Free Turning Thirty by Mike Gayle

suggested Gershwin, as his eyes followed a group of Spanish girls across the road. ‘Like you say, she is only twenty-two.’
    â€˜No, it’s more than that,’ I said. ‘It’s me. When I was standing there at the airport my whole life flashed before my eyes. I could see myself finding an apartment somewhere in Australia. I could see me filling it with a few men’s style-magazine bachelor-pad staples – the wide-screen TV, the chrome CD racks and the black leather couch. I could see me playing squash on Monday nights, five-a-side football on Wednesday nights, going for the occasional drink and a meal out with whoever would come with me on the nights that remain, and I could see that would be the sum total of the rest of my life.’
    â€˜No women?’
    â€˜Maybe the odd one or two . . . but they wouldn’t last.’
    Gershwin laughed. He always found my gloomy side amusing. ‘Why not?’
    â€˜Because ever since I first started going out with girls, way back when, I’ve been convinced that my life isn’t complete without one. The minute I work out life’s actually okay without a full-time one around the house, it’s all over! I’d give up. I’d fill my life with any old crap rather than compromise. And you know as well as I do that relationships are all about compromise. I think Elaine was my last chance.’
    â€˜As mad as it seems you might have a point there,’ said Gershwin. ‘Sometimes I feel really good that me and Zoë got serious when we were still so young. We’ve grown up with each other. We’ve learned from each other. But . . . well, I dunno. Sometimes I think—’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜That we might’ve missed out on something. I don’t regret having Charlotte. Not at all. But sometimes I think, well, I’ve thought . . . what if?’
    â€˜I shouldn’t do that,’ I replied. ‘Don’t even think about going down that road. See me?’ I pointed to myself with my plastic coffee stirrer. ‘I’m your “what if?”. You’d be me, sitting here having exactly the same sort of conversation about women that we had twelve years ago. It’s getting tedious now we’re turning thirty.’ Gershwin looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything. ‘Turning thirty is one of those things that will never happen,’ I continued. ‘You know, like when you’re a kid and you try to work out which year in the future will be the one that you’ll turn thirty in, and then you work it out and you think it might as well be a billion years away because it’s so far in the future. And now suddenly, the future’s right here.’
    â€˜The world’s full of thirty-year-olds,’ said Gershwin. The dark cloud of deep thought that had enveloped him had disappeared. ‘It’s not like in Logan’s Run , where they’re banished to some netherworld the moment they hit the three-oh.’
    â€˜I suppose,’ I admitted. ‘I’m sure we’ve both got mates that have already been there and they’ve all lived to tell the tale. So it can’t be that bad, can it?’
    â€˜I dunno,’ said Gershwin, clearly trying to wind me up. ‘I think it all depends on where you are in life. Some people I’ve known who turned thirty took it well and had a laugh. Some pretended to take it well then went a bit strange weeks later. Some panicked right up until their birthdays then realised nothing had changed, and then there’s the small but not insignificant number who went on that whole where-is-my-life-going? trip and never came back again. Which sort are you, then, Matt?’
    â€˜Me?’ I said innocently, ‘I dunno. What about yourself?’
    â€˜I dunno,’ said Gershwin, ‘but I suppose we’ll both find out soon