Freckles(80)

Everything’s packed away and I’m exhausted. I can’t find my pyjamas so I sleep in my underwear. I hug my portrait to my chest. Refreshing and refreshing my emails in the hope that the minister emails me back.

Hey there, Tristan says, appearing out of nowhere and sitting down on an electrical box. What are you doing.

Sometimes the worst parking offenders can be disabled badge owners thinking they can park anywhere for however long they like, I say.

He laughs.

And then there’s people like this guy here – I point to the white minivan – who have a secret strategy. Or at least they think they do.

And what’s that, he asks me, eyes on me, grinning, arms folded, always amused by my job, or of how seriously I take it. As if, between me and him, I have the most entertaining job.

He’s hogging the temporary space, I explain. Once this van has exhausted the time in a free parking bay, he leaves and instantly returns to the same spot.

Ooh.

Yes ooh. So what I do is record the position of the wheel valve on my handheld computer so that later I can prove it’s been reparked. I’ve been doing this all morning, actually. He’s moved it three times already. Why are you looking at me like that.

You’re fascinating, he says with a grin.

Shut up.

I haven’t told him I’m being relocated. Not because I don’t think he’ll be able to cope without me, but because I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to say it out loud, make my moving away real, though maybe when my plan plays out with Carmencita it won’t matter if I don’t work here or live here. We’ll have formed our own new relationship. A healthier one where I’m not just an irritating parking warden to her. By then I’ll be visiting her in Malahide. It won’t be just a workplace. It’ll be a happy place that I look forward to spending time in. Instead of patrolling, I’ll be strolling with her. Maybe get an ice cream and sit on the beach like other people do. Maybe people won’t give me ugly stares and run when they see me.

I’m on a break, he explains. I like to watch you work. It calms me. Your face goes all – he scrunches up his face – so intense like I have all the power. Mwa-hahahaha.

I laugh and finally lower the machine. He’s lifted me out of my dark mood.

Want to have lunch in my office, he asks, I have something to show you.

I would if I could, but I can’t. I’m meeting Carmencita to discuss the event next week.

Oh of course. Lunch with your mother. He turns serious. I preferred the goofy Tristan. When are you going to tell her who you are.

When the time is right.

Don’t leave it too long.

I know, I know. Look, I’m nervous as it is. I know that I shouldn’t drag it out any longer and I keep meaning to tell her every time we meet but she’s so bloody excited about Minister Brasil coming to the event that I can’t tell her now. Maybe on the night when I’m in her good books. When it’s all worked out and I’ve proved myself. I gulp hard. Or after.

You don’t have to prove yourself to her, he says.

I don’t answer.

Is the minister really coming, he asks, and I hear the doubt in his tone.

You think I’d lie, that I’m some kind of con artist, I ask angrily, as Becky’s accusations return to me.

No, not in a bad way, just like, maybe you’re being hopeful and enjoying your time with her. Maybe you’re caught in a promise that you can’t keep. He studies me to see if he’s right. I just don’t want you digging yourself into anything you can’t get out of.

You sound like my mother. She keeps checking and checking over and over. She keeps calling and meeting with me to go over the details, like she doesn’t believe that I’m handling this.

She’s not dealing with the minister’s office directly, he asks, that suspicious tone entering his voice again.

No. I am. That way I get to act as a middle person. I get to talk to Carmencita more.

Allegra, he rubs his face. You’re stressing me out.

A fella rushes towards us, keys out, as if this is the first time he’s moved the van. Sorry sorry, moving it now, he says good-naturedly.

Another criminal off the streets, well done, Tristan says.

I don’t rise to him.

He pauses. Looks at me for a while. Are you okay.

I have to find a new place to stay. My lease is up. I didn’t get much sleep, I’m just … I sigh … tired.

Take a quick break then and let me show you something, it will cheer you up.

I can’t.

As he’s walking away, I give up.

Okay fine, I call after him, what do you want to show me.

We sit upstairs in his office. He hasn’t claimed Tony’s, even though it’s empty.

The game starts. Warden Wipeout. No blood. No violent beginning. It’s different.

He checks my face.

Don’t worry, I’ve made changes, he says. The idea of the game is to get the errands done in time to get back to your parked car before your parking ticket expires.

The developed town centre looks like it’s modelled on Malahide. A lone person walks the paths, dressed in navy blue and a high-vis vest. The music is upbeat and chirpy, unlike before. A map on the top right of the screen reveals the warden’s whereabouts with a red dot. A timer counts down to the parking ticket’s expiry.