Page 17 of What It's Like in Words
“Your room is always here.”
I remember the first time she said that to me:Don’t call it the spare room, Enola, it’s your room.
I smile. “I know it is.”
But I am not Catherine’s daughter either.
“Are you sure you’re all right, sweetheart? You sound a little down. Do you want to come over for dinner? I’m making that fish dish you like.”
I really want to say yes. I want to be wrapped in that house. The blankets on the sofa. The books in the toilet. The photos by the stairs. When Catherine calls dinner she makes an effort to say my name:Emily, Ruth, Enola… food’s ready!
“Maybe when Ruth gets back?”
“Have you got something on?”
“I’m just waiting for something.”
“A delivery? Anything nice?”
I lie again. “Yes, something nice.”
“That’s good, sweetheart, you should treat yourself. And have you heard anything about your book yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, try not to worry too much. And call if you change your mind about tonight?”
“I will.”
“And did you manage to speak to your mum yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Catherine knows I am lying. She knows me in a different way to Ruth, but she sees through me in the same way.
“Oh, sorry, Catherine, there’s someone at the door. I think it’s my delivery?” One final lie.
She sighs. Ruth inherited the same noise. We say goodbye, and I immediately miss her voice.
I check my messages. Two unread ones from Virinder. His “online” status flickers like a broken lightbulb. There is still nothingfrom Ruth. I should have realized at my party just how much she didn’t like him, but it’s easier to believe the reality you want.
THE PARTY ENDED WITHAmy being the first to leave, declaring how much fun she had in a tone that implied she hadn’t expected to have any, and Ruth the last to leave. Any other year, Ruth would have stayed over, but this time he was here.
Ruth zipped up her raincoat and gathered me in. She smelled like passion fruit and Chanel. She told me that she had shifts on Monday and Tuesday. I told her that I wasn’t in until Thursday because I needed to write. She asked me if I was getting much writing done.
Not really. He’s a little… distracting.
She asked if it was nice having him here tonight and if I had met his friends yet. I shook my head, and she then said that he seemed guarded, as if she was agreeing with me, but that wasn’t what I had meant.
Don’t you like him, Roo?
She adjusted the hood of her coat. Look, she began. It’s always weird meeting someone’s best friend, and maybe he was awkward or keen to make, like, a good impression or something. But I’m never going to love hearing someone put you down.
When did he put me down?
What do you mean? The music, the cooking?
I leaned backward to check that he wasn’t listening, but he was on the balcony smoking and the music was still playing. I told Ruth that he was only teasing. You didn’t think he was funny? Ruth said that he was confident and magnetic, but that he didn’t have a nice word to say. I reminded her that he had made me a cake, and she said that he also made sure everyone knew he had made it. I told Ruth that she was being harsh. I like the banter. I hate all that heavy stuff. It’s nice that it’s chilled! She said that banter was good, but it seemed like the jokes were his and not mine. And chilled is good if that’s what you want? But it seems like you really like him, Enola.
