Page 42 of The Notecard
‘Something the matter?’ says Dotty.
‘I blamed her for something she didn’t do.’
I look at Dotty, who looks at me and smiles.
‘If it’s about the notecard you had on your mantelpiece. I took it,’ says Dotty.
‘What?’ I say incredulously. ‘Why would you…?’
‘To give it to the person who should have got it in the first place,’ says Dotty.
Then the door to Meg’s flat opens and Meg is standing there holding the notecard.
Meg
The food has arrived. There are containers of curry and rice everywhere and the whole flat smells of Indian food. We’re sitting at the table, which is difficult because unlike Laura’s flat, which has a table big enough for twelve people, our table is only big enough for four people (at a push). This means we’re one person over capacity, and so there isn’t much room for the food. We’ve had to sort of pile it all into the middle of the table and so there’s a mishmash of boxes containing all sorts of condiments, bags with steaming hot naan breads, and the little silver containers full of rice and curries. I had to use the office chair as an extra dining room chair (which doesn’t work), and Laura is exaggerating how little room she has. She keeps poking her elbows out and sighing dramatically. It reminds me of being a student when we’d have grown-up dinner parties, but none of the actual grown-up things you need to throw a dinner party.
‘We should have done it at ours,’ says Laura. ‘No offence, Megs, but there just isn't the room.’
She definitely meant to offend.
‘It’s fine, love,’ says Dad. ‘Plenty of room.’
I keep seeing Dad fondling Mum’s boob in my bathroom. Flashbacks. I might be scarred for life. There’s room for therapy. I drink more wine in the hope it goes away. I just need to get through this meal. I definitely need to stop thinking about Mum’s boob.
‘The jalfrezi is lovely,’ says Simon. ‘One of the best I’ve had.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Why are you saying thanks, you didn’t make it?’ says Laura.
‘I just meant... fuck it, Laura, I didn’t know what else to say, okay?’
‘Girls, please,’ says Mum.
‘The lamb bhuna is delicious,’ says Dad.
There’s a pause.
‘Are you going to say thank you for that too?’ says Laura.
I count to ten in my head. It’s a strategy. Deep breaths and counting. I offer everyone more wine and Simon says yes, but Laura puts her hand over his glass like she’s his mum. She tells him he’s had enough, and he just lets her. Perhaps it’s why they work because she’s controlling, and he doesn’t mind being controlled. It’s also the reason why Laura and I fight. I top up Mum and Dad’s wine glasses and mine. I take a sip. It helps.
‘Maybe we can finally discuss my hen weekend now?’ says Laura.
The hen weekend. It’s all she wants to talk about.
‘I thought it was all organised,’ says Mum.
‘Well, yes, technically it is,’ says Laura.
‘I didn’t know,’ I say. ‘I knew you were talking about a weekend at a spa retreat in the Cotswolds, but I didn’t know it was already booked.’
‘Well it is,’ says Laura. ‘Five hundred pounds each for the hotel. Spa treatments are extra.’
Five hundred pounds! Plus extra for spa treatments that I’ll be forced to have. Then there’s the meals and drinks, and Laura won’t have to pay for anything. I can’t afford to splash that sort of money on a spa retreat I don’t even want to go on. I have the money, but I’m trying to save as much as I can for travelling. I want to enjoy my six months, and I need money for when I get back. I’m also still paying Keri rent so I can keep my room while I’m away, and I’m not sure what’s happening with work yet. Five hundred pounds. She could have at least asked me. I’m livid.
‘That’s a lot of money,’ I say. ‘You should have checked with me first.’
