Page 33 of The Notecard
‘I hear you’re going travelling, Meg,’ says Simon. ‘That’s amazing. I had a GAP year before uni. Best year of my life. If you want any tips, I’d be more than happy…’
‘Simon. A word,’ says Laura sharply. She gets up and grabs him by the hand, literally dragging him into the kitchen.
It’s awkward again. There’s a moment of silence, and I offer my parents some wine. I think they could both use a drink. It might help move things along. They both get up and I pour them both a glass of wine. They get more food. Mum goes for the hummus and Dad for the posh crisps. Dad still thinks hummus is ‘newfangled’. He really can’t get his head around guacamole and don’t get him started on sushi. ‘Why anyone would want to eat raw fish is beyond me.’ We eat and drink while listening to Laura shout at Simon in the kitchen.
Nick
Ihave unpacked everything, but my flat lacks any sort of creative flair. I have minimal furniture, there are no pictures on the walls, and it just needs something. Actually, it needs lots of things. I know it, but I don’t have the time or inclination to make it happen. I have a photo of Dad on the mantelpiece and the lava lamp that has somehow survived. I saved up my money and bought it during sixth form because I thought it might make me seem cool and edgy. It didn’t. Part of the reason my flat has the look and feel of a cheap European hostel is that I’m too busy to decorate. The other part is that I really don’t know how long I’ll be here. I’m like the temp who doesn’t want to decorate their desk because they could be let go and onto another job within a week. My life feels uncertain and I don’t know where I’ll be six months or a year from now. I want to settle down somewhere, but until then I’ll keep living like a student squatting in an empty flat. It might be a part of the reason Molly prefers spending time at her place. She has a beautiful flat in Dalston. She shares it with a girl called Abigail. It has trendy furniture, pictures on the walls, and it smells lovely. I don’t know what the smell is, but it’s so nice that when I’m there I never want to leave. If only I didn’t want to leave because of Molly and not their choice of air freshener.
Molly is taking a shower and I’m in the kitchen making an espresso. The one luxury item I bought when I moved into the flat. An all singing, all dancing, espresso machine. It’s made in Italy and it’s a glorious cruise liner of a machine in stainless steel. It grinds the finest arabica beans and makes wonderful creamy and smooth espresso. I love it. It sits in my otherwise fairly empty kitchen like a beacon of hope for my future.
After Molly and I had sex, she started going on about us going away together. A terrifying post-coital conversation that came out of nowhere.
‘We should totally go away together,’ said Molly suddenly.
I was caught off-guard and didn’t know what to say. I was thinking about breaking up and she was talking about spending more time together.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s hard with work.’
‘You’ll find a way, Nicky. Oh my god, I’m totally thinking Spain. I’ve got a friend out there. Marbella, I think or Malaga. It doesn’t matter, it’s Spain. She has her own villa. It would be the best, Nicky. Think about it. You, me, sun, sand, and a week’s worth of sex on the beach. Say yes.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Just say yes, Nicky!’ said Molly. She suddenly sprung up on all fours like an excited dog. ‘Say yes or I’ll keep asking you until you do.’
‘Like I said, it’s difficult with work…’
‘We’re totes going. I’m going to look at prices right now. Best idea ever. Am I right?’
I didn’t know what to say, and so I said I was going into the kitchen to make an espresso. Molly was going to check prices for our holiday to Spain, then jump in the shower.
I’ve just finished making myself an espresso and I’m debating whether to steam some milk and make it a latte when there’s a knock on my door. I walk across and answer and Mum is standing there. She has a bag of shopping for me. She brings it in, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek on the way through. I ask her what she’s doing here because she didn’t say she was coming over today.
‘Visiting with Michael, but I thought I’d just pop in on the way. See how you’re doing?’ says Mum, putting the shopping on the side in the kitchen.
‘Do you fancy an espresso?’ I say. I hear the water in the shower turn off. Mum does too. ‘Molly’s taking a shower.’
‘Oh,’ says Mum, a veil of disappointment falls across her face. ‘I won’t stop.’
Mum isn’t happy that Molly is back in my life. She thinks Molly is ‘not for me’ and ‘a bit selfish’ and ‘just not the sort of girl one dates, Nick’. Molly knows that Mum doesn’t approve of her and so whenever they’re together there’s a tension in the room. The last time we dated, we had dinner together. The three of us. It was the first time they had met and when Molly got up to use the toilet, Mum said to me.
‘There’s just something about her I don’t like, Nick.’
I was confused and when I asked her what it was, she said.
‘She acts like she already has you. Like you’re hers. I don’t like it.’
I didn’t really understand what she meant. I’m not sure I fully understand now. Molly has a quality that comes across as somewhat arrogant. It’s as if everything in her life she sees as goods. Goods she owns, wants, or needs to have. It’s all for sale or being purchased. I don’t know if that makes sense. It’s as if she monetises everything from her possessions to her relationships. It all has value to her. I think that’s what Mum meant. I get my espresso and then after a moment, Molly walks back into the living room. She has wet hair from the shower. Molly looks at Mum and Mum looks at Molly. They both smile gingerly. They say hello, but it’s hardly friendly. It’s tinged with a bitterness.
‘Hi,’ says Molly to Mum. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’
‘Just stopping by quickly,’ says Mum flatly
‘Oh. Right,’ says Molly, sitting down on the sofa. A quiet air of tension hangs in the room. ‘Did you tell your mum about Spain, Nicky?’
Mum looks at me and I look at her.
‘It’s nothing,’ I mumble.
