Good Or Shit: Goodbyes Are Shit

She’s sitting on our sofa, knees together, fussing with her hair, visibly nervous. Norm and Bianca are on the sofa opposite her, Fraser and I are on armchairs to her right, and Liam sits next to her. She’s completely surrounded by strangers, in a strange flat. We’re supposed to be selling ourselves to her, instead we’re bored, disinterested, hating her before she’s even had a chance to show us what she’s made of.

It’s housemate interviews, but our hearts aren’t in it. We’re replacing me.

We’re close. Real close. Like brothers and sisters. When we moved in together two-and-half years ago I had no expectations. Now I have friends I love so much, I pretty much stopped pursuing a social life outside of them. We live together, we party together, we travel together. When I went away for six weeks they put up welcome home bunting in my bedroom complete with flags, fabric boobs, penises, and a drawing of the guy they knew I’d eventually leave them for.

“He’s not the one for you.”

“Shut up, Liam, you just don’t want her to go.”

So much of who I am now is because of the past few years spent in this flat. And believe me, it’s a significant upgrade on the version that existed before.

So we’re sitting on the couch looking at this poor girl with disdain, as if it’s her fault our family is being torn apart. We should have cleaned the night before, instead we got smashed and went to some grimey east London club where tall, gothic, somewhat elegant space-beings walked among the masses of people losing themselves to deep tech house; where it took Norm an hour to figure out the boys in the room wanted to fuck him, not fight him; and where Liam and I burst into tears because we haven’t got a clue what we’re going to do without each other every day.

We don’t even like techno.

It’s worse than the end of the Golden Girls. It’s worse than the end of Friends. I’m Dorothy fucking Gale, this has something to do with Oz, I’m clicking the heels of my goth boots, and you know what Scarecrow, I’m gonna miss you the most of all.

We got out of bed 45 minutes before the girl arrived, only three hours after we went to bed, two of us haven’t even bothered to get out of pyjamas and Fraser doesn’t even live here.

Liam leans in close to the girl, his face blank, his voice deadpan.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?”

It’s really hard to find goodbye songs that aren’t about break-ups or death, and just about leaving good friends. Which is probably why Norm and Liam wander around the flat singing – “If you leave me now, you’ll take away the biggest part of me.”

I listen to White Lion’s Farewell To You and envision myself slinging my army disposal’s bag over my shoulder, slow mo, waist length perm fanning out as I give them a final wave before getting on a dusty Greyhound bus, the two parties giving each other The Nod.

My vision to Led Zeppelin’s Ramble On is kind of similar except with better hair and more black clothes.

Or, you know, there’s me sneaking out of the flat at dawn to Leona Lewis’ Footprints In The Sand, tears trickling down my cheeks as I stare out the window of a cab and listlessly wander around the airport. Then Liam, Norm and Bianca come running through the automatic doors just as the song reaches its emotional zenith, and we hug and we cry, and we know that everything is going to be OK.

Jesus. Who the hell is Leona Lewis?

Fraser sees the girl out while everyone shakes their heads.

 “We’re never going to like anyone,” Norm groans.

“Fuck you, Liz,” Bianca whines.

“Let’s murder the next one,” Liam chirps.

“I lived with an Australian girl in my younger days and we’re still really good friends.” A forty-something woman in my Croatian language class tells me, giving me a little bit of hope before the fifty-something graphic designer a work tells me he had a really good friend from his flatshare days, “but then he moved to Australia and I never saw him again.”

“Distance makes the whole thing tricky.” One mate says regarding the friendships he’s made in houseshares.  “I know there's some folks I'll run into over the years - weddings, babies, funerals, parties and what not. It all helps to renew old, dwindling friendships and solidify more stable ones. If you're thousands of miles away you don't get that.”

I was born in a sharehouse – spent the first six years of my life thinking my mum’s female housemate was my dad. She’s my godmother. And thirty-plus years on, they’re still close. “She didn’t like me at first,” my godmother says. “She thought I was a sweet catholic Irish/Australian and that it would never work out. But we went on to cement the key friendship that we still have – and I learnt most things I know about food, hospitality, generosity, and friendships, from your mother.”

They have a Sydney – Melbourne distance between them, not Sydney – London.

Goodbyes are the curse of the traveller.

In a few weeks time, I’m leaving on a jet plane.

We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.

And until that day comes, fill to me the parting glass, Good night and joy be with you all.