by Erin Green
‘The tattoo?’ mouthed Esmé, her brow furrowing deeply as she peered at his face.
‘No, you fool. I was nine! You broke your leg, I received a burnt face.’
Esmé stared, speechless. Her eyes peeled away the colour of feathers and fine lines to imagine the scarred tissue beneath. The uneven skin, the bumps and stretched web effect now apparent and clear to see despite the peacock’s colouring.
‘I had the tattoo to cover up the scar tissue.’
‘But a tattoo of all things? It must draw more attention than any scar?’
‘Are you joking? People used to stare more at my burns with revulsion as if I was a freak of nature… with this,’ he pointed to his tattoo. ‘They glance once or twice, some stare but the disgust and revulsion has disappeared. They simply stare.’
‘I assumed you were thuggish… and uneducated.’
‘That’s better than being labelled as Quasimodo, or socially unacceptable, purely through no fault of my own.’
Esmé grabbed her second whisky shot and necked it in one. She gave a satisfied gasp on returning the shot glass to the tray.
‘Easy, tiger,’ laughed Asa, ‘you’re getting quite a habit.’
‘That… is possibly the saddest story I’ve ever heard.’ Esmé’s voice cracked as tears flowed.
‘And me,’ added Asa, as his eyes glistened.
‘Why peacock feathers?’
‘They symbolise immortality and resurrection.’
‘They may look beautiful but have you ever heard one calling?’ asked Esmé, her face screwed up in disgust, as she wiped her eyes. ‘They sound bloody awful… beauty and the beast wrapped in one.’
‘Doesn’t that apply to most things in life?’
Esmé thought about Jonah – yep. Andrew – possibly. Asa? Yes, but in reverse with a beastly scar but a beautiful heart.
‘I think that last whisky is yours,’ said Esmé, pointing at the tray of glasses.
‘Cheers.’ Asa necked the final whisky and sat back. ‘So, there you are… the reason I live my life as I do, it’s precious – don’t waste it.’
‘I am so sorry, Asa – it never occurred to me that that,’ she pointed to his face, ‘covered anything.’
‘You assumed I was a thug who wanted to be different and shout it loud and proud?’
‘Something like that, sorry.’
‘No worries… now, you know different.’
Chapter Forty-three
Day 31: Make plans for the future
The studio door’s buzzer sounded as Esmé entered to escape the thundering downpour. Shaking her sodden jacket, she tried and failed to make her hair look decent in the large gilt mirror.
‘Can I help you, lady?’ called the older guy, looking up from his current client’s naked back.
‘I just wanted a look…’ stammered Esmé, pointing to the design charts plastered around the foyer wall.
‘Help yourself, take a load off your feet and browse… there’s more designs in the photo albums on the table and a hot drinks machine, if you want one.’
Esmé smiled politely, the awkwardness she knew she’d experience hadn’t subsided.
As directed, Esmé flicked through the photo albums and sipped her hot chocolate while a smatter of chatter and laughter punctuated the hypnotic drone of the artist’s needle whirring and whizzing.
Esmé flipped the pages revealing a Madame Tussaud’s of body parts decorated in various colours, patterns and inscriptions. Her fingers quickly flipped past the pages of tribal art, spider’s webs and skulls but lingered on the butterflies, unicorns and music staves traced upon taut white, yellow, brown, olive skin tones – each body headless and nameless.
Music staves? Esmé quickly turned back the page. Was that Asa’s chest?
She stared at the positioning of the flowing stave – right hand side of his chest, olive skin, toned muscular build… her index finger stroked the headless image. If this was him, where were his other tattoos? Or was this an early version of his tattoos before the collection grew. Her eyes drank in the detail, the curve of the ribcage, the dusting of body hair from navel to denim waistband…
‘Find anything that takes your fancy?’
Esmé jumped and immediately blushed, having been caught in a fantasy world of her own.
Her furtive eyes met the kindly face of the older guy, the one that had added Stig’s bird to Asa’s flock.
Esmé shook her head, reluctantly closing the album.
‘What were you thinking? Dainty and pretty? Or symbolic?’
‘I want something with meaning to signify this point in my life but…’ she waved at the closed album. ‘Nothing.’
‘I thought you were going to ask for the music staves when I came over, not so pretty on a female’s chest but on a thigh or hip bone it would look stunning.’
‘Is it an actual tune?’
His face burst into a smile.
‘Do you seriously think people have just random notes tattooed on… of course it’s an actual tune. If I remember correctly it’s his favourite tune – a song his mother used to sing.’
She wanted it. She wanted the same. She thought he was an arse for the majority of the time but now she wanted a matching tattoo, which he hadn’t agreed to. Why?
