Checca Aird (She/her) grew up in Southern Africa before returning home to London. While most of her time is spent at her day job as an analyst, she makes time each morning, and most nights, for her first love – writing. Checca has been published in literary magazines such as Blydyn Square Review and Impspired and is currently working on her first novel @FrankieSRivers

Off the Cuff

Nicole

Nicole’s eyelids spasm and twitch. Grey March light floods through a steathly crack in the thick Georgian curtains. Burrowing deeper into the too-soft Airbnb pillows she tries to ignore the sounds of Jamie in the ensuite. A violent spill of last night’s bhuna and Tokyo-ice-teas barely a few metres from their bed. They’d only been going out since November, not long enough to share friend-groups, let alone bathroom routines. The toilet flushes, forcing the rented apartment to cough and splutter as it attempts to clear its ancient pipes. Nicole tucks the blanket artfully around her naked stomach and folds her hands under her cheek, taking one last peek to check her breasts aren’t creased beneath her elbows.

The door creaks open. Jamie’s elfin feet hardly bend the fibers on the plush carpet before she slides into bed. Dry lips press against Nicole’s forehead and the smell of spearmint and listerine waft up her nose as she finally allows her eyes to flutter open.

“Morning Noonoo.” Jamie’s toothpaste stained mouth smiles inches from her own.

“Morning,” Nicole stretches in a way she knows will make her stomach look flat. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to wake up,” Jamie says, thrusting her lilac painted toes onto Nicole’s thighs. The resulting squeals ricochet against the high ceilings.

“Why are you always so bloody cold?” She wails, body tensing against the attack.

“Why are you always so lovely and warm?” Jamie gurgles like a baby who has finally got her way.

“Must be cause we’re made for each other.”

Jamie rolls her eyes but Nicole knows she’s basking in the sentiment. Nicole watches as Jamie lifts her thrifted Glastonbury T-shirt and caresses her bloated belly.

“That curry was fab but I’m really feeling it today.”

Nicole sneaks a glance at herself and then rolls onto her stomach.

“I’ve eaten so much this weekend, I’m gonna be two sizes larger by the time we get back to London.”

“The ancient Greeks didn’t calorie count and they lived to be like a hundred,” Jamie says, pushing her shirt back down.

“Is that a fact?”

“Probably. Even if it isn’t, who cares? Just means there’s more of you to love,” Jamie ducks under the covers and hugs Nicole’s hips.

“Love?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Jamie’s muffied voice drifts through the duvet. “it’s just an expression.”

“Did you see the weather forecast? It’s supposed to reach thirteen degrees this week,” Nicole says, carefully pouring steaming water from a tower kettle into an egg-shell china teapot.

“Practically summer!” Jamie mumbles, jabbing the stove’s touch pad in frustration.

“Well, more like edging towards Spring. But I reckon we should start thinking about the summer. Maybe we could plan a real holiday?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jamie pours the whisked eggs into the pan. “Crap, should I have put some oil in first?”

“Should be fine: it’s non-stick. They don’t provide oil here anyways. I mean we don’t have to plan it right now, but you know all the best hotels get booked up early.”

“Let’s have a look when we get home. I’d feel like I was cheating on this holiday if I started planning another one before it’s even over.” Jamie slides the pan off the heat with a contented sigh.

“Ok fair enough. Lips zipped, throw away the key,” Nicole says in an octave higher than she planned.

“How did you lock a zip?”

“Oh shhh you. Come on, let’s eat. Check out is in less than an hour.”

Eggs and avocado cleared away Nicole starts to systematically stuff their belongings into her backpack.

“Wait, wait! Those are my undies, you perv,” Jamie laughs, grabbing the thin lace from Nicole’s hands.

Nicole pushes a stray hair behind her ear. “Does it matter? You can get them back from my place next weekend. I’ll even wash them for you.”

“So kind. But I might need them this week. Let’s just keep our stuff separate, avoid confusion. Why don’t you go fill out the guest book? Since you’ve clearly finished packing.”

Cold silver light streaks across the cardstock page, highlighting cherished memories immortalised in a plethora of inks and handwriting. Some guests scribbled so quickly their message is illegible. Others wrote in a bodacious caps-lock that ignores borders altogether.

Phillip and Phillipa from Australia had seen their first fox in the back garden. The Shiptons had spent their twenty-third anniversary snuggled in front of the fire-place, and Josie from Hertfordshire had watched the coronation from the chaise-lounge.

Nicole picks up the retractable pen from the sideboard and stares at the empty boxes, willing the perfect words to form on the page. She thinks about Jamie, how lucky she was to find her in a city with so much choice that it’s almost impossible to be chosen. She remembers all the dates she’s been on, all the apps she’s downloaded. The post-rave hook-ups, tables for one, solo trips and silent weekends. Suddenly she knows what to write.

“Ready to go,” The echo of Jamie’s sing-song voice is interrupted by the slam of the front door. “Nicole?” 

Jamie

Jamie holds her breath. Gingerly, she pinches the cistern chain. Nothing. Squeezing her eyes shut, she yanks the cord as if she is a monk ringing a church bell, knowing its chimes have more than likely woken Nicole.

