Page 39 of The Notecard
‘I’ll just order a lot of things and put it all out.’
‘Could I get a samosa?’ says Simon.
‘Jesus, Simon, she just said she’d get all of that,’ says Laura.
‘I’ll add it to the list,’ I say, smiling at poor Simon.
‘We need to talk about the hen weekend,’ says Laura. ‘I know it’s two months away…’
‘Do you remember that time in Majorca?’ says Dad suddenly. He’s talking to Mum. ‘We went out for a paella, and you got so sick.’
‘Oh my days,’ says Mum. ‘I don’t know if it was the fish or the amount of wine I drank.’
‘You knocked back the wine,’ says Dad.
‘Up all night I was,’ says Mum. ‘Both ends.’
‘That was a good holiday,’ says Dad, a contented, warm smile on his face.
Mum and Dad look at each other for a moment, and it feels like old times. They’re connecting again. A moment passes between them. I can feel it. Memories. Nostalgia.
‘Was that the holiday when Laura fell in love with that Spanish waiter?’ I say.
Mum laughs. Laura looks annoyed.
‘Oh yeah, she had her little diary and wrote all of those love poems about him. What was his name, Laura?’ says Mum.
‘I don’t remember,’ says Laura coldly.
‘You kept diaries?’ says Simon. ‘I’ve never heard about your diaries.’
‘Oh yeah, she was quite the little Anne Frank,’ says Mum.
‘I’m not sure that’s a great comparison, Mum,’ I say.
‘She had all of these little diaries with keys, remember? She used to hide the keys in her bedroom,’ says Mum.
‘She would get so mad if she was writing and you’d walk in on her,’ I say. ‘KEEP AWAY FROM MY PRIVATE DIARY!’
‘Can we please just talk about my hen weekend!’ says Laura loudly.
We all stop talking and there’s a sudden tension. Mum and Dad are quiet, and Laura looks pissed off. Simon starts doing something on his phone. I leave the room and head into the kitchen to get the plates and everything ready. I’m trying to keep away from Laura and not get involved in her drama. That’s the thing about Laura, I think she just loves the drama. It’s a part of why she kept her horrible little diaries because it created drama. What’s she writing about? Is it about me? I remember her Year Ten sports day. She was a good long-distance runner. She won the 1500 metres every year. School champion. City champion. Then a new girl arrived. Claire Wetherby from Sunderland, and suddenly Laura wasn’t the best anymore. The school sports day 1500 metres final and they’re on the last lap. Everyone can see that Claire is getting ahead. She’s going to beat Laura. Laura suddenly goes down in a heap. She’s screaming in pain. Everything stopped and the race wasn’t finished. Laura was stretchered off to the school nurse. She spent a few days hobbling about, but I’m sure she was fine. She just couldn’t stand the idea of Claire getting all the attention.
As I’m getting everything ready, I’m thinking about Nick. About the dimples he gets when he smiles. The way he raises his eyebrows when he asks a question. About his eyes. His voice, hair, and laugh. I’m thinking all about Nick and how much I like him. I don’t know if he likes me, and even if he does, even if I like him, I’m going away for six months in August. I’m trying not to think about him like that because it isn’t the time.
My phone buzzes with a notification. Beth has posted a new Instagram story from Sydney. She’s walking between Coogee Beach and Bondi Beach. It’s incredible. The coast is so beautiful and it’s warm. She’s walking with two girls from her hostel. Photos of Beth in a white t-shirt and denim shorts. Surfers riding waves and somewhere called Bondi Icebergs, which is a freshwater swimming pool right on the ocean. She’s talking about her day and how warm and beautiful it is. I want to be there. I want to experience everything she is. So as much as I like Nick, and think he’s gorgeous, I can’t have him and experience travelling too. I want to travel and it’s only a few months away now. I keep visualising going to the airport, getting on the plane, and heading off alone for six months. The freedom of it. The excitement of following in Beth’s footsteps. I need to stay focused on that.
I walk into the living room. Mum and Dad are gone. Simon is gone. It’s just Laura and she’s doing something on her phone.
‘Where did everyone go?’ I say.
‘Simon had to take a call. I have no idea where Mum and Dad went,’ says Laura.
‘It’s good they’re getting on,’ I say to Laura, who is staring at her phone.
‘What?’ she says, looking up at me.
‘I said it’s good that Mum and Dad are getting on.’
