Page 18 of Common People

Bethan was putting her things into the Cotopaxi duffel bag she had brought along to the cold plunge and sauna, when he gingerly walked over.

‘Bethan, how’s things?’

‘Yeah, good. Busy. I have to get home and—’

‘Could we have a little chat.’

‘Like I said, Max, I really need to get home.’

‘Five minutes?’

‘I can’t, really,’ said Bethan, zipping up her bag. ‘Sorry.’

She was about to walk away when Max stopped her. ‘Bethan, please. What’s going on?’

‘Nothing. Like I said, I’m just busy.’

‘Too busy for a five-minute chat?’

She stopped and looked at him, and Max could see the expression on her face. An expression of exasperation and slight annoyance.

‘Yes,’ she replied flatly. She began walking away.

‘What the fuck, Bethan? What happened? I thought we were friends. You seemed to like me, and you know I like you, and I mentioned a boyfriend, once, and what? Now you avoid me like the plague? What’s going on?’

Max followed behind her, and after a moment she stopped, turned and looked at him. ‘We barely know each other, Max, and you’re treating this like I’m behaving completely out-of-character. Like we’re best mates or something.’ She was angry now. ‘What gives you the right to tell me how to behave? What makes you think for a moment that I owe you anything?’

She was standing just a few feet in front of Max, and he couldn’t believe it. She looked so angry with him, when all he wanted to do was make sure she was OK.

‘Look, Bethan, I’m not trying to tell you what to think, or do, I—’

‘That’s not what it feels like from where I’m standing,’ she said, her voice raised, her eyes wide with irritation. ‘Just stay away from me. OK?’

‘But why?’ replied an incredulous Max.

‘Because we’re nothing to each other! We run at the same run club, that’s it. Got it?’ she finally yelled at him, and he didn’t know what to think or say. So, he said the only thing he could think of.

‘Yeah. OK.’

‘Good, at least we’re on the same page about that!’ she finished, before she picked up her bag and strode off, leaving a non-plussed Max standing on Clapham Common, wondering what the hell had just happened. Every ounce of positivity he had been feeling since the weekend, all the excitement about thesandwich shop, and a feeling that he was finally moving on in some way, all of it seemed to evaporate. Max felt the sudden and overwhelming need to hear his parents' voices, and so he sat on the ground, took out his phone, and played their last voicemail.

‘Max, it’s your mum. We’ve just stopped at Leigh Delamere. Your fathers in the loo, and I’m getting a coffee from Costa. We should be home within two hours. The map thing says one hour and forty-five, but I know it’s two hours. It’s always two hours from Leigh Delamere. Oh, here comes your Lordship. I just wanted to let you know we’re on the way home. Cornwall was lovely. Say something Phil.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Who do you think? It’s Max.’

‘Oh, right. You all right, son? Love you.’

‘Okay, that’s it. I just wanted to say hello. Jesus, your dads already wandered off. It’s like herding sheep! Honestly. Anyway, love you. See you soon.’

PART TWO

One year ago

Max opened a few windows because it was stuffy inside the house, as if it had been closed up for years, when in reality it had only been six months. The house had always been so filled with life, with the noise of things, the telly, conversations, the radio, Mum hoovering or Dad in the garden with the lawn mower on Sunday mornings. It had always been a house that was so full of life, but now it stood like a museum to the family who had once lived there. Max walked around from room to room, and memories like Instagram reels would come back to him, playing over and over in his mind.

He stood in the kitchen, looking out towards the back garden, imagining for a moment that he could see his dad out there, pushing the mower across the lawn while inside the kitchen the kettle was on for another cup of tea. The kettle had seemed to be permanently on when he was growing up. Neighbours would pop in for a chat, or friends or family would stop by and the kettle would be filled up right away. The house had always been full of people, but as he stood in the kitchen, alone, it was deadly quiet. That was until he heard a car pull up outside, and then he heard someone knocking on the front door. Max’s mum had flatly refused to get a doorbell because she thought them common. She preferred a good old-fashioned knocker any day of the week, thank you very much.