Page 29 of The Notecard
Keri and Hugh are going away for a weekend to a hotel in the countryside. Heckfield Place. I went online and it looks divine. Hugh saw it in The Telegraph travel section. I’m jealous. It’s just the two of them. That’s how well things are going. I’m so happy for her. She deserves it. Hugh is great, and I love spending time with him. He’s funny, sweet, and genuinely seems to like Keri. All of her; even the strange bits and the bits that some people find too much he adores. Unfortunately, they’re going away on the weekend of my dad’s birthday. Which wouldn’t be a problem, but I agreed to have Dad, Laura and Simon over for dinner to celebrate. Which again wouldn’t have been a problem, but Laura and I are barely talking after I called her a ‘selfish fucking arsehole’. Not one of my finer moments. Basically, it’s going to be awful and having Keri here would have softened the blow. She would have been my buffer. I could have invited Hugh to provide the laughter.
‘Do you have to go?’ I say to Keri.
‘Sorry, Megs, but as much as I want to stay and watch you and Laura uncomfortably not talking to each, I really want to go away with Hugh. The hotel we’re staying at has five stars. I’ve never stayed anywhere that has five stars before.’
‘It’s Dad’s birthday and he might be wearing a really awful cardigan,’ I say hopefully.
‘Sorry, Meg, but sex in a country mansion with Hugh beats your dad’s cardigans.’
‘What if it’s the one with ducks on?’
Keri laughs.
‘Sorry Meg. It’s fucks over ducks.’
Fair enough. You can’t argue with that. She has her weekend bag all packed and she’s waiting for Hugh to come and pick her up. Hugh drives a rather snazzy little sports car. I have no idea what it is. It’s blue. Keri thinks it’s all very Bridget Jones. She even went shopping and bought two new outfits and some sexy underwear. Hugh’s in for a treat.
There’s a reason I’m throwing Dad’s birthday bash. After Mum and Dad split, Laura threw a party for Mum’s birthday and we agreed I would do something for Dad. Laura cooked a three-course meal for Mum, decorated the table with photos of Mum throughout the years, and made a special cake. There were balloons, candles, and there was even a slideshow with music that made Mum cry. It was impressive. When I said I’d do Dad’s birthday, Laura said rather passive-aggressively that I should do something more casual. More me. Easier. She was really enjoying herself. I said I could do a dinner party, and she said that yes, I could, of course, but if I didn’t it would be fine. This was before we stopped talking to each other. For a few days I was intent on throwing Dad a lavish party just to prove to Laura that I could throw a sophisticated dinner party too. How hard could it be? As it turns out that apart from the cost (v. expensive), it would have taken me all day to make it, and that’s without cleaning the flat and decorating. In the end, I went with something ‘more me’. We’re ordering a takeaway curry (Dad loves a curry) from the Indian on the high street, and I bought a cake from the bakery around the corner. I have beer, Prosecco, wine and truck loads of hummus (they had a special ‘buy one get one’ offer at Tesco). It might not be Laura’s version of an amazing birthday party, but I think Dad will love it.
Keri’s phone buzzes. She looks down, then smiles.
‘Hugh’s here,’ says Keri excitedly. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Why do you need luck?’
‘I want to break my number of times had sex in one day personal best. The hotel is in the country, Meg. There isn’t much to do except walk, eat, drink and shag.’
‘What’s the current record?’
‘Eight,’ says Keri. ‘Joe Thomas. Not Joe Thomas, the actor and comedian from The Inbetweeners and Fresh Meat Joe Thomas. Not that Joe Thomas.’
‘I didn’t think it was that Joe Thomas. That would have been weird.’
‘It would have been weird. No, Joe Thomas from the gym in Queen’s Park. Remember when I was really fit?’
‘When you kept saying your body was a temple and you were going to run the London marathon in fancy-dress for charity?’
‘That’s when I was going to the gym in Queen’s Park. Joe Thomas worked the front desk. He was also a personal trainer. He personally trained me eight times in one day once. It was amazing. He was so fit. He literally only drank protein shakes.’
I wish Keri luck on her mission to better her Joe Thomas PB. Keri gives me a hug, picks up her weekend bag and walks out. She reappears seconds later. ‘Totally forgot my phone.’ She gets her mobile phone from the table. ‘Right, I’m off. Nine times! I might not be walking back in again.’ I laugh. Classic Keri.
Keri leaves and I’m alone in the flat. I have two hours until they turn up. Two hours to do some round-the-world travel planning. Beth was in Bali until last week and now she’s in Australia. She’s in Sydney at the moment. It looks amazing. The Harbour Bridge. The Rocks. A hostel rooftop. Drinks. Bondi Beach. Darling Harbour. A selection of cafes and bars. Flat white coffee and avocado on toast. She’s doing the best Instagram stories so far. I have a few to catch up on. Although I need to tidy before Dad, Laura, and Simon come over. I’m dreading seeing Laura. I need to clean everything because she’ll check all surfaces for dust. Literally all of them. With her finger and a look of judgemental disgust.
The flat is sparkling and I’m ready just as the doorbell goes. They’re fifteen minutes early. I buzz them in the front door and open my door. Even though we’re ordering an Indian for dinner, I have a few bowls of posh crisps, crackers, olives, a cheese platter and as I said, a lot of hummus. The flat looks fantastic. I should have taken a photo for Instagram, but I was too busy stressing about Laura and Dad having a wonderful birthday. I haven’t spoken to him for a week and the last time I did he sounded a bit low. The big, loud, happy dad I had known all of my life was sad and quiet. I wait for them to come walking in. I don’t hear their voices, which is odd. The next moment and Mum walks in. Mum. She shouldn’t be here. Fuck.
‘Hello, Megs, I was just passing,’ says Mum with two shopping bags. She has one from Primark and another from Selfridges. She stops and looks around the flat. ‘Are you having a party or something?’
The doorbell goes again. It will be them. Talk about timing. If Dad sees Mum and Mum sees Dad, it will be a disaster. The last time they were together in the same room she called him a ‘cardigan twat’ and he called her ‘a mangy old dog’.
‘Dad’s coming over for his birthday with Laura and Simon,’ I say in a panic.
‘Oh, right,’ says Mum with a sullen expression.
The doorbell goes again. She puts her bags down on the floor.
‘I have to let them in.’
‘Then let them in,’ says Mum loudly, waving her arms about. ‘Let them all in.’