Nicole: Perfect. Real. And somehow all mine.

In all her life she’d never owned something so beautiful. So untainted. From what instagram had told her, Nicole had grown up in a typical middle class family; two alive and mostly present parents, a childhood room she could call her own, and a Mini for her graduation present. But Jamie didn’t begrudge Nicole her comfortable sitcom life. How could she? Even if it wasn’t fair her flaxen haired girlfriend had never had a whiff of the pain and loss that ran beneath happiness like a sewer system under every sunlit path. 

“Jesus,” Jamie whispers. A slight discomfort had led to the realisation of a skid mark, splitting her purple underwear like a freshly painted bus lane. She sighs. The resulting inhale forcing her face to crinkle at the lingering smell. She looks around for a window but is met only with her reflection in the over sink mirror. Dehydrated and dishevelled from the night before, she grins wide at the nest of messy hair and dried black under her eyes.

This is normal. 

Racing a toothbrush over her teeth she squirts globules of Aesop hand wash into the toilet bowl and sink before rinsing them with mouthwash.

Tiptoeing back into the room she stops at the foot of the bed. She takes in the picture Nicole has painted for her and for a brief second, her chest fills with fear. She has no right to something so lovely. She chokes back the thought like bitter medicine and leaps into their bed.

Enveloped by a comfort that is almost suffocating, she blurts things out that she’d hoped to keep secret.

Did I just say love?

She panics, grabbing her phone in a stab at nonchalance. Fingers guided by habit she checks her Whatsapp and Instagram, email and bank account.

Fuck.

She knew Amex transactions took forever to show, but how did she reach those numbers?

Blurry memories of the all rounds she bought, sharpened by the transactions on her screen, flash behind her eyes She stifles a groan, damning her ego and parentally acquired desire to impress.

Such an twat. Why didn’t I let her go splits with me? But it’s fine. Nicole deserves it. That and more. I’ll just up my tutoring hours. There’s always some kid that needs tutoring. Hopefully.

She sneaks a glance at Nicole. Even in her peripheral, she can tell that Nicole’s mouth is crumpled up like an old newspaper while her eyebrows almost reach the ceiling.

Shit shit shit. How long have I been on my phone?

“You ok Noonoo?”

A small grunt.

Jamie apologises and begs Nicole to let her make breakfast, despite knowing full well her most impressive dish is beans on toast. After they eat her brain goes into overdrive with a list of things she needs to do when she gets home. She doesn’t want to think about it. She wants to focus on Nicole. But the paper is out and the writing has begun. If she gets distracted now she’ll have to start from scratch. Tying her soiled underwear into a knot and shoving it to the bottom of her backpack she adds buying black knickers to her list.

Before our next trip.

The thought rockets into daydreams.

Where will we go? More like, where won’t we go?

She couldn’t afford much now but that didn’t matter, they had time. They were so young. Years stretched out in front of them like a lazy cat in the sun. She didnt know which way they would go, but as long as they were together they’d always be warm. When they’d first started Jamie carried the tiny but constant fear that they’d been swept up by the fairy lights and good tidings. But New Years Eve and Valentines had come and gone, and yet they remained. The sudden desire to have her mouth on Nicole’s starts bubbling up inside her like a seasickness, and she races to find her before she projectiles.

Slam!

Nicole

Trees and fields of green speed past as Nicole shoves her phone cable into the train’s rusty charging point. Light blue sky bleeds through thin tears in the clouds, thawing the ponds and farms that line her way from Bath to London. Jamie will be fine, she thinks. She’ll find someone else. Someone who can give her what she wants. She obviously wasn’t interested in the long haul. She didn’t even trust me with her pants for Christ’s sake. At least this way we can have a clean break.

Leaning back into the well worn seats, she tries to remember why she ‘d even agreed to be exclusive with Jamie in the first place. They were both so young. What was the point in living in London if you were single? It was on par with promising fidelity to your childhood sweetheart as you packed for Uni – a complete and utter waste of time.

As her phone regains power a notification pops up on the screen, it’s accompanying ding sending a bump of dopamine to her prefrontal cortex and interrupting her thoughts. Nicole unlocks her screen to a text from her sister-in-law. She exhales slowly and rereads the text.

“Booking an Easter brunch – dw it’s bottomless. Got a date?”

Jamie

The sound of the door makes her jump. Dropping her backpack to the floor Jamie calls for Nicole. No answer. Drawn to the last place Nicole stood like a scavenger to rotting flesh, she scans the guestbook for scraps. Heart tearing through her oesophagus, she quickly flips the pages back to the beginning of the book and starts scanning through entries. She folds the corner of one page, then another and another.

Great stay. I can always depend on Bath to make me want to start anew.

Nicole xox

Gorgeous home. The quiet made me realise that if you

really love something you have to set it free.

N xox

Freezer door not closing fully. Otherwise a perfect stay. 

I always checkout more whole than when I checkin

Niccy xox

Finally, she arrives at Nicole’s entry from today.

Thanks for the lovely stay. Sometimes good things have to be broken

so that better things can be fixed.

Noonoo

P.S A new vent in the ensuite wouldn’t go amiss.

(Nicole xox)  

THE END