Page 48 of The Notecard
‘I wouldn’t say it’s all I talk about,’ says Hugh defensively. ‘She has been a huge help with my comedy. Such a, you know, inspiration.’
‘Such a, you know, inspiration,’ says Keri in a horrible, childish, copycat voice, before she gets up and walks into the kitchen.
The air in the living room is suddenly strained and I look across at Hugh, who looks as confused as I am. Hugh’s about to get up and go after her, but I stand up first. I tell him I’ll go. Whatever’s going on with Keri, she needs me. I walk into the kitchen after Keri. I have to know what’s going on with her. I also have an idea how I can help Dad get over his separation anxiety. All of this love advice and helping others is keeping my mind off what happened last week. Of the stupid thing I did. Of the massive shit show that is my love life.
Nick
THEN
Dad and I are setting the table. It’s Sunday and Mum’s making roast lamb. My favourite. The way the mint sauce runs into the gravy, the taste of the rosemary Mum pokes into the lamb, and the crisp roast potatoes. Just the thought of it makes my mouth wet with saliva. It’s a bright day outside. Sun is shining through the dining room window. I’m sixteen. We do the same thing every Sunday. A roast dinner at two o’clock and then we go for a walk, weather permitting. I’m acutely aware that one day this won’t happen every week like it has for every week of my life so far. One day it will stop and that will be it.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ I say looking at my father.
Even at the weekend, he looks vaguely professional, just in case he’s called into hospital. It happens. We’ll be at home and they’ll call him in to perform a surgery. My dad. A superhero.
‘Of course,’ says Dad with a smile.
‘How did you and Mum meet?’
I’m putting out the silverware. Dad is doing the plates. He stops and looks at me.
‘You really want to know?’
I nod. He stops and sits down. I sit down opposite him. I can hear Mum in the kitchen. She’s cooking with the radio on. Always Radio 4.
‘I saw her at a bus stop. It was my second year at medical school. I used to get the bus home. I didn’t drive, couldn’t afford a car anyway. Every day I’d leave at the same time and get on the same bus. One day there was a girl there. I’d never seen her before. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. We got on the bus, it was busy, and we ended up sitting next to each other. I couldn’t believe it. I was inches away from the most beautiful girl in the world. We rode the bus in silence. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. Eventually she got off. I got up and she smiled at me, and it was like everything in the universe was telling me she was The One. This was it.’
‘What did you do?’ I say, captivated by Dad’s story.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ says Dad. ‘What could I do? You can’t ask a complete stranger out on a bus. She got off and that was it. I was never going to see her again. But I told myself that if I did, I would ask her out. I was sure that was it though. My one chance at real happiness was gone.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
Dad smiles at me.
‘A month later and I saw her again. She got on the bus. But this time we didn’t sit together. She was at the front of the bus and I was near the back. But when she got off, I got off too. I had to speak to her. I had to ask her out.’
‘That’s when you got together?’
‘No,’ says Dad, laughing. ‘She had a boyfriend. But I did it. I asked her out. I was distraught. I ended up dating a girl from my course instead. Anne Burnett.’
‘So how did you and Mum end up together?’
‘A year later, and I’m in a pub having a drink, and she walks in. I couldn’t believe it. There she was. The same girl. I had just broken up with Anne. I was feeling lost. I had to talk to her. I had to know if she still had a boyfriend.’
‘She didn’t, did she?’
‘Actually, she did,’ says Dad. ‘But we spent the whole night at the pub together. We talked and talked. Our friends left and I walked her home. We shared some chips. We both knew. The next day she broke up with her boyfriend, and we started going out and never looked back. It just goes to show you, Nick, that sometimes, when it comes to love, you have to be patient.’
NOW
Despite my horrible record of failed relationships, the vision I have of my future has never wavered. I want to meet someone and fall head over in heels in love with them. I want the years when it’s just us, the holidays abroad, the engagement and marriage. I want to buy a house together and then the inevitable talk of children. The pitter patter of tiny feet. Maybe a dog. It seems so ordinary, but it’s all I want. I’m thirty-two. I’ll be thirty-three at the end of the year, not old yet, but as the years tick down, the dream, or at least the version in my head, is fading slightly. Like an old photo, the colours are changing and it’s losing some of its sheen.
I really thought there was something with Meg. When we stood in my flat, my notecard in her hand, she said she liked me too. She liked me. If it wasn’t for Mum coming in, maybe something more might have happened. I saw Meg after and we talked, but I was too scared, too afraid to bring it up and neither did she. The moment was gone. Then last week, I was coming home from work. I was in the hallway and I saw a man leaving her flat. He was at her door. She was behind it in a nightgown, wrapped tightly around her body. I didn’t need to ask what had happened. I saw the look on her face. I slowed slightly, as he said something about seeing her again. I haven’t spoken to her since. The future, whatever it may hold, doesn’t include Meg.
Mum and Michael are coming for dinner. They have news. That’s what Mum said. She wouldn't tell me over the phone. Together, she said. Mum and Michael have been seeing a lot of each other. He’s been staying over at her house, at my old house where Dad died. I don’t mind. I’m happy for her. I explained why I lied to Michael about her having a boyfriend. Mum, in typical Mum fashion, understood, but said that she and Michael were serious. I have to get used to him in our life. Hence why I’m making us dinner. Roast lamb with all the trimmings. It’s my first time making a roast lamb, but it’s one of Mum’s favourites. It was one of mine growing up too. Sitting in our old dining room together. I remember exactly how it felt.
Molly and I are done. Definitely. Never again. I rang her because I felt bad about how things ended. I broke the news about Nottingham and said we shouldn’t see each other again. It just wasn’t working out. In typical Molly fashion, she said that whatever I said, I’d call her again one day. I’d be back because I just couldn’t keep away. I said fine, wished her well, and then said goodbye. That was it. Molly and I are over whether she agrees or not.
