My Best Friend Has Issues (25 page)

L
AURA
M
ARNEY EXPLAINS THE INSPIRATION FOR THIS NOVEL.
Back in the day, I lived in Barcelona. Now I live in Scotland. I have commitments: boring things like a job, a husband, a mortgage, so I can't gad about the way I used to. I really, really wanted to return to my favourite Catalan city, so as a solution, I wrote a book set there. That way I could spend four hours a day, every day, in Barcelona – at least in my head. I wrote the novel from my bed on my laptop, looking up websites and all my old photos and mementos. I was in constant Facebook contact with my pals who still live there, asking them to check details for me. I even managed to squeeze in a cheeky visit, convincing my husband that it was essential research. The book is chock-full of everything I miss about Barcelona, and it was great fun name-checking all my favourite places, cafés and food.

The friendship theme was inspired by real people and from two separate but similar incidents. The first happened when I was only seventeen (bless, I was only a kid). I decided to go alone to Paris for the summer, get a job and improve my French. First off, it wasn't easy to get a job; I quickly discovered that Parisians have no patience for schoolgirl French. I also needed to find somewhere to live.

I was from a working-class background with no experience in foreign travel or backpacking; if I'd known there were cheap and cheerful hostels full of other young people, I'd have gone there. Instead I took a double room, at a double room rate (apparently there were no single rooms) in an overpriced, run-down pension.
At this rate my limited funds weren't going to last long. If I didn't find a job soon I was going to be down and out in London and Paris.

One day I came downstairs to reception and met the owner on her way upstairs to do some long-overdue cleaning. As I reached the door a young girl with a backpack entered the pension and asked me in French if there were any rooms available. In my own faltering French I replied that I didn't know, but I'd ask. I called upstairs to the owner and told her there was someone to see her. As she came clumping downstairs I had a brainwave.

I realised that this girl was probably an English speaker, and that although travelling alone, like me, she too would have to pay for a double room. Before the owner arrived I sprang into action and explained my dastardly plan to the girl.

‘Why not pretend to be my friend and we can share my room? It'll be half the price.'

And when she didn't seem interested I added, rather pathetically, ‘Please?'

She looked me over.

‘OK.'

‘My name's Laura, if she asks you,' I whispered. ‘What's yours?'

‘Jane.'

‘Jane!' I cried enthusiastically, and swept her into my arms like a long-lost pal just as the owner reached the bottom step.

Madame was not convinced, but what could she do? Jane and I shared the room, the bed and the bill, for the rest of our stay in Paris. Despite being total strangers thrown together we rubbed along passably well. Jane was a young, rich Californian whose parents gave her money and let her run wild. I thought that must be a fantastic life, but she complained that they didn't care. Jane was into art and went to Le Louvre every day. I mean
every day
. She was also into boys, and when we walked along the street young Parisian men would fall into step with us and chat us up. It was brilliant. Jane (not her real name) was rich, a boy magnet, artistic with negligent parents – but otherwise, nothing like Chloe. I was a broke, naive, Scottish girl who had never been kissed. On reflection, maybe I had more in common with Alison than I'd care to admit.

When I lived in Barcelona, again alone, again desperate for friends (how sad am I?), I developed another instant friendship with a girl my age and who shared my interests. We were a terrific find for each other until I began to realise that this girl, sweet as she was, had some sort of problem with men. For no good reason she often got into arguments with men she came across in the street and was always calling the police. Her problem was becoming my problem, and a potentially dangerous one. I realised then that friendship, when it's born of mutual convenience, rather than respect and affection, doesn't work.

That got me thinking about the dynamics of such a relationship and the potential for drama it provided.

Actually, I'm not that sad, I do have a few good friends, some I've known a very long time, one I've known since first day of school, but none of these deep friendships compare to the white-hot heat I had with my teenage pals. As a teenager I loved my friends, I would have willingly given my life for them, but at the same time, I hated them. I was jealous of them: their hair, their boyfriend, their duvet cover. I constantly looked for ways to be superior to them, as, I'm sure, they did me.

Writing
My Best Friend Has Issues
was the first time I'd
deliberately
set out to write characters that had licence to be totally amoral – and what fun it was! Now, at least on paper, I could explore all the nasty things I'd always wanted to do to people who annoyed me. Oh, the power: it made me quite dizzy. How I wish I'd sent those postcards. Perhaps I was jealous of Alison and Chloe enjoying Barcelona while I was stuck in Scotland and that's why I heaped on the misery, but in the end I felt sorry for these two motherless, daddy-obsessed waifs who, like the rest of us, just want to know that somebody cares. They were terrific characters for my book, but if I ever encountered them in real life and they wanted to be my friend – I think I'd run a mile.

NO WONDER I TAKE A DRINK

NOBODY LOVES A GINGER BABY

ONLY STRANGE PEOPLE GO TO CHURCH

Published by Saraband

Laura Marney tries to do a good deed every day. Occasionally bad deeds do accidentally slip in, but there you go, nobody’s perfect. She is the author of four novels: this one and
No Wonder I Take a Drink, Nobody Loves a Ginger Baby
and
Only Strange People Go to Church
. She also writes short stories and drama for radio and the stage. She lives in Glasgow and holds a part-time post at Glasgow University.

Laura Marney gratefully acknowledges the support of the Hawthornden International Writer’s Retreat.