My Favourite Part

42: precious

After a questionable morning, Pip makes for great company. He makes me laugh the whole way to the restaurant – he says it's a café called Megan's – and at moments like this I almost forget I'm not at home with an old friend... Except for when he opens his mouth and something undeniably upper class comes out.

As we drive up to the large windows of Megan's and he reverses into a spot right outside the quaint café, I ask him if their 'brunch' is any good.

"Oh yeah, it's class," he nods avidly, "best breakfast in the Cots, for sure. Except for the bloody £50 parking fee."

I almost choke. "Fifty quid? What the-" But when I peer into the rear-view mirror, the message on the ruby-red message board is clear: NO PARKING. PUNISHABLE BY A FINE OF £50.

"Pip, that's- that's a fine, not a fee. As in, you're not allowed to park here or else they charge you fifty quid."

He's already halfway to the door tucking his shades into his Polo pocket by the time I've finished my sentence.

"Come on, then!"

───

Megan's has an air of effortless 'la-di-da' perfection. With birdcage lanterns for lights, and pearlescent white velvet seats, it feels as though we're sat in the front cover of a Home & Lifestyle magazine.

"Hang on, so," Pip starts as he shakes off his jacket, picking up from where we left off in the car, "she actually said, word for word, that you and Aubs aren't fated to be together?"

"Yep," I nod. "Well, sort of. I mean, that's how I heard it at least."

"Okay, so you're not her pick for the golden boy – so what?"

"You know, I don't even think that was what got to me. It was like..." I ball my hand into a fist when I'm tempted to bite at my nail. "I don't know. Do you believe it? The whole 'being destined to be with your social equal' thing?" 

"Fuck, no," Pip says with certainty, "although, I don't believe in destiny at all so maybe I'm not the target audience for your question. But, regardless, Aubs is his own man. Yeah, there's pressure to 'be a Macklin' and schmooze with politicians and date Middletons," Pip deepens his voice for maximum hoity-toity effect, "but, I dunno, he's just not really like that."

I exhale and nod as I run a finger over the bright menu on the table. Okay... that's comforting.

"I think," he adds with a squint, nonchalant as he turns to his own menu. Huh?

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean by what you just said?"
"It depends on what you mean when you ask what I meant by what I just said?"

"Pip."

His facetious grin softens,

"Alright, alright." He runs a hand through his hair, clearing the golden locks from his face. "The thing is: everyone here's a bit of a prick – as I'm sure you've noticed."

I mime zipping up my lips, but he's right, and he chuckles before continuing.

"And all the pretention and politics can be a lot. Especially when you scrub it off and avoid it for ages and then you get thrown into the thick of it, like Aubs.  When you're soaking in it, it's hard not to absorb a little bit."

Pip turns his attention back to the menu with a shrug, and I grab the opportunity to take a long look at him.

His bony cheeks are slightly flushed, still warm with his laughter. When I look at him, when I look at Eric, I see kindness; charm; sensitivity. But I'm not entirely naïve – I know what he means. People as materialistic as Freddie, or as calculating as Louisa and Kitty, far outnumber the Erics and Pips of their world. Although I can't imagine either of them anything like that, I can't deny that they fit here, in some ineffable way. Pip's truthful words make sense, and I'd be lying if I said they didn't scare me just a bit.