I also think Delia has designs on my brother, Benjamin, which is why she hangs out with me. Really, I should be offended, but when you live in a small town in the south-east of Ireland, you kind of have to take what you can get in terms of friends.
As the evening wore on, most of the diners trickled out and the odd couple, as I’d started to refer to them in my head, were the only ones left in the restaurant. I was passing through the kitchen when John the cook had to run to the bathroom and asked me to keep an eye some eggs. I nodded and he hurried off. It was my own fault that I wasn’t paying proper attention, because I went to grab the handle and instead burned my hand on the side of the pan.
“Ouch!” I screeched loud enough to wake the dead. I held my hand to my chest, wincing at the pain. Half the inside of my palm was burned raw. A moment later both Nelly and the odd couple came rushing into the kitchen to see what the racket was about.
“What happened?” Nelly asked breathlessly.
I bit on my lip. “Burned my hand. Sorry about, uh, the screaming.”
“I thought an axe murderer had broken into the place,” Nelly said. “Come here and let me see.”
Taking a step toward her, I glanced at the dark haired man and his deep, almost black eyes were fixated on my hand. His face was unreadable.
“It’s okay, I’ll take care of this,” Nelly said, waving them both back outside. Now the man was staring into my eyes, and I got a little shiver down my spine, though it wasn’t unpleasant. They both went back to their table and Nelly put some burn cream onto my hand and wrapped it up. A few minutes later the restaurant door opened and a mother and daughter walked in. The little girl was eager to know if the face painting lady was still around. I mustered a smile and went to ask her what she wanted to be.
“A pirate,” she declared as she pulled herself up onto a seat in front of me.
“Oh, good choice!” I replied. Now I was thinking about Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. I had old Johnny on the brain today.
I drew a fake goatee onto the little girl, complete with an eye-patch and a red bandana. Then I took things a step further when I did a skull and crossbones on her cheek. When her mother came to get her, she didn’t look too pleased that I’d transformed her child into a hairy faced marauder, but I just shrugged. It was what she’d asked for.
“She looks like she wants to make you walk the plank,” a voice said just behind me. I turned to see the Coca-Cola haired lady standing there. Her accent was London cockney at its finest and when she smiled she had a million wrinkles around her eyes. They weren’t ugly, though. They were beautiful, full of character and experience. I wanted to colour them in with every shade of the rainbow.
“Hmm, well, I am in the mood for a swim,” I replied humorously and her smile widened. A shadow fell behind her as she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a flyer for the circus before setting it down on the table in front of me. The shadow belonged to Mr Tall, Dark and Exotic. He stood there, unfathomable eyes on me, causing me to blush. All at once I felt sweaty, hot and strangely self-conscious. It was like his eyes were taking the sum total of my parts but I had no clue of the result he’d settled on.
The woman continued, “You should come see the show tonight, girly, it’s our last one.”
“I’d already planned to. I can’t wait,” I exclaimed, picking up the flyer and folding it into a neat square.
“I’ll wait for you outside, Marina,” said the man gruffly, his eyes meeting mine once more before he moved by us and walked outside. I watched him as he stopped, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up. His grey t-shirt showed the muscles in his arms and his tanned skin. Quite like Marina, I’d like to paint him, too, but for very different reasons.
I’d been surprised to hear his deep Dublin accent. I was expecting something…I don’t know, foreign. I heard Marina laughing and brought my attention back to her.
“If I were from the American south, I’d say he was a mighty ornery bastard,” she chuckled. “Never did manage to learn any social niceties, that one.”
I swallowed and couldn’t help but to ask, “Is he a part of the circus?”
“Oh yes, Jack’s a fire eater. He’s a big attraction with the ladies as you might guess. A pity he never mastered the art of charming them.”
Her words made me imagine Jack sitting at a dinner table, knife and fork in hand, ready to dig into a plate of fire.
“Oh, well, I suppose when you look like that, you don’t really need charm.” The words were out of my mouth before I had the chance to censor them, and Marina let out a loud guffaw of a laugh.
“I like you. You say what you think. I hope your hand heals up fast,” she said and patted me on the shoulder before following Jack out the door. I twisted in my seat and watched them say a few words to one another before walking down the hill away from the restaurant.
When I arrived home after my shift I wanted to run straight upstairs, take a shower, put on something nice and head out to the circus. Unfortunately, Mum was waiting for me when I got there, her arms crossed over her chest, face stern and an opened letter in her hand.
I narrowed my gaze when I saw the letter had my name on it. “Did you open my mail?” I questioned. I should have been more surprised, but I was used to her control freak behaviour at this stage.
“Yes, and I’m glad I did. These are your end of year exam results, and I have to say they leave a lot to be desired.”
She walked towards me and shoved the letter into my hand, her designer heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I unfolded it and took a look. I’d gotten mostly Cs, a D, and a couple of Bs. They certainly weren’t the worst results in the world, but Mum expected perfection.
“Considering I never wanted to do this degree, I think these results are pretty good,” I said bravely. Abruptly she turned, walked back to me and slapped me hard across the face. I gasped and clutched my cheek in my hand in shock. Mum wasn’t often physically violent, words were her weapon of choice, but every now and again she’d strike me. It usually meant something hadn’t gone right for her at work so she was taking that frustration out on me.
“You’re an ungrateful little bitch!” she shouted. “After all the money I’ve spent on your education you go and say something like that.”
I stood there, speechless, as she grabbed my hip, pinching her fingers into the fleshy part. “And look at this. You’re putting on weight. I’m going to have to start controlling your calorie intake again.”
Tears stung at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. There was nothing wrong with my weight. My mother simply possessed a talent for seeing flaws where there weren’t any. She was so miserable that she couldn’t see any of the beauty in the world. She wanted straight boring lines, and if anyone dared to veer away from them she would make their lives hell.
All my life I felt like I’d been living in quiet desperation. Following my mother’s rules and biding my time, waiting for the moment when I could finally break free. The thing was, I was twenty-one now, and my time still hadn’t come. I had a disturbing image of me still living under my mother’s roof at thirty, still keeping to her straight lines, never walking on the cracks and it made me feel like screaming.
But I didn’t. Instead, I turned away from her and walked quietly up the stairs to my bedroom. Once there, I sat down at my dressing table, stared into the mirror and took a calming breath. Then I opened a drawer and pulled out the folded piece of paper where I’d written my list, letting my eyes trail down the numbered items.
Dump Henry Jackson.
Get a tattoo.
Have sex with a stranger.
Do something dangerous.
Visit a place I’ve never been before.
Fall in love.
Make a new friend.
Quit my degree.
Become a real artist.
Move out of my mother’s house.