Read Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play for Free Online Page A

lady.”
    “Oooof,” said Paul, shaking his head. “I can tell already, she’s in a bit of a state.”
    Now, I knew from hours of watching
House of Horrors
and
Rogue Traders
that this was
exactly
what men like Paul were
supposed
to say. But I was under pressure, and all I could manage was, “Is she? That’s sad.”
    “Let me get my ladder,” said Paul, and, because I was the boss, I did.
    Forty minutes and a cup of tea later and Paul was off. He’d be back on Monday, he said, and so long as I paid 80 percent of
     the money up front it’d all be sorted out quickly and easily. I’d done as he’d asked, and looked forward to seeing him then.
    “Can I leave my ladder here?” he said.
    “Don’t you worry,” I said, “I’ll take care of the little lady.”
    And he’d looked at me a bit oddly.
    I felt like I’d really achieved something, and walked back through the house, wondering if that was enough work to justify
     knocking off for the day. After all, I’d made someone a cup of tea
and
patronized a ladder.
    I flicked on the telly.
Street Crime UK
was halfway through. A policeman was telling a youth to get off a wall. A caption told me this had happened in Birmingham
     in 2003. Somehow, this made things less exciting. Knowing that several years before, a policeman many miles away had asked
     a child to get off a wall wasn’t really something I felt I could relay to strangers in an interesting manner. And so I switched
     the telly off and wandered around the house.
    There was still much to do, DIY-wise. Sockets needed replacing. Walls needed plastering. The toilet needed a new seat. I stood
     and looked at it all for a bit. I whistled through my teeth like I’d seen builders do, and then scratched my head, because
     I’d once seen a bloke on a painting show do this, and it had seemed pretty cool.
    I sighed, and realized I could either whistle while staring at a toilet, or do what Lizzie had said—and
call
someone.
    I reached for my phone and texted Wag.
    Hey. A farewell drink?
    And then I texted Ian.
    Hey. A farewell drink?
    And then I stared at the toilet again. It did nothing of interest. It just sat there. And I just stood there.
    A few moments later, my phone beep-beeped. It was Wag.
    Hey! Can’t! At the American Embassy getting visas! Rock on!
    I nodded, solemnly. He’d be off soon. I looked at the toilet again.
    A minute passed.
    My phone beep-beeped. It was Ian.
    Sorry, Dan—sorting out removal dates. Chislehurst here I come!
    I sighed. This wasn’t fair. Everyone was doing something incredibly exciting. Or moving to Chislehurst. And what was
I
doing? I was whistling at toilets or watching kids up walls. My friends were moving on without me. Getting on without me.
     Doing things without me. I was reduced to thinking about sockets and wiring and wallpaper.
    But I knew how to cope with it. I would simply get on with things. I resolved to sort out the sockets.
    “Damn you, the Bald Assassin! DAMN YOU!”
    It was half an hour later and the Bald Assassin was beating me at Call of Duty. I’d been hiding by a window with my sniper
     scope trained on the window I was certain
he
was hiding behind, when he snuck into my secret lair and bashed me on the back of the head with his rifle butt. He was always
     sneaking into my secret lairs and bashing me on the back of the head with his rifle butt. It was the most annoying maneuver
     he could possibly pull off. It showed that while
I
needed guns and grenades and binoculars and little maps, all
he
needed was a small piece of wood. And it didn’t matter where I hid, either. Behind walls. Under tables. On roofs. In bushes.
     Somehow, the Bald Assassin knew my every move.
    I heard the Bald Assassin laugh through my headset. It was the laugh of the skilled and in control. The Bald Assassin and
     I never used our microphones to talk to one another. It had gone beyond that. We’d simply scowl at each other, secretly, and
     then mumble our goodbyes at the end of