Page 43 of The Notecard
‘That’s just how much it costs,’ says Laura flippantly, as if it’s no big deal.
‘I realise that. I’m just saying, you should have asked me if I could afford it.’
‘So I have to consult you on everything, do I?’ says Laura. ‘We’re going out for a meal during the hen weekend too. Where should we go, Megs? Nando’s? McDonalds?’
‘I’m just saying, it’s a lot of money.’
I’m trying to keep calm. Count to twenty. Breathe.
‘It’s my wedding.’ says Laura. ‘I think I’m allowed to be extravagant.’
‘No one’s saying you can’t, babes,’ says Mum.
‘Why do you always do that, Mum?’ I say. ‘Always make sure that she’s okay.’
‘Because she’s my daughter, Megs, just like you,’ says Mum.
Dad and Simon are sitting in an uncomfortable silence. They’re keeping out of this.
‘Not just like me,’ I say, getting more annoyed.
‘Here she goes,’ says Laura. ‘The drama queen.’
‘Me?’ I say. ‘You’re the one who can’t stand it if everything in the entire world isn’t about you. You’ve always been the same.’
‘Are you going to call me a fucking arsehole again?’ says Laura, her face is changing, the anger and resentment, overshadowing everything else.
A pause. Dad puts a poppadom in his mouth with some onion chutney. Crunch.
‘If the shoe fits,’ I say after a moment.
‘Right, come on, Simon, I’m not taking this!’ says Laura on the verge of tears.
Laura stands up suddenly, not realising how close she is to the table, and when she stands up the table goes with her. It falls and with it all the food. It happens in slow motion. The table flips up and the food goes everywhere. Containers of curry, rice, poppadoms, naan bread, chutney, mint sauce, all of it goes flying across us. I end up with curry running down my dress, and a lap full of half-broken poppadoms. Splashes of colour like a Jackson Pollock. Curry on canvass. Mum screams. Dad tries to get up and falls backwards against the wall. Simon is covered in pilau rice. Laura is crying. It’s an absolute fucking mess. For a moment we’re quiet, except for Laura’s tears. We’re in a sort of disbelief. I know I will get blamed for this. The year Meg ruined Dad’s birthday. At this moment, when it’s silent, the doorbell goes.
I dust myself down as best as I can, and I walk over to the door. I open the door and stood there is Dotty from downstairs.
‘Hello, dear, I just wanted to give you this,’ she says, handing me an envelope.
She looks me up and down, and then she looks beyond me at the mess that is my family and the Indian. She doesn’t say anything. Dotty smiles and walks away. I close the door and stand there. I look at the envelope. It has my name on it. I open it and take out a notecard.
Dear Meg. I don’t quite know how to say it because I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but I like you. There’s just something about you. I felt it from the moment we first met. I don’t know what this is or what it could be, but I want to see where it might go. I don’t believe in signs from the universe, but when you choked today and I helped out, I thought that maybe it was a sign. Perhaps you and I are important to each other. I hope you’ll consider going for a drink with me. Maybe even a meal. Just no grapes this time. Love Nick.
I’m so confused. This must have been written the day I choked and almost died. The same day I slipped my notecard under his door. But why didn’t Nick give it to me then? And why is Dotty giving it to me now? He likes me. Nick likes me. I don’t know what to think or what to do. I’m stunned. I turn around to see my family start the tidying up process. No-one is saying anything. I know the argument isn’t over. Poor Dad. His birthday curry is ruined. I feel awful. I put the notecard down and help them tidy up. But all I can think about is Nick. Nick, who likes me and wants to take me out for a drink or maybe a meal. But he didn’t give me the card. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he didn’t give me the card for a reason. My head is spinning. I know one thing. When we’re done cleaning up, I need to see Nick. I need to know what the notecard means.
Nick
‘Oh, fuck,’ I say when I see Meg standing there holding my notecard.
I don’t know what to do. I should be mad at Dotty for stealing the notecard from my flat and giving it to Meg, but I’m not. I should say something other than, ‘Oh, fuck’ but I don’t know what to say. Meg knows. She has the notecard in her hand. She looks shocked but not angry. Behind her, I can see people moving about. Her family. The smell of Indian food hits me. Meg asks if we can talk and I say yes, getting redder, and feeling more and more embarrassed.
Meg walks out of her flat, and we walk into mine. I’m acutely aware that this is the first time she’s been in my flat. It’s just the two of us. Together. It feels strange. I don’t know what to do with my hands. What do you do with your hands when you’re trying to talk to someone you really like and there’s nowhere to put your hands?
‘Do you want to sit down? Tea? Coffee? I don’t have any wine, but I have some beer in the fridge. Let me see, one moment…’
‘Nick?’
‘Yes?’
