Freckles(71)

Are you okay. Three little words. When is the last time somebody asked me that. I can’t remember.

I feel it all well up inside me. All the sadness and fear and anxiety and stress of it all. And the hurt. So much hurt. And I start crying.

Oh dear, well I knew there was a reason I had to force you to come in today. Talk to me, she says, reaching out to hold me. I take a deep breath and feel like I haven’t spoken in at least seven months.

I tell her everything. Absolutely everything. About Pops, about Carmencita, about Tristan and the five people. About Marion and Jamie and Cyclops. I even tell her about the men in the art classes, and finding Becky on my bed. I tell her that I’m a weird creepy girl who can’t seem to get anything right. I cry and we laugh, and she talks and she shares and my God it feels so normal and natural with her and nobody’s life is perfect and that’s good for me to hear. We’re all just trying and all of us get it wrong sometimes. It’s not just me. I feel nothing but relief when we’re finished that not all humans are horrific species who misunderstand and blame, and twist and lie, and hurt others just to make themselves feel better. Some people are kind.

Later I sit on the stool before the full class, knowing my eyes are puffy and red, that my nose is stuffed from crying, but I can’t hide it. I look out the windows above their heads, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in a while.

On the bus on the way home, I open my notebook and go to the final dot of my invisible five people.

Genevieve



Because she knows exactly what lies beneath.





Twenty-Six


A letter. For me. Handwritten.

Department of Justice and Equality

51 St Stephen’s Green

Dublin 2

D02 HK52

Dear Allegra,

Your aunt Pauline gave me your kind letter when I visited the Mussel House last weekend, a glorious sunny day in Kerry, there’s nothing quite like it, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Thank you for your letter. What an intriguing theory you have raised. To think of those around you as those who help curate the person you are is something I will give some thought to over the coming days. Over a lifetime, yes of course I could name you five who have deeply influenced me, but to look around us now is a challenge indeed, one that is a wonderful way to honour and appreciate those around us. I’m honoured and flattered to think that I have inspired you in some way and all I can hope is that you continue to work hard and be happy with family and friends and that in your quest you continue to flourish and find happiness and kindness in those you choose to surround yourself with.

I’m very fond of your aunt Pauline, please give her my regards should you find yourself in Kerry before I do. You should look into doing a postal vote for the by-election. I understand holidays are scarce, but Mary Lyons is a wonderful candidate who deserves your vote. Attaching information here on how to apply for the postal vote,

Best wishes

Ruth Brasil

Friday morning. A day off. Uniform-free, wearing the best sundress and trainers I could find and afford, the Minister for Justice’s letter in my bag placing a spring in my step, I nervously adjust myself and enter Casanova salon.

Welcome, welcome, my mother says to me warmly as she guides me into the salon. I’ve never been inside, I’ve never had reason to, have always been too afraid, too unprepared. Oh don’t you look beautiful, she says, admiring my dress. Sunshine yellow, one of my favourite colours to wear but girls like you and me get away with it, yes, she asks. But she’s not asking, she’s telling me.

Yes, I nod and smile. Girls like me and you, Mam.

She doesn’t recognise me. Certainly not as her daughter but neither as the nasty parking warden from last week. She doesn’t know I’m the weird creepy girl.

It’s beautiful today, I manage.

Oh yes yes, she says, distracted, looking through the bookings. Allegra, yes, she says and I nod, heart pounding faster at the sound of my name from her lips. She didn’t name me, Pops did, I don’t know if she ever discovered my name, I’m guessing not, due to her reaction, or if she ever learned it then she quickly forgot it and me. I didn’t give them a surname when I was booking, I didn’t have to, the girl on the phone didn’t ask for more, with a name like Allegra they usually don’t need to. I don’t know what I would have said if she’d asked for more. So far I have not lied, I have refrained from telling the full truth. I don’t want to begin to lie.

Wash and blow-dry, she says.

I nod but she can’t hear my nod so I force out a healthy yes. Should I tell her now that I’m the parking warden. It is better to get it out of the way, to get in there first. Let it come from me before she guesses or figures it out. Before one of the girls in here who witnessed our exchange recognises me and dobs me in. There’s one other staff member, a blonde beauty in black, shampooing, and she stares at a distant thought in the future as she massages the woman’s head, the woman with her head over the sink has her eyes closed and looks like she’s dead, if it wasn’t for the rising and falling of her chest.

I specifically asked for Carmencita to do my hair. I took the only slot she had left in the day, apparently all the women want her and she’s more expensive too. She’s the most senior, the owner, the manager, the president of the Chamber of Commerce, for God’s sake. I had to make sure I had enough money for the experience. And there’s the new dress I’m wearing today. Most people begin their pampering at the hair salon for a pending event; for me, the salon is the event and I prepared for her. It’s worth it. She likes the dress, it’s the first thing she said.