Freckles(56)

Go on, get him, Allegra, Tristan says, as if I’m a guard dog. Cats, he hisses in my ear.

I stop and watch the guy.

Come on, Tristan urges me.

Wait, I say, keeping an eye on the time. When two minutes is up, I approach him. Excuse me, I say, you can’t park here on double yellow lines.

I was just loading, he says, barely meeting my eye.

No you weren’t.

He looks at me like he wants to use the saw on me.

I was loading, he says slowly, as though I’m stupid. Therefore I can legitimately park. I’m old enough to know the rules of the road, young one.

I feel Tristan tensing beside me and I put my hand out to stop him from advancing. Let me, I say quietly.

I’ve observed you for two minutes and there are no signs of loading here.

I’m impassive as he roars at me, drops his stuff, grabs his keys, swears at me as he gets in the car and speeds off.

Jesus, Tristan says, watching him, anger pumping through him. Do you get many like him.

Sometimes, I smile. Sometimes people are nice and will apologise when I give them a ticket. Most are defensive and some are aggressive. It makes you realise what people are going through. It’s a trigger that can let loose built-up stress, I say the words that Paddy said to me when he was training me. Now I understand them better. Oddly Tristan has helped me to understand that. Maybe you can learn about humans.

I don’t think I’d have the temperament to be talked to like that, he says, which I think is nonsense because I’ve witnessed his staff speaking to him in what I consider unacceptable ways but I don’t say this.

Who was the worst person you ever had, he asks.

You, I say quietly. You got to me the most. And I walk on.





Twenty-One


I browse through Daisy’s Instagram photos to get a sense of what she wears on a night out. We’re going out tonight, Saturday night. But first I have the live art session at Monty’s. I no longer have the physically sick feeling when I think back to Tuesday night. The I will never drink again mantra has left me, which is timely because I’m going to need some Dutch courage to meet up with Daisy after all this time. Her life is phenomenal. She works with an international aid charity, she travels the world. She’s selfless and sophisticated. She has a level of class that I just don’t have and I’m hoping some of that can rub off on me. Right after I pose nude for a group of strangers, some of whom I’ve slept with.

We’re meeting in a place called Las Tapas de Lola, on Wexford Street at 8 p.m. I’ve had tapas plenty of times before, in fact Pops used to bring me to tapas restaurants and order the Catalonian specials, even encouraged me to take Spanish lessons in school in an effort to feed my cultural heritage. When it came to eating out I chose the Pakistani restaurant, and at school I chose to learn French instead. I don’t know, maybe I was trying to reject Carmencita like she rejected me. Maybe I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to learn the language and I’d fail again without her knowing.

Maybe I just wanted to learn French and eat different food.

But first I must face the gallery. The details of our night out are still pretty hazy and I cringe as snippets of conversations with Genevieve and Jasper come back to me. Things I said and shouldn’t have said, things I don’t think I even meant but liked the feeling of saying aloud. I arrive very close to starting time, deliberately so, less time to chat. I hope when I enter Jasper is busy with a customer but I’m afraid not. He looks up: hi Allegra, hi Jasper. Cringey-cringe-cringe. I walk up the steps, out of his view. Genevieve is on her phone, thankfully, talking to an artist, rolling her eyes at me as he or she blathers on. For someone who loves art, she has complications with the artists. Needy fuckers, she always calls them.

I disappear behind the changing screen. The room is being aired, the chairs and easels are set up. I feel an uneasiness about doing this today; it’s difficult to sit and wait when you’re excited for something. Time goes especially slow. I never had a problem sitting in all the weeks and months before, because there was nothing to be excited about.

I came across the job advertisement before I left Valentia when I was looking for accommodation. For the first two weeks in Dublin I was house sharing with two professionals from the tech sector, so the advertisement said. They were looking for a male or female, 125 euro per week for a box bedroom with a single bed … It didn’t go down well when she found me in my single bed in my box bedroom with him. They never said they were together. Not once. Never shared a touch or kiss in my company. They had separate rooms. How was I supposed to know. I was happy enough to leave. I lived there for a month, during training, and when I was placed in Fingal for work it made sense to move out there. I got the job at the gallery to cover the cost of the house share, paid them in cash. Thought I was being clever but Dublin’s expensive, money goes fast. A coffee, a sandwich, a small run to the shop and bam it’s gone.

I remove my clothes behind the screen and listen to Genevieve discuss a picture frame for longer than a frame ever needs to be discussed.

I moisturise my skin and wrap the kimono around me just in time to hear the artists arrive. Genevieve tells Vincent she must go but she’ll call him later to pick up where they left off.

Needy fucking artists, she mumbles as she hangs up.

Hi Allegra, sorry about that. Bloody Vincent.

I heard.