In Case of Emergency by Poorna Bell

Author:Poorna Bell [Bell, Poorna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781529157673
Publisher: Cornerstone
Published: 2022-07-07T00:00:00+00:00

11

After therapy with Kendra, my head felt so full, I had to walk around the block for a bit. I wove into and around Harley Street, wondering how many others had done the same, lost in their own world, their thoughts louder than the construction noise on the streets.

When I’d tried to talk to Devi about everything that had happened on that holiday in Cornwall, she hadn’t listened to me. I remember her telling me that girls fighting was normal, and that we’d make up in no time. But the rest of that summer had gone by, the loneliest I’d ever spent, and we hadn’t.

As the new school year approached, I became more panicked about starting my A-levels with none of my friends talking to me. I started humming to calm myself down, biting my nails until they were raw. The weekend before the start of term, I was left with only my parents to ask for advice. Dad was the one I’d usually approach but he was at another dentists’ conference. Out of sheer desperation, I asked my mother for advice, fully expecting to be told I was being silly. Instead she made me sit with her and roll the pundi for a dish called yetti pundi, a coconut-based prawn curry accompanied by rice dumplings. It was a very labour-intensive dish and was being made as a treat for Dad’s return. I groaned at having to do chores, but rolling the rice into little balls was unexpectedly soothing.

I didn’t tell her about why my friends and I had fallen out – I wasn’t that stupid – but as we prepared the dish, I remember her saying that she’d grown up in a big family, and what she’d learned was that you couldn’t avoid conflict. You couldn’t control someone else’s actions and reactions, and the best you could do was to learn how to handle disagreements in a way that you felt comfortable with. I don’t think I fully understood her advice then, because I was so consumed with feeling betrayed and angry at the girls, but I remember thinking, I’m so glad I came to you. But then the next time I came to her with a problem, she told me I was overreacting, and we went back to not talking about things.

Something about the parallels between then and now resonated enough for me to call her. We hadn’t spoken since our abrupt conversation at Ama’s barbecue.

‘Bel,’ she said, her voice immediately tight and upset. My mother held onto hurt feelings in the same way that camels can retain water for long periods of time. We exchanged small talk about Dad, how Karen was doing (‘she’s on her phone ALL the time’). Then: ‘Well, I have to go. Dinner won’t cook itself,’ Mum said. That, along with ‘this isn’t a hotel’, was one of her favourite phrases.

‘Mum,’ I said gently, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you when we last spoke.’

‘You really hurt my feelings,’ she said, not without justification.

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