Page 44 of The Notecard
‘I’m fine. I’m confused about the notecard though.’
‘Right, yes, of course you are. I, umm, don’t know why Dotty took it. Long story short. I wrote the notecard on the day you choked on the grape. I got your notecard and I wrote this in response. I was going to give it to you, but I chickened out at the last minute. I put it on my mantelpiece. Dotty took it today and gave it to you.’
‘So you weren’t going to give it to me?’
‘Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I wanted to, but I was too scared. I am still scared. I have this overwhelming fear of rejection. It’s silly, I know.’
‘It’s not silly,’ says Meg with a smile. The edges of her mouth stretch out ever so slightly. Her eyes change. Soften.
‘I wanted to give you the notecard, but I saw your flatmate Keri, and she explained about your situation. Men are the last thing on your mind. We talked earlier and I understand, I really do. I just don’t want to cause you anymore pain.’
‘But why would you cause me pain?’
‘I wouldn’t. I just... I don’t know what I mean,’ I say, and Meg laughs nervously.
Meg and I stand in my flat. We’re in the living room looking at each other and I still don’t know what to do with my hands.
‘I don’t know what to do with my hands,’ I say
‘They look really awkward. I can see the pain.’
‘It’s a genuine problem. In my pockets? In front of me? Behind me? Together? Apart?’
‘The notecard is obviously a side issue. Hands first. Notecard second.’
‘That’s right,’ I say, and we both laugh a little.
It’s still tense.
We stop and look at each other. I don’t know if she feels the same as me. She hasn’t said she hasn’t. She hasn’t said anything, really. I think I’m going to make tea. It will give me something to do with my hands.
‘I’m going to make tea,’ I say. ‘Are you sure you don’t want one?’
‘I need to get back. It’s my dad’s birthday.’
I decide against making tea. It would be awkward if she isn’t having one. I lean myself against the side of the sofa. I put my hands down by my side. A pause. I don’t know what to say.
‘I like you too,’ says Meg finally. ‘It’s just complicated.’
‘The truth always is.’
Memories of my conversation with Michael flash through my mind. The truth is always complicated. He was right. We stand and look at one another. She is beautiful. Even more so because I feel for the first time that she’s let her guard down. Even when we were talking outside, I felt like I was at arm’s distance. We joked around, and it felt easy, but I didn’t feel as though she was letting me all the way in. Not properly. The door was still half-closed. Now I feel like she’s opened the door all the way. It feels as if I’m seeing the real Meg for the first time, and she’s even more beautiful because she’s vulnerable.
‘I’m going away for six months in August,’ she says.
‘I’m going to apply for that job in Nottingham.’
‘Nottingham. The Bali of the East Midlands.’
We both laugh. It’s so silly.
‘Maybe when you get back from your trip, we can talk then. See where we are,’ I say.
‘Maybe,’ says Meg, forcing a smile.
It’s suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t think that either of us think for a moment that after six months away, and with me potentially living in Nottingham, that something could still happen between us. I don’t know why I said that. It’s stupid. It’s basically saying that nothing is going to happen. Why didn’t I say that we should just go out and see what happens? It’s only May. We have until August. We could have a fabulous time between now and then. We should live in the moment. I should take a risk. Grab life and see where it takes me. Suggesting we wait until some inconsequential period of time and ‘just see’ is so pathetic. It’s the opposite of grabbing life. I hate myself for saying it. She looks disappointed.
‘I should get back,’ says Meg.
