Hands by Lauren Brown

Author:Lauren Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-11-28T12:57:32+00:00

6

Spoon

The hills in Lisbon were killer. Tanned locals slouched in their shaded doorways drinking cold beer as the sun reached its blinding height, amusement twinkling in their eyes as they watched us foolish tourists walk the vertiginous city under beating, cloudless heat. They had watched many thousands do the same and would surely watch thousands more. Only after a couple of exhausting days of well-intentioned exploration did we realise, or decide to accept, that between noon and three there really was nothing for it but to nap and lounge around our Airbnb or duck into a bar for something tall with ice in.

We were following Google Maps up winding cobbled roads lined with deep tram tracks, turning round corners into dusty side streets that led us down where we’d just walked up, weaving sweatily and breathlessly through labyrinthine streets strung with colourful bunting and drying laundry. The scalp of my hair’s parting roasted red and tingling. We were hunting for a contemporary art gallery buried somewhere in the city. Bright yellow trams slipped by us, full to the brim. We stopped for ice creams at a tiny shop before trudging onward, this way and that, wondering if we’d ever stumble upon our destination.

When we did, it didn’t look like much, just a white sign outside a building blending in with the rest. I couldn’t really complain, anyway. The idea of planning anything fills me with pure dread (the idea of doing anything that requires any effort fills me with pure dread), and while I try not to take the piss out of my co-holidayers by dutifully picking out one or two things to add to the agenda, I generally ride holidays from the backseat. I’m lucky, really, to be surrounded by people with an appetite for scheduling days around landmarks and bars they’ve read about, cafes, art galleries. My university friends were (are) to me shining beacons of sophistication and good taste, and were (are) better at this stuff than me anyway. I’m happy if the flights are cheap and the food good. But crucially, cheap.

And hey, listen, I have good taste too, OK? I know that Jeff Koons’ ‘art’ is ‘garbage’ (I didn’t hire ‘studio serfs’ to write this for me, promise) and that (think, Lauren, think) Georgia O’Keefe’s isn’t. But on my most anxious days, the many potentialities of the day clamour loudly to the front of my mind from the second I wake up, as though I’ve slept through the most catastrophic event in history, and also I’m President of Earth.

Imagine that scene in Bruce Almighty where Jim Carrey has to dash out of the fancy restaurant’s side door because the sound of everyone’s prayers overwhelms him. The choice paralysis of what to have for breakfast (I really want this, ah but it’s not very healthy, but you’ve had a hard week, you’ll regret having used the milk when it runs out, yes but that’s what milk is for? Whatever, it will always run out and anyway

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