Page 19 of The Notecard
‘What else should I be worried about?’ says Mum.
‘I don’t think we need to get into it now,’ I say, very aware that Hugh is sitting in the chair about five feet away from me and can hear everything. Mum is going on a date with a man she met online. Dave, divorced, fifty-two, and they’re going for a meal at a pub near Watford. I don’t want or need to hear more about it. Hugh looks uncomfortable. Keri should be home soon. She texted that she’ll be back in five minutes. Poor Hugh.
‘Let’s focus on the wedding,’ says Laura. ‘The cake tasting. The bakery is in Richmond. They’re award winning. Simon can’t come, obviously.’
‘Why obviously?’ says Mum.
‘Rugby, Mum. You know he has rugby on Saturdays. You’ve been to watch him. You got all excited about the huge thighs and made a fool of yourself in the pub afterwards.’
‘Oh yes,’ says Mum giggling like it’s a ‘Carry On’ film. ‘But I mean the size of those boys’ thighs. It’s enough to make any woman behave like that.’
I wish I was in Thailand. I look across at Hugh and smile. He smiles back. The affable Labrador. I’m going out tonight so Keri and Hugh can have some alone time in the flat. I’m meeting a girl from work for a drink. Her name’s Cressida and she went travelling after university. I’m going to pick her brain. She spent a year travelling the world. I have a bag of grapes by the computer. Mum’s still going on about her date with Dave. She never met online Jason. She enjoyed the mucky banter but couldn’t do it in real life. I think she just enjoyed the attention. Laura is looking annoyed because we aren’t talking about her wedding. I reach into the bag and grab a grape. I pop it in my mouth.
Mum’s still going on about her underwear when I feel the grape get stuck. It must have gone down the wrong hole or something. I try to swallow but quickly realise that it isn’t going down. It’s lodged in my throat. I’m choking. The grape is actually stuck. I look around quickly for some water, but there isn’t any. My tea is gone. I get up and I’m suddenly gasping for air. My face is going red. I’m choking. I grab my neck with both hands.
‘Where’s Meg gone now?’ I hear Laura say.
I get up and Hugh can immediately see what’s going on. I’m holding my neck. I’m choking. I think I might die because of a fucking grape.
‘Oh shit,’ says Hugh. ‘You’re choking. I need to do the Heimlich. Fuck. Fuck.’
At this moment, I think about Nick. He’s a doctor. I hope he’s home. I point outside of the flat and gesture for Hugh to go. This is getting serious now. It feels horrible. The grape won’t move. Hugh runs out of the flat. I hear him. He knows a doctor lives across the hall.
‘Megs! We aren’t done here!’ says Laura. ‘Megs!’
I think I’m going to die. I can’t breathe. I can’t believe this is how I will go. I’m going to be one of those people on Facebook. Someone will eventually post an update that I’m dead. Old friends, people from school, work, and distant relatives will comment and ask how it happened because that’s all we ever really want to know. How did she die? I think it’s a biological thing. We want to know so we can protect ourselves against the same thing happening to us. Its evolution via social media. Someone (probably Laura, who will love the drama) will tell everyone that I died choking on a grape. Fucking ridiculous. People will say that. They’ll say it’s a tragedy. She died too soon. But they’ll all be thinking the same thing: What a stupid way to go. James will appear again. He’ll probably come to my funeral and cry. He’ll hug Mum and say how sorry he is. She’ll say it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault. Laura reading my eulogy and Dad crying in one of his awful cardigans.
I try hitting myself in the chest, but it does nothing. I feel a pain in my throat, and then a dizziness. My head feels light. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want to scream, but I can’t make any noise. I’m so afraid. I can’t die like this. I can’t. I’m seeing lights. Blotches of lights. Maybe it’s the start of heaven. Maybe I’m already dead. A quick memory from my childhood flashes across my mind. I’m sitting on our old sofa with Laura. I’m twelve. She’s ten. We’re watching Saturday morning television. We talk about what we want to be when we’re all grown up. Laura says a singer or maybe a dancer. I say I want to be happy. Laura says happy isn’t a thing. The memory is gone. I guess I’ll never get to go travelling. Thailand. Bali. Australia. It’s all slipping through my fingers. I think this is it. I feel strangely calm. Lightheaded. The flat is getting smaller. Then I hear voices. A voice. I see Nick from across the hall. He grabs me from behind. His body is strong against mine. He puts his arms around me, and then he performs the Heimlich. He thrusts into me once and nothing happens. He does it again, and this time the grape comes flying out of my mouth.
The relief is instant. I can breathe again. The adrenaline and excitement of not dying shoots through my body. Wonderful, beautiful endorphins.
‘You okay?’ says Nick.
‘Yes.’
I feel this overwhelming sense of elation. I throw my arms around Nick and give him a hug.
‘Thank you,’ I say while we’re hugging. ‘You saved my life.’
‘What’s going on?’ says Mum from the laptop.
‘No idea, but this was supposed to be wedding planning,’ says Laura, annoyed.
‘Alright?’ says Keri, walking in with bags of shopping. ‘What did I miss?’
‘This, umm, man, neighbour, he, umm, literally just saved Meg’s life. It was incredible,’ says a trembling, teary Hugh. ‘She was choking on a grape.’
‘Fuck,’ says Keri, dropping her shopping bags on the floor.
‘Who saved whose life? What’s going on?’ says Mum from the computer. ‘Hello?’
I’m still looking at Nick. My hero. The man who saved my life. Moments.
Nick
Michael wants to talk, but all I can think about is Meg. We finally shared a moment. A scary, teary moment, but a moment nonetheless. Saving someone’s life is all in the day of a doctor, but it felt special with her. When she threw her arms around me and I felt her body against mine, I felt something. It felt right. Perfect. As if two long-lost pieces of a jigsaw were finally fitted together. The bumps and shapes of our bodies fit perfectly together. The hug only lasted for a few seconds, but it meant something to me. I hope it meant something to her too. Once it was over, it was chaotic. Her flatmate came back, and I had to calm the poor bloke called Hugh down. He felt awful he couldn’t help and that he panicked. I said I’ll happily give him a crash course in CPR. Meg’s mum and sister were on Facetime and they were freaking out, and so I left. But I left knowing that something had changed in my relationship with Meg. We finally had a moment.
Michael has the look of a man who was once very handsome, but over time that handsomeness has turned to neglect. He’s still good looking, the bones are there, the twinkle in his eyes, but he’s let himself go. An extra layer of fat, a beard that’s long since turned grey, and hair that needs a cut. He has a way about him though. A confidence. I can see why people like him. He has a quality. He was talented once. Perhaps he still is. He’s tall and standing next to him, I feel small. He’s well over six feet. He’s wearing jeans and a white shirt.
