‘Receive one thousand for your thesis,’ James reads from the board.
‘Oh, don’t mind if I do!’ says Maya, taking a crisp pink bill from the bank and puffing out her shoulders.
Maya and James are on their small terrace, playing the battered old Game of Life from the box they borrowed from the common room, seeking solace from the midday sun. It also helped distance them from the tasty food smells coming from the restaurant kitchen.
James winces as he spins the wheel. Even the soft click and whir of the little plastic prong on the number wheel is bothering the dehydration headache that’s starting to creep across his temples.
‘Nine,’ he says, while he pushes his brown Wayfarers up his nose and advances a plastic yellow car around a track. He lands on a red rectangle. ‘Get married,’ he says sombrely. ‘I don’t know what that means.’
Maya feels frustrated. They went through this when they played yesterday.
‘Spin the wheel and I give you money depending on the number you land on,’ Maya says begrudgingly. She’s already annoyed that James landed on ‘journalist’ – the career with the biggest salary apparently – and he gets 20,000 every pay day.
James spins again and works out how much his wedding gift will cost Maya. Maya doesn’t make the obvious joke and ask James who he’s marrying, she’s not in the mood, but she rummages in the small plastic bag of colourful cars and pink and blue pegs, takes out a pink peg and flicks it across the board at him.
‘That’s 2,000 please.’
Maya frowns and hands over the money, then spins the wheel for her turn.
James tries to lighten the mood. ‘So Nena was OK?’
‘Yeah fine.’
‘Tom all right?’
‘For fuck’s sake! Teacher. Salary 8,000.’ Maya rolls her eyes. ‘No, he was out, it was just Nena.’
Maya doesn’t mention Ava.
‘She seems OK though.’
James spins and Maya watches life’s lottery favour him again.
‘But it cut out, we didn’t really talk for long.’
‘I guess you told her about running into Jon.’
James moves his car along the board.
‘Yeah, weirdly she bumped into an old uni friend in Stoke Newington,’ Maya is relieved to counter. ‘Not quite the way I did.’ She rubs her forehead.
‘Twins!’ James laughs. ‘Take two pegs and receive 2,000 from each player. Hang on, is that 2,000 per twin?’
Maya frowns again while James rummages in the small plastic bag. The sound of his fumbling for pegs agitates Maya and she bites her lip.
‘What shall I have? Two boys, two girls, one of each?’
‘I don’t fucking know!’ Maya snaps, standing up to go inside and find a can of Coke on the bedside table. Except there is no can of Coke on the bedside table, they’re detoxing, so she comes straight back out. She wants something, but she can’t face her lymph flush juice yet.
James looks confused and rubs his temple. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing!’
Maya throws the money across the board and James gives a conciliatory look.
‘Look, why don’t you go for a run, you seem like you could do with it.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Jame—’
‘I’m not, you just seem like you need to—’
‘It’s too hot to run!’
‘OK, I was just—’
‘I can’t anyway. I feel awful. I have zero energy. I won’t do sunrise yoga tomorrow.’
James is relieved to hear it as he has no intention of ever doing sunrise yoga again.
‘And I’m so hungry. I need chocolate.’
Maya’s neediness softens her, which in turn softens James.
‘Me too. My head’s hurting.’
Maya and James give each other consolatory smiles and hold hands across the low table they’re hunched over. The sound of Bob Marley coming from the restaurant helps defuse the discord.
‘Let’s finish this, eh, and have a nap,’ James suggests. ‘Sod it, maybe we just sleep through the next few days.’
‘We’ve got colonics at three, remember?’
James scrunches up his face.
‘Your move then,’ he says, a competitive glint in his eye that irks Maya and she lets go of his hand.
She spins the wheel of misfortune and moves her red car along. When they played yesterday she cheerily sang ‘Little Red Corvette’ as her piece wound around the bends on the board. James can tell that won’t happen today.
‘Five,’ she states. ‘One, two, three, four, five.’ Maya cranes her neck to read what’s on the board. ‘Honeymoon over: pay 10,000 for overdue bills.’
James shrinks into his rattan chair.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Maya says, pushing the board away as she gets back up. There still isn’t a can of Coke in the bedroom.