Four Hundred Quid Vritti Bansal Vritti Bansal is primarily a nonfiction writer with prior experience as a food journalist. Her fiction work and poetry are mostly born out of reality, too. Apart from cuisine, she likes new places and people. She feels strongly about animal welfare and women's rights.
Two girls sat on the bench in front of Kathy, giggling away about something she couldn't be bothered to overhear. One of them was slightly taller than the other, and reminded her of Kim. She felt sorry for the girl sitting next to the taller one, who was looking at her with affection in the middle of her laughs, just the way anyone would look at a person they trusted and adored. Kathy couldn’t help her thoughts: She doesn't care about you as much as you care about her. Oh, she'll call you tomorrow to cancel your shopping date. Even worse, she'll text. She'll disconnect your call to speak to her boyfriend of one week. She'll leave you crying in the middle of the night. Even when your granddad passes away. The walk home was a blur for Kathy. She usually stopped to play with dogs being walked by their friendly owners but today they all seemed invisible to her. Not until she reached the front door did Kathy realise that she had forgotten to pick up the milk that her mother had asked for. Her parents’ house was a classy, yet modest structure in the quieter part of Maida Vale. It appeared even more idyllic than usual, if seen from the mid-point of the imaginary line that joined the only two parallel trees on that street. She walked in and threw her coat on the chair beside the TV cabinet, jumping slightly as the door closed behind her with an unexpected bang. Stupid fucking door. She gave up trying to avoid her phone and as she turned it around to look at the screen; there were no six missed calls from Kim, or three texts. Fine. Absentmindedly staring at the curtains, she saw images of the two girls she had seen in the park. Everyone needs a best friend. I can't overreact. Kathy took a deep breath and dialled Kim. Her reflection in the windowpane revealed an expectant face, and she played along. She's going to pick up with her usual enthusiastic ‘hello’. She must've had something serious on her mind. I need to have more control over my temper. Maybe she's working and the phone is in the living room. Maybe she's... "The person you're trying to reach is not answering". *** "People who walk out the door when your life's about average shouldn’t be allowed back in when it's going fabulously well, just because they want to be part of your life again, when you have better 76
