Freckles(40)

He’s busy with his back to me, banging and pouring, all elbows and shoulders.

How’s Ariana, I ask.

She’s great. She’s a fuckin princess, he says, back still turned, pouring the batter into the waffle machine. She had her first Irish dance feis on Saturday.

He turns around, wipes his brow with his dishcloth on his shoulder, and reaches into the pocket in the front of his apron for his phone. He shows me a photo.

There she is. Had her spray tan done for the day an’ all, she was bleedin delighted. She’d all the gear on, youngest in the group, hadn’t a feckin clue what she was doin, dances like her ma, stomps like a horse, ah no, only jokin, her ma was all-Ireland champion, not that she’d be able to kick her legs now with all the extra weight, but I’m sayin nothin about nothin. They say people get fat when they’re happy so she must be delirious.

So everything’s okay then, I say.

She said if I showed up she’d call the guards, but I wasn’t missing that for nothin. I stayed for her dance and left straight away, she didn’t win a prize or nothin. Ma and Da were both there, no drama, I left her paedo boyfriend to himself, watchin the kids performing with sweaty palms. Didn’t even look at the ugly sisters. Happy with that, and then this morning I get this fuckin letter, he reaches into his pouch and retrieves a wrinkled letter and hands it to me. Take a look at that, Freckles, and you tell me what the fuck is goin on.

I look at my empty coffee cup sitting at the coffee machine, and my waffle in the waffle machine, concerned, but Spanner’s just looking at me, so I lower my gaze to the letter and reluctantly read.

Whistles shuffles in. No amount of coffee can remove his stench. It makes me thinks of Pops and his clothes and I’m glad I’ve washed everything from his wardrobe so there’s nobody thinking the same thing about him that I’m thinking about Whistles right now. He whistles to get Spanner’s attention, and I look up from the letter. Whistles is holding the half-eaten doughnut up in the air.

What’s up with you, Spanner asks.

He jiggles the doughnut while whistling.

Jam, Spanner says, you don’t like jam.

He whistles a high tone. Correct answer.

Well, your highness, Spanner bows dramatically, if you please do let me know which of my pastries are to your liking, I’d be most delighted to oblige you, seeing as I’ve nothin better to be doin around here.

Whistles is squeezing the doughnut too tight, the jam oozes and drips from the doughnut on to the page I’m holding.

For fuck sake, Spanner says, literally throwing his towel down.

Whistles jerks around nervously, whistling sporadically like he’s a radio that’s lost its signal.

I grab a napkin to clean it but to be honest I’m more concerned about my waffle still being in the machine, burning. The crowd from the Dart will be coming soon and I don’t want to be squeezed in here with them and their morning breaths and moods.

I know this is a bad time, I say to Spanner, who’s coming round the counter to either grab Whistles or the strawberry-jam-smeared letter, but I’m hungry so I say to him, my waffle.

It stops him in his tracks and gives Whistles a chance to escape. He looks angry, that I can tell, but I don’t know if it’s at me, at Whistles, or because of the jam on the legal letter, at Chloe, or at the waffle. I don’t know, I’m not good at this stuff. He finds patience and goes back around the counter and opens the waffle machine. They’re burned. He starts again, which is frustrating because time is ticking away.

They can’t do what they’re saying, I say finally, they can’t stop you visiting your daughter.

I know, Spanner says, haven’t I been sayin that for the past few months. First it was Chloe keeping her away from me and now she wants to make it legal. I didn’t cause the fight at the christening, the paedo boyfriend hit me, not the other way around. I only hit him because he hit me first. Bringing up the assault and battery charges from years ago, before I even met Chloe, is a low fuckin blow. I was nineteen, that was a long time ago, I served my time. I’ve never harmed Chloe, or Ariana, and I never would. His voice cracks and he looks away to compose himself.

The light on the waffle machine turns green. Spanner is still composing himself, muscles working in his jaw but I can’t let the waffle burn again. It will delay me even further and I have a routine, a schedule to keep. I don’t do well when it’s broken. And I have to call Pops.

My waffle, Spanner.

Yeah. Sorry, he says, shoulders drooped, and turns to the machine. Just one of those days, you know.

I place the legal letter on the counter. Spanner hands me my coffee and my waffle wrapped in newspaper, or greaseproof paper made to look like newspaper. He’s forgotten the icing sugar. The bruise around his eye is gone but maybe because I know it’s there I can still see it. I suppose that’s what happens when you know people for so long. You know about all the bruises and marks that were once there and you can still see them even when they’re gone.

Here give this to him outside when you’re passing, will ye, Spanner says wearily, handing me a plain doughnut.

The village is sleepy due to the school holidays. Monday will be back to normal, crankier heads than usual. It helps that the spring weather is actually spring-like, which for us is like summer. Traffic is non-existent right now but will amp up as the day moves on, as people make their way to the coastal town. Most people are using their legs on a day like this in dresses and skirts and shorts. Arms and legs coming out of hibernation. Chins are up. Little for me to do in the way of checking parking tickets but I do my bit. The silver BMW still isn’t outside the hair and nail salon, she must be away. On holidays too. The kids off school. The girls are laughing louder than usual inside, or maybe I’m imagining it. I feel protective on her behalf, feel like I’ve to keep an eye on things while she’s gone. Her space has been empty most mornings, like if she can’t park there, nobody else is good enough to park there. I look at the empty space for a while, I don’t like it not being there, then move on.