the teacher who’d called me incompetent, and he’d laughed. I said about her breakdown, and he’d laughed even more. If there’s one thing you could count on, it was Rob’s laugh.

I never really could understand why we didn’t continue being friends. School must have finished for the summer, and then he had things to do, and I didn’t really fit in. I guess I couldn’t go to his parents house and sit and smoke outside, and vice-versa. And when we got back to school, he wasn’t interested in talking to me anymore, and that was that.

Maybe all we ever had was a friendship of convenience, although I’d like to think of it as something more.

My parents split up that summer holiday. Really screwed up the trip to America we’d been planning. Father moved out, down the road, and rented a room in a bungalow. He managed to get some bunk beds, so I could still come round to stay, him on the bottom bed, and me on the top.

On the Saturday mornings we’d go to the park, and just mooch about a bit, kicking footballs, and lying on our backs looking at the clouds. It was different, but not a wholly bad different. I used to look about to see if Rob might be walking in the park, or be sitting on a bench, smoking. Though if I’d have spotted him, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I don’t know what he would’ve done, either.

If there was a moment I’d have said that started any sort of friction between Rob and me, it was the day I saved the dog. Dogs don’t run wild on the South Coast of England. It’s not barren. It’s not overly poor. Things are cared for. Sometimes animals are better cared for than the children.

So, we were propped against a wall, smoking. There had been a lull in the conversation. This usually happened around halfway through the hour. There are only so many things that happen of a morning in school.

I heard the collar first. I guess the dog was making the collar make the noise, but I distinctly remember thinking, that’s the sound a collar makes. We used to have a dog. When dad moved out, mum kept it for a while, but eventually it went to live with my Dad’s parents, who’d always loved dogs.

I looked over, and on the opposite side of the road, a dog was padding along. I looked over to Rob, who had his eyes closed. I stood up, and the dog stopped moving, and looked over towards me. Like I said earlier, it was a quiet road, so there wasn’t any immediate danger. But we were only a couple of roads away from the school, and it was very busy at this time of day.

We had a dog, so I knew what would keep its attention. I nudged Rob, but he wasn’t interested.

I went slowly over to the other side of the road, slightly crouched, and calling out ‘Who’s a good boy’ as I went. The dog’s tail wagged. I thought it was in the bag. If the tail wagged, there wasn’t any reason why it shouldn’t come to me.

It was a good theory. Unfortunately, the dog thought I wanted to play. It pushed itself backward on its paws, stopped, jolted forward a couple of inches and then set off down the road, toward the school. I called over to Rob, who I couldn’t see because of the cars parked nearby. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

I ran and ran at the dog, calling, whistling, shouting. But it just kept going. There was no way I was going to catch it before it reached the main road. I was almost out of breath - too much smoking - but I carried on. Then it stopped and sat down. Right at the edge of the pavement. I laughed. It was a relief. I went and took hold of it’s collar and walked it back towards Rob. It was as good as gold.

Rob had gone. He must have left as I was running after the dog. It was odd. I stopped for a minute or so, thinking he must have popped somewhere, and would arrive back any moment. He didn’t. I looked at the dog’s collar, and I walked it back to the number it lived at. The old gentleman was very pleased to see it, though slightly perplexed and slightly worried that a schoolboy had brought it home.

I said to Rob the next day about it. About how it’d been okay. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t seem to care. I didn’t really know him very well, at all. Not much more than that staccato laugh.

Friendships are what you make them. People work really hard at them, and they can work. But you need to be the right sort of person to do that. I don’t think I’ll ever be that sort of person. I don’t think Rob will be either. We smoked together, that was that.

Today I bumped into his girlfriend’s best friend. I knew her at school. We even liked each other for a time. Nothing more than that. I was shy at school. She said about Rob and his girlfriend. I nodded and said it’s good to know he was still about, but I didn’t care. If he’d had died, maybe I’d have remembered our time more fondly, but I wouldn’t have been overly bothered by his passing.

Me and his girlfriend’s friend went and had coffee overlooking the beach, and we spoke about the things that have gone right and things that have gone wrong. It was a pleasant hour spent in pleasant company. I gave up smoking at twenty three. Turns out she’d started about the same time. Something to do with her parents splitting up.

The waves on the sea were very comforting.

I asked her whether Rob still laughs all the time. She shook her head. She’d never seen Rob laugh very much. He found it difficult to talk to girls, she said. I told her my theory that he was a very separate person, and she shrugged. He wasn’t an easy person to fathom.

She asked me if I’d like to go for another coffee, soon. I accepted. Cafes are roadsides of our adulthood. We get to sit and hang out, and talk about stuff which doesn’t matter, and which does matter. We get to watch the people outside walk past, walking their children or their pets, or just their shopping trolleys.

I don’t want to smoke anymore. It was one of those things. I gave up and that was that. Didn’t think about it again. I don’t mind if other people want to smoke. Just because I gave up, doesn’t mean I don’t remember it.

Rob’s girlfriend’s friend said she liked me. In between the third and the fourth latte. It was nice to hear. She’s a nice person. We have the same sense of humour, and winding each other up passes the time of day. She said she was pleased I wasn’t so shy anymore.

I told her the story about the dog. She remembered it. She’d heard it through Rob’s girlfriend, though there wasn’t any extra information as to why Rob hadn’t helped, or had left. As far as she knew, Rob had helped, and she liked animals, too, so she would have remembered.

Then, when we left the cafe, we went and walked along the beach, so she could have a cigarette, and we could make the meeting last a little longer. Near the pier, I stopped and looked. She asked me what the matter was, and I commented that I was almost sure the old woman on the bench was an ex-teacher of mine. She’d called me completely incompetent once, and then had a nervous breakdown. If it was, she replied, then it must be a very small world. The woman on the bench was Rob’s mum. He didn’t talk to her anymore.

Rob’s girlfriend’s friend left to go shopping soon after, and I went back to see if the old lady was still there, but, of course, she’d gone.

I remembered how she’d looked, staring, still mean and moody, just older. I’d told Rob about this woman. He’d listened and he’d laughed. That funny staccato laugh.

I’d never really been sure we’d been friends.