The tale of two friends, a jacket and fifteen pounds

Recently, Demola had his fragile little heart set on a jacket he wanted. He would often call me up and interrupt my peaceful lunch breaks to profess his undying love for this jacket. I continued to feign interest in his plight, although often I would just put him on loud speaker and just put the phone on the side.

At last the day had finally come that he actually chose to do something about this silly love of his. I can still remember hearing the excitement in his voice as he walked up to the shop poised to make the purchase of his life.

I was happy for him. Happy to no longer have to be subjected to hours of listening to his poetic odes about this jacket and how beautiful it was. However this happiness was short lived. Yes, as in most romantic tales of unrequited love, Demola had hit a snag. The store which shall remain nameless, (They ain't paying me for this, why should they benefit from free advertising?) was out of his size!

I could hear the lump in my poor friends throat. The sound of hopelessness and rejection. (You know when you can sense the person on the other end of the phone is welling up and trying in vain to hold back the tears? Well that was happening). What should have been the happiest phone call of Demola's life turned out to be one of the worst.

Well, I couldn't just sit back and listen to my friends world crashing down around him. I had to do something! Even though I was 200 miles away down here in London, this would not stop me rescuing my distressed borderline suicidal friend in need. Instead, I used the distance between us to my advantage.

My logical brain slowly ticking into gear, I jumped up and spun round a few times like what Superman does, except I don't need a phone box. (However doing this at work in the canteen in front of my work colleagues raised a few eyebrows to say the least). Now proudly standing in my B-boy stance, one hand on my hip, the other still holding my phone to my ear with a new found purpose I said the following to the broken man on the other end:

"Demola, pull yourself together boy!"

"WHATS THE USE, JOSHUA?! WHAT'S THE UUUUUUUUUUUSE??!!! Demola lamented down the phone.

"Demola, shut up and just listen to me..."

(Even though I could still hear him sobbing like when a small child does, almost choking on their own saliva he remained silent ready to finally listen to the voice of reason).

"Look, this store's a chain, right? Well guess what. There just so happens to be one across the road from my work. I'm pretty sure they must have the jacket your looking for in there right? I'm heading there right now, I've still got time until my lunch is over."

I raced downstairs and darted into oncoming traffic, still clutching onto my phone. My best friend silk cloak rippling in the air behind me, I burst into the shop with out a second to spare. Demola, still quiet and hopeful on the other end of the line waited patiently...

I located a whole rail of the jacket in question. Even though never seeing it before, all the previous hours of  being subjected to Demola's romantic poetry about it had painted a vivid picture of it in my minds eye.

"Demola... They have your size."

He rejoiced and started singing praises to me in what I could only guess was his mother tongue. After all the commotion had settled down, I had to return back to work. Demola wired money to me from one of his off shore accounts for £50, for me to come back after work to collect it which I did.

I couldn't help but toy with him once I had returned, stating that his size had now infact gone only a few short hours later. But it was still there, and in fact when the girl racked it up at the til it was only £35. Being the honest guy I am I informed him of the good news and posted the jacket up to him the next day.

The day after I posted it I received a elated phone call from Demola, expressing his gratitude and thanked me profusely for uniting him with the love of his life.

"Ah, it was nothing, don't mention it." I ensured him.

Over the next few days I didn't hear from him. In the usual cases with young love, my best friend had dumped me for his new found love. It was understandable, I was happy for him be honest. It was still the honeymoon period, I assured myself. (Even though I'm ashamed to admit it, I would often sit awake at night staring at my phone wishing he would text or call. But nothing).

Slowly, I began to get my life back together post Demola, then he text me out the blue.

"Did you send the money back?"

I couldn't believe it. So emotionless... so cold. While he had been running through the meadows with his jacket, going on bike rides, boat rides and picnics with his jacket, all he was concerned about was his £15 change?!!

Well as you know, with all good super heroes, something snapped inside me and I slowly went over to the dark side. I hatched a plan...

"Not yet, I don't have your bank details. Forward them to me and I'll transfer the money online when I get home." I messaged back.

I gave a wry evil smile as he replied with his details, and did one of those extended evil laughs most villains do in the films. I had bought myself just enough time to get home and pack my bags... Within a few short hours I had chartered a private jet and was now flying off to an undisclosed destination.

Yes, my friends I have now successfully absconded to live out the rest of my days on a paradise beach on the other side of the globe, all financed by a friend I once knew.

Demola and his stinking fifteen pounds.

So long sucker.




Joshua, TCC