My fingers start playing ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ by The Smiths, but I soon start to smile as I hear Kate’s voice calling me a drama queen, before going into a rant about Morrissey and his political views. I stop and take a deep breath. How am I supposed to play anything that isn’t melancholy when that’s what’s seeping from practically every pore in my body? It’s awful not knowing what she’s doing. . . what she’s feeling. She’s probably having the time of her life in that Airbnb while I’m sat in a classroom, not wanting to go home to an empty flat and declining drinks with friends because I’m not ready to tell everyone that we’ve split up. I’m such an idiot. All she ever did was support me and encourage me and I chose the easy way out because I was too scared to even try. I could have talked to her, explained things. But instead, I just dismissed her and forced her to be brave enough for the both of us.
I take out my phone and Google open mic, London. About 51,800,000 results. I was not expecting this.
As I scroll through, I start to get a tad overwhelmed. MaybeI should start somewhere small? Local. You’ve just played with Ashleigh Mason, you pussy, I tell myself. You can certainly handle an open mic.
I search again for my local pub, The Tawny.
Open mic night every Thursday at 8pm. Free drink for all performers. Come early and come prepared!
Feck it, I think. Even Liam Gallagher had to start somewhere.
Kate
‘Whoever said that cooking for one was an enjoyable experience was lying. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s stressful.’
Staying at this Airbnb has been an eye opener to say the least and there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t chastised myself for being so quick to leave our home. I put Gubba on speakerphone while I rummage around in the fridge.
‘Kate, you cooked for yourself all through university, surely this isn’t any different?’
Gubba is still the only one besides Lauren I’ve told about the break-up. I’m almost certain Ed hasn’t told his parents as I haven’t received a tearful phone call from Yvonne– and there would have been tears– which is why I also haven’t broken the news to my parents either. I’ll wait until my own sadness subsides before I take on theirs.
‘Gubba, I lived on twelve-pence noodles and whichever ready meal cooked fastest in the microwave. I was too busy to learn how to cook and never home long enough to care.’
‘In my day, we learned to cook at an early age,’ she informs me. ‘I was cooking family dinners by the time I was thirteen. Your mother should have done the same.’
‘Yes, yes,’ I reply. ‘Gen X bad parents, millennials have no life skills, I get it. If I’d anticipated that I’d be living in an Airbnb attwenty-nine, googling “things to do with eggs”, I might have paid more attention to how my meals were prepared.’
I can hear the smirk on the other end of the phone. ‘So what are you making?’
‘Well, I wanted to attempt that Spanish omelette recipe you gave me, but I really don’t understand it. You said cut thick slices of potato but not how to cut the onion. Is that thick, too? Cubed?’
‘Just cut it until it’s smaller than it once was, love. You’ll be cooking it down, anyway.’
‘OK, fine. . . and then you’ve said to partially cover the potatoes and onion and stew for fifteen minutes?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does that mean?’
She gives a little chuckle. ‘Just chuck them in the pan and let them simmer for a bit.’
‘You could have just said that,’ I mumble. ‘And then I just mix it with the egg, let it rest for fifteen mins and then fry it?’
‘Exactly,’ she replies. ‘Though remember, while it’s cooking, use your spatula to shape it into a cushion.’
‘Into a what?’
‘A cushion,’ she repeats. ‘Nice and padded around the edges. And just use a plate on top of the pan to flip it– much easier. Anyway, love, need to rush– the chiropodist is coming round at five. Let me know how you get on.’
She hangs up before I can ask her about cushions and plates. I can already tell this is going to be a disaster.
I should have just followed a YouTube video, but Gubba’s omelettes are quite unique and I’m feeling a little homesick, if I’m honest. I also feel a tad embarrassed that I’m so useless on my own. Gubba’s right. I should have paid attention to Mum cooking, but also to Ed. He made everything at home and not once did I think of asking him to teach me. It never occurred to him to offer to teach me either. I think we both just settled intoour relationship roles, neither of us expecting that one day we might not be together.
Living here has opened my eyes to so many things. For someone as fiercely independent as I am, I’ve realised how little I actually do when I’m at home and how much I rely on Ed. It’s the small things, like cleaning and replacing the coffee filter before bed so it’s ready for me in the morning. Cooking every night because he gets home first, and he knows I’ll be ravenous when I get in; or the fact that new toothpaste always appeared like magic after the old one had run out. While I’m not entirely incapable of fending for myself, it’s been so long since I’ve had to do it. At university, Lauren and I halved in for a cleaner once a week, who admittedly was awful and ate all our yogurts, but saved us having to try and figure out how to clean the hoover filter. Even Lauren is more domesticated than I am, and she used to cook fish fingers in the toaster. God, I miss those days.
2011
Durham – Kate
