I’m in bed after our 3rd takeout meal since I moved in. Yes, that’s 1 every night. Julian’s veterinary surgery is pre-holiday busy, owners fearful their pets’ minor complaints might worsen during the closed festive days. Whereas I have no zest for cooking, no zest for anything much. I’ve insisted on paying. Japanese night one, curry yesterday and full-blown fish ’n’ chips tonight, with buttered baps, mushy peas, tartare sauce and pickled eggs.
4 chocolate baubles from Julian’s tree lifted my mood even further, but only for as long as it took to swallow them.
I miss the 2 insectile ladeez in my life. The natural world has always inspired humans’ creations; it’s called biomimicry. Scientists considered the way desert spiders moved when inventing space rovers, and beavers have been looked atclosely in terms of creating fur-like wetsuits for surfers. These 2 stick insects inspire me to stay humble. Sounds pretentious? Maybe it is. But they don’t ask for much, just the basics. They blend into their environment, and Brandy and Snap are self-sufficient in terms of reproduction. Yet, like all insects, they’re important, clearing vegetation and fertilising the soil with their waste. Us humans make our lives so complicated, attracting stress instead of repelling it.
Most of all, I miss Elena, a zillion times a day (it would take a boring amount of zeros to write that as a number) every time a silly fun fact, or an idea for work, comes to mind, or I’ve watched a great thriller like the film Julian and I put on last night. I miss the look on her face when takeout arrives, how those blue eyes light up and she gets bossy with the plates, insisting we must eat before the food gets cold. I even miss her jazz music, it’s grown on me like a weed that turns out to be beneficial, like clover that fixes nitrogen in soil. Those tunes are comforting, gentle, like Elena’s presence when it’s just the two of us in her lounge after a gruelling day in the office. We don’t need to talk, and we automatically sense if the other needs a drink or snack. It’s easy. Reassuring. It’s homely.
Or used to be. 4 chocolate baubles go down a lot easier with 4 whiskies, don’t you know? Julian didn’t say anything but ran me 1 large glass of water to take to bed, and here I am humming ‘Ocean Eyes’.
What if something fateful does happen to Elena tomorrow? I can’t block out that concern, because I care so very much for her, like she cared for her mum, like Julian cared for that Alsatian dog. When emotions run high, people can fall into the trap of believing internal lies to be external truths.
Will Elena disappear for good in the next 24 hours?
42
ELENA
After heading to the supermarket last night, after work, to pick up the party provisions, Elena had spent most of the evening and this morning on the computer, researching, researching. Since lunch, she’d sat in the lounge, letting what she’d discovered about OCD sink in, and how it would effectively end any chance of romance with Rory, due to his theory about her promise twenty years ago.
But now it was time to party! Her guests would arrive in two hours. The light snowflakes that had fallen this week were coming down stronger, heavy, with purpose. She got up and headed into the kitchen, yawning, to fetch plates and cutlery to set up in the dining room. She’d hardly slept this last week. Elena took through the robin-print paper napkins and carefully shook out red and green table glitter. Mum and Dad had wanted to come round early to help once she’d let slip that Rory was ‘out’. But she didn’t want to risk an intense session of questions about her housemate. Elena set out nibble bowls on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, along with glasses, and went to get changed before making the Christmas punch. Yet she had tocharge down again, having forgotten to light the pine candles to set the mood.
In just a few hours, it would be midnight.
None of the research had changed her mind about what would happen on her thirtieth birthday.
No matter. She was going to enjoy tonight. Now 21 December 2024 had finally arrived it was almost a… relief. Her fate was out of her hands. The moment of reckoning was here; no point fretting about avoiding it.
Elena luxuriated in the hot shower, the steamy water as soothing as a warm embrace. Maybe it was a goodbye hug. She shrugged. Half an hour later, she stood in the fancy red gown she’d worn for the early Christmas dinner with Tahoor, her blonde bob stylishly blown, make-up on. She looked skywards. Fuck destiny. She was going to go out in style, having one hell of a time.
The doorbell rang and she hurried downstairs. Elena pulled open the door and the appearance of Rory took her breath away. Coat open at the front, he wore a cranberry-coloured velvet suit, no shirt underneath, nothing but a silver necklace, sexy and naturally confident. He still had a key, could have still let himself in. But here he was, acting like a stranger. He came in, followed by Julian and a grey-haired man who had the same shaped nose as Rory, along with a middle-aged woman with a friendly face.
‘Happy Birthday, Elena – you’ve met Julian, and this is my dad, Mike, and his girlfriend Jenny.’
She shook their hands, exchanged pleasantries, good-naturedly telling them off for buying her presents. Rory shook everyone’s coats outside, due to the snow, before hanging them up. Elena suggested the three of them make themselves comfortable in the lounge. She’d bring in Christmas punch. Rory went after her.
‘How are you?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Still alive, as you can see,’ she said. Then she caught his eye and smiled. ‘I’m great. Looking forward to tonight. The pizza should arrive in an hour. Tahoor and I discussed which games would be best to play and?—’
‘I miss you,’ he blurted out. ‘I was a twat. I’m sorry.’
The doorbell rang again and she held up her hand. ‘I can’t do this, Rory. Not now. Let’s speak later. There’s something I want to say to you, anyway.’
Eight o’clock.
Rory busied himself pouring out punch. Mum and Dad arrived and shot her worried looks, but they slowly disappeared as Elena sang along to music and laughed at her dad’s jokes. She told them about the broken biscuit campaign and how excited she was for its launch in 2025. After catching up, they handed her an envelope, her Christmas present. A long weekend trip for two to…
‘Berlin?’ Elena looked up at her parents.
‘Now that you’ve started travelling, love, you’ve a fair bit of mileage to catch up on,’ said Dad.
‘You could take Rory, seeing as you both went to France… Or I’d love to come, for a gals’ trip,’ said her mum. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a burlesque show.’
‘This is too much! I don’t know what to say,’ said Elena with a stutter, imagining, for a second, a future, with no promise hanging over her.
‘Well, it is a big birthday,’ said her dad. ‘Can’t believe I’ve got a thirty-year-old daughter.’
Gayle and Tahoor arrived next, at the same time, and it wasn’t long before they were comfortably chatting about the snow and whether Manchester would have a white Christmas.
