Page 15 of The Notecard
‘Nick.’
She clocks that I’m wearing scrubs.
‘Are you a doctor or are you going to a fancy-dress party?’
She’s funny.
‘Doctor but wishing I was going to a fancy-dress party,’ I say, and we both laugh.
Meg. This evening has been strange and difficult, and I’m heading off for twelve hours in A&E, but this moment, and perhaps the possibility of what it might mean, is a spark of light. But then I think of what Mum said. ‘You never take chances, Nick.’ I don’t take chances. I know that. This is a chance. We stand for a moment, and I’m thinking about what to say next when her face changes. A dark cloud comes over her. I can see it. I can feel it. She looks at me for a split second, attempts a smile, says goodbye quickly, then walks back into her flat, closing the door behind her. I don’t know what happened, but the moment to take a chance is gone. I think about knocking on her door and asking if she’s okay. Did I say something wrong? I stand outside her door. I raise my hand to knock. But I don't. Mum’s right. I’m a coward. Instead I walk along the hallway, down the stairs, and head off to work.
Part Two: April
Meg
THEN
I’ve been away for the weekend. A work conference in Ireland. I was quite excited because it was my first work trip. All expenses paid. We flew business class, stayed in a swanky hotel in the centre of Dublin, and we got drunk on the business credit card. It was Dublin, so we had a tour of the Guinness factory. Mandatory. Team building is important. You don’t go to Egypt and not see the pyramids. Even the conference was good, and I learnt a lot. For the first time in my life, I felt like a proper professional. James stayed at home and had plans to watch Chelsea play, and then he was having a night out with the boys. It was only our second weekend apart since we moved in together. The first was a stag weekend in Prague. James arrived home early and surprised me. Best sex ever. Now it was my turn to surprise him.
After the plane lands, I’m desperate to get home. I didn’t check a bag, and so I waltz quickly through the airport. Dancing past baggage claim and through arrivals. It’s London City airport and so I have to get the DLR and then it’s a short tube journey. I’m excited to see James again. To tell him all about my weekend and to hear about his. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
Our flat is in Hoxton. A modern building with seventy-five one and two-bedroom flats. I walk up the stairs and quietly open the front door. Our flat isn’t big. Just a small living room, attached kitchen, and a space for a dining table. Modern flats full of young professionals just like us. Flat-packed and ready to go. It has a balcony where we have a small table and two chairs. It’s wonderful on a warm day. We sit outside and have our coffee in the morning. James likes to read the paper, while I’ll nibble on toast and idly scroll through Instagram. I see a pair of James’s jeans on the floor, a few mugs littered about, a plate of food on the table, and a half-finished bottle of wine in the kitchen. He hasn’t had time to clean up yet. I imagine him dashing around and tidying up before I get back. Better make it nice for Meg. Adorable.
I walk across to our bedroom door. It’s closed. Maybe he’s taking a nap. I put my hand on the door handle and I’m about to open the door. I’m excited and feeling giddy. But then I hear the noise and I stop. I get a numb feeling that quickly spreads throughout my body. My heart feels like it’s stopped for a moment. A fear whips around my body and my brain feels fuzzy. It doesn’t understand the noise. It won’t comprehend what it is. I feel sick. I hear the voice of a woman. A moaning woman. Maybe it’s porn. I hope its porn. I’ll walk in and he’s watching porn. We’ll joke about it for a moment, I’ll tease him, and then we’ll have sex. We’ve watched porn together before. Number four on the top ten ways to spice up your love life, according to a leading women's magazine. But it isn’t porn. I know it isn’t. It’s a real woman. In our bedroom. My hand is on the door handle. I’m suddenly shaking. I slowly open the door and walk into the room. It’s dark. Our bedroom. The bed we bought together at Ikea. We had breakfast in the cafe. I bought a plant. We named the plant Roger and put him in the bathroom. James got a framed picture of New York for the living room. It rained on the drive home. I walk in slowly and the noises get louder. I hear a woman moaning. Then James’s voice.
‘Fuck,’ says James. ‘Fuck me.’
The same thing he says to me.
My James.
Seven years together.
It’s unbearable.
The sickness is filling my body. My head is dizzy, and I can’t comprehend what is happening. I stand still and they don’t know I’m in the room. I walk a step closer. I see the bed. The dark mound of moving bodies. Of my boyfriend's body with another woman. I’m trembling. The sickness is going to come up soon and the numbness has reached my toes. She’s groaning. The mound of bodies is moving faster. My head is spinning more and more.
‘Cunt!’ my voice says loudly and surely, and in that moment everything in the room and in my life changes irreversibly forever.
NOW
‘Milk and sugar?’ I shout from the kitchen.
‘Just milk, please,’ says Hugh from the living room.
I’m making us tea. Us. I’m supposed to be home alone for a few hours. It’s Saturday afternoon, and I wanted to get some travel planning done while I had a bit of peace and quiet. I’m researching places to visit and stay in Thailand. By research, I mean I’m scrolling through Beth’s Instagram page. She has a website too with a blog and I’ve been reading that cover to cover. I popped by STA Travel during the week and got some brochures. A lunchtime sandwich from Pret while looking through the brochures in the park. Sunshine. A posh cheddar and pickle baguette. Daydreams. I did some yoga this morning, had avocado on toast for lunch, and now I’m making us tea. Hugh came over early. Keri is still at work. The new job in the cafe that’s lasted for two weeks already. She says she loves it and that she’s found her calling. It’s a cat themed cafe. They have pictures of cats everywhere, cat-acchino coffee, sandwiches like the purr-fect tuna melt, and at the weekend they have Cat-urday specials. No more office temp jobs for her. Just a cafe with a witty feline menu.
I stir both cups of tea, then I walk them back into the living room where Hugh is sitting down. I pass him his tea.
‘Thanks so much,’ says Hugh. ‘You can’t beat a good cup of tea.’
He does have a posh voice. Keri and Hugh have been seeing a lot of each other. After their date, which went so well they’ve seen each other almost every day since, they haven’t looked back. One date Hugh has rapidly become Always-At-Our-Flat Hugh. He’s tall, thin, with brown wispy hair that’s sort of wavy and reasonably short. He wears traditional posh boy clothes, and despite being a financial analyst for a private equity firm, wants to be a comedian. Keri says he’s hilarious. Today he’s wearing a white Oxford shirt and a pair of faded navy-blue chinos.
‘Sorry we don’t have any biscuits,’ I say, sitting down at the small desk we call our office.
‘No need to apologise,’ says Hugh. ‘I could equally claim that I’m sorry for not bringing any biscuits and then where would we be? We could go backwards and forwards all day playing the biscuit blame game.’
I laugh. Keri’s right, he is funny. I have my laptop open but feel bad for doing work with Hugh staring at me. He isn’t like other people because Hugh doesn’t just go on his phone. He’s very attentive, like a Labrador. He wore a wax jacket here, which is folded across the back of his chair, and I can see a sliver of a stripy sock above brown brogue shoes. I can see why Keri likes him. I like him. Not like that, but I like him for her. She needs someone like Hugh in her life. Solid. Dependable. All I’m thinking about is going travelling and spending time on me. Self-care. The last thing I need in my life at the moment is the complication of a relationship.
