Freckles(79)

You disgusting little freak.

I can’t defend myself.

Get out of my house. Get out of my house, she screams, and I hop to it, to the back door. You better pack your things straight away and be gone by tomorrow. Silly Allegra, silly silly Allegra, I hear her say to Cillín in her shrill tone as she comforts him. What were her silly friends doing in that video. Do you want some cookies, sweetie, she asks and I hear the tremble in her voice.

I walk across the lawn, feeling dazed, disoriented, and in shock.

You pervert, she hisses at me finally, before the door slides over and bangs closed.

And now it’s not just the freckles that connect me to Pops.





Twenty-Nine


Paddy answers the door. I wasn’t sure if he’d be home. I wasn’t sure if he’d answer the door. I wasn’t even sure if he’d let me in. He does all of these things.

He leads me to the TV room. He has Come Dine with Me paused. He looks at me, twiddling his thumbs.

Is your mam here, I ask.

No. She’s in the home. I’ll take her out for the day tomorrow.

I nod. Here. This is for you. I hand him the bag, so heavy it has almost pulled my arm from my socket on the walk from the bus stop. Happy belated birthday.

It’s an olive oil hamper. It was expensive. A selection of infused organic olive oils.

You already got me the marinades, he says, taking it out of the bag. Ooh. White truffle, he says, running his fingers over the plastic that protects the hamper. Mint-infused, basil-infused. Hey, lime-infused. He grins, a real smile. Liquid gold. Thanks, Allegra.

Okay, maybe it’s more of an apology present. I’m sorry, Paddy. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I arrived in Dublin and I haven’t been that back to you. I want you to know that I consider you a friend, whether you like me or not right now.

Thanks, Allegra. I appreciate it. Really, it’s all water under the bridge now.

But it’s still awkward. I’ve ruined it forever. I better go. I have some house-hunting to do. I have to be out of my flat by Monday. Hopefully I can stay in Malahide.

You should probably wait to see where you’re relocated to.

Yeah. Have you heard anything yet, I ask, hopeful the whole system has miraculously changed.

I’m leaving Fingal.

What, why.

I got a new job as a parking patrol officer. In town. Rotating roster. Four ten-hour shifts per week. Possible overtime. I get to drive a brand-new van, new uniform, mobile phone and personal protective equipment. Forty k a year.

Wow, Paddy. Congratulations.

Yeah. Yeah, it’s good for me. And I need it for Ma’s bills you know.

Yeah. That’s great. I’m surprised by how I feel the emotion swell in my throat. My feeling that this is the end. Everything’s over or at least is finishing before I’m ready to go. Good luck, Paddy.

I’ll be around for the next few weeks though. And I’m not dying. We can still keep in touch.

Of course. I smile. Okay see you Monday.

Good luck with the house-hunting.

I have no luck with the house-hunting. Everything in Malahide is too expensive. I’ve everything packed up, my whole world in two suitcases and I’m contemplating checking into a Premier Inn when Donnacha calls by.

I’m sorry, he says immediately. It’s my fault.

I don’t know if he knows about the video on my phone but I’m not bringing it up.

It’s not as creepy as it seems, trust me, he says. He moves out of his position and reaches out of sight to retrieve the canvas. I bought it for you, he says. I was going to give it to you. Just didn’t get around to it yet. Was trying to figure out how to do it in a way that wouldn’t be creepy. So much for that.

I have to laugh at that.

Becky thought I drew it … I have informed her of the facts.

He hands it to me.

I saw this at the gallery. I thought it captured you beautifully, that you should have it.

I take it from him and study it properly. It’s pastel crayon. I never saw this one before. And he’s right, it is me. I look into my eyes and it’s like I’m trying to tell myself something. A kind of bemused tilt to my lips. My freckles, dotted all across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Less so on my body, but it’s as though the artist has captured each one perfectly. Mapped them out like the stars in the sky. My left arm shows the scars, the constellations I spent countless nights mapping out. An artist who noticed. It’s better than beautiful. It’s me.

Genevieve is the artist, he says. It wasn’t for sale, and I had a hard time convincing her to sell it. But then I told her it was for you. First time I’ve ever seen Genevieve shy, but she wanted you to have it.

Thank you, I say, deeply touched.

Do you have somewhere to stay, he asks.

I shake my head, tears welling.

A friend you can call, he says, shifting from foot to foot nervously. He doesn’t want me to be his problem and the more questions he asks, the higher the chance that I will be.

Again, I shake my head.

Well then we can’t just chuck you out on the street. Legally. You’ve paid until the end of the month, he asks, and I nod. Stay until the end of the month. Find someplace else in the meantime. I’ll tell Becky. And just maybe, for both your sakes, stay out of each other’s way.

Thank you, I sigh with relief.