PROUD & PREJUDICED
Darcy’s late, again. Successful people can afford to be time-loose because everyone waits for them. Liz taps the table.
It is her way of stopping being so judgmental and having scathing thoughts about Darcy. Tap, tap, tap, a visual reminder, hand-eyemind message to undo this overcritical, negative thinking. Not Darcy’s fault to be born pretty, smart and into a family with money. It’s a miracle they are still friends, that Darcy wants to hang out. Tap, tap, tap.
It’s been a while though, a year? Liz is scrolling through her phone to the selfie they took last time they met. The surroundings were similar, a new posh café, an expensive place with smoothies and coffee served in tiny quantities. Darcy reviews these places on her Instagram. But she never does with Liz and Liz knows Darcy invites all sorts of people to brunches and afternoon teas and then tags them in her posts, makes them famous.
The photo. Here it is. It’s from the end of last summer, almost nine months ago.
That’s a long gap. Anything can happen in that time. Women can conceive and deliver a whole new human being into the world. Not that Liz wants kids. Darren doesn’t want them either.
Darren smirked this morning when she told him about coffee with Darcy. “Somewhere fancy?” Were his first words, and then, “Is she paying?” He can be such an oaf. Liz is perfectly capable of buying her own coffee, even when it costs four quid.
Her job may not be on the list of the most desirable but she is perfectly happy with it. She knows what to do and she does it well. She is never bored because every day is different, though the truth is that becoming an administrator at a busy GP practice wasn’t her dream originally. She had grander plans. Actress was one of them, but who doesn’t want to be a star at the age of 14? She thought about other avenues but lacked enough points to get into relevant courses. So she ended up studying business and administration at a university she had never heard of before. Three years of partying and acquiring debt that she is now paying off diligently, monthly.
This is when her relationship with Darcy suffered the most because Darcy got into an arts college in London to study fashion communication. Writing about clothes, she used to claim, was her dream job. She changed to writing about food swiftly and now maintains food and clothes are part of the same aesthetic, which to Liz’s ear is an exaggeration. You can’t wear scrambled eggs. Tap, tap, tap.
GP Surgery Admin Supervisor is her job title, because recently she was promoted and took on greater responsibilities at the practice. She double checks stuff that is important, she manages staff, she is in direct conversation with the GPS. When there are phone calls from stressed mothers about feverish babies and you need someone with medical education to calm them down, talk through symptoms, she makes that happen. She seeks gaps in GPS’ diaries to get that support in place.
She is a key worker who keeps the world moving, just as she did during the pandemic. In the last two years she got busier, more tired, serious and mature. That’s what being close to human suffering does to you. Writing about food and posting snaps of veg cut into geometric shapes can’t help you grow as a person and it definitely doesn’t save lives. Tap, tap, tap.
Darcy and Liz used to wear the same clothes while studying for their A levels. They wore matching oversized T-shirts with “MAD” written in bold letters on the front. They strolled to the sixth form building together, elbows interlocked so Darcy’s earphones cable didn’t detach from her ipod and they could use an earpiece
each. They were stopped at the toilets by the prettiest guy in the school. He looked at them, and then called Liz “mad” and Darcy “madam”. That stuck. They were Mad and Madam for the rest of the year. Liz cried about it and in an attempt to change it wore a number of T-shirts with other slogans. Nothing worked.
Liz and Darcy used to hum as they walked together, and they danced a little too. Pavement boogie, shimmying in a corridor or in the canteen queue. Liz misses that. Darren doesn’t sing or dance. He’s only really into the sofa. TV and the sofa, take-out and the sofa, the sofa and a beer.
She almost never sees him on any other furniture. They have arguments about it. It’s embarrassing that all they do is watch TV. It bugs Liz that Darren is more concerned with what will happen to the couple in the latest crime drama than what will happen to them in the future.
Darcy does all sorts with her husband, like skydiving and snorkelling.
They go out to theatres and concerts and they wear stunning smiles and kiss to the camera as if they have just met and their romance is hot and fresh. In each photo, Nathaniel looks deeply in love with Darcy. And proud, or at least, so he says in his comments. “So proud of my wife.” It sounds fake and naff to Liz, like something he only does to boost Darcy’s following. Tap, tap, tap.
Liz is smiling weakly at the waitress who, for the third time, reminds her about the order. Liz sips her complimentary tap water (with cucumber and ice) in a slow, measured way, like a connoisseur of free drinks.
Last time they met, Darcy said she and Nat were trying for a baby. It was not something she announced on social media and Liz felt like a repository for private news. That brought them closer together. Liz was a significant person in Darcy’s life again. They had even Whatsapped for a while after that meeting, talked about collateral aspects: pregnancy clothes, best places to holiday with kids, baby food.
It died down within a month. Liz couldn’t sustain it. It felt like a performance for the benefit of Darcy who, after a while, didn’t seem that amused or interested.
Yes, she was launching her nut-bar range around the same time and her social media channels were mainly concerned with sustainable and ethical ways of growing and harvesting cashews, but still. Liz and her jokes about tent dresses and a potential flavoursome and organic range of “purée for bébé” were falling on deaf ears. So really, Darcy’s motivations to keep this friendship going must be a form of charity. Tap, tap, tap.
Liz downs the remaining water and slips her phone into her bag, ready to leave.
“Knock, knock, knock,” says Darcy. She has cropped her hair just behind her ears and her oversized sunglasses cover the better part of her pretty face. Darcy opens her arms for a hug and Liz falls into her thin, muscular body with her own soft and squashy one. They hold each other in the embrace for a long time, despite the heat and sweaty armpits.
“Saw you knocking,” says Darcy. She raps the table with a series of knocks: three quick, three long and three quick again. She looks at Liz expectantly, asking with her threaded eyebrows, “Remember that?”
Liz recognizes it instantly as an SOS distress signal in Morse that they used at school to get each other out of trouble. It was always Liz who would tap or blink the message and Darcy would find them an excuse to leave.
Maybe Darcy’s asking for help? Now her glasses are off, Liz can see dark circles under her eyes and a slight wobble to her lips. She locks her arm with Darcy’s.
“Let’s go for a walk, the complimentary water here is just awful!”
Liz and Darcy used to hum as they walked together, and they danced a little too