‘Look, you’ve been in three times today, looked through the albums, had various conversations with me and the other guys and yet…’ he grimaced. ‘You’re either serious about this or I suggest you go and get a henna design from the local beauty salon and it’ll wear off in a matter of weeks.’
Esmé blushed.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise… we have young women like you come in here all the time… literally torn about doing it, but my advice would be to wait until you are sure.’
Esmé stood up, handed back the album and made for the door. She wanted to cry. The buzzer sounded as she left the studio, and she vowed she’d never return.
Today was the last day of her Single Girl’s Calendar and yet, she’d just proven to herself that nothing had changed. She’d wasted her entire month. She wasn’t a sassy, independent woman with a spring in her step. She was simply too chicken to live a little.
*
‘Hellooooo!’ called Esmé, entering the warmth of number seven. ‘Anybody home?’
‘In here,’ shouted Russ from the morning room.
Esmé peeled off her coat, not waiting for a moment to show off her bravery.
She found Russ seated at the table eating beans on toast.
‘Look what I’ve got!’ She lifted the edge of her jumper to reveal a large square of cling film and white medical tape.
‘Not you, too?’ choked Russ, as beans spluttered into his lap.
Esmé gently peeled back the large protective square, on which some plasma had seeped.
‘It’ll look better when it’s healed, but look…’
Russ stared, his expression dropped.
Did he like it? Or not?
‘Russ?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t know… but you haven’t said anything.’
‘Esmé, is that henna or a proper tattoo?’
Esmé shook her head and swallowed. His expression and tone had changed.
‘Wait till your parents hear about this… I’m dead meat. They think that I look out for you, correct the other guys if they mistreat you and all the bloody time you’re going behind our backs and doing shit like…’ He pointed to her bare stomach.
‘Hi,’ Asa entered the kitchen and glanced briefly between the two. ‘Sorry, have I just walked in on something?’
‘Nothing,’ muttered Esmé, quickly correcting her jumper.
‘Nothing? Esmé, are you for real?’ asked Russ, his annoyance showing. ‘Asa… have a word with her.’
Asa disappeared beneath the kitchen archway, he grabbed the kettle and filled it from the tap.
‘What about?’
Esmé frantically shook her he
ad at Russ to shut him up.
‘About the shit she’s had tattooed on her stomach, that’s what!’
Asa’s face appeared around the archway wall.
‘The what?’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Esmé, quickly.
‘Show me.’
‘No.’
‘Show me!’ he demanded.
‘Excuse me, I don’t have to show anyone my body if I don’t want to and I choose not to show you.’
‘You showed me,’ interrupted Russ.
‘You’re different,’ said Esmé.
‘Bollocks is he, now show me!’
‘No!’
Asa walked across and stood before her, his eyes flashing with annoyance.
‘What’s it of, Russ?’
‘That frigging stupid phrase you keep sniping at her.’
Asa stared down at Esmé’s covered torso, as if he could read the tattoo through her folded arms and jumper.
‘He…’ he jerked his thumb over at Russ, ‘had better be joking.’
‘I’m not, you wait and see… her parents are going to go ape-shit,’ said Russ, standing up and taking his plate to the dishwasher. ‘I’ve got nothing to do with this… I’ve never said that phrase to her and I think those that have need to step up and take—’
‘Shut the fuck up, Russ! If this is a wind up – I’m not laughing… so now’s the moment to quit yanking my chain!’ said Asa, as his gaze flashed between Esmé’s crestfallen face and Russ’s shaking head.
‘Asa, it’s no joke. She’s just shown me what she’s had done and I’m not impressed.’
Esmé squirmed as Asa’s focus returned solely to her.
‘I’m out of here, see you later,’ said Russ, exiting the morning room.
Silence descended. Esmé sat herself on the couch, curled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top of them, with her arms wrapped round her shins. Her tattooed torso protected and hidden.
Asa walked backwards, his eyes never leaving her frame and sat down at the kitchen table.
‘You have a serious problem, you know that, don’t you?’
Esmé shrugged nonchalantly.
‘Well, you have… it seems to me you’ll do anything to please others, to make them like you… even force them to like you because you copy the things they like.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘You do. You have.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘You have never mentioned wanting a tattoo. Your reaction towards me suggests you dislike tattoos and yet today, some crazy idea has swept through that brain about a tattoo. Why?’
Esmé shrugged.
‘Stop it. Stop hiding, stop running from answering and stop playing games. Why, Esmé?’
‘Don’t speak to me like that, my parents wouldn’t dream of speaking to me like that so don’t you dare!’
‘Maybe they should… then you wouldn’t go through life copying others and doing stupid things purely to be noticed… you’d please yourself and not the rest of the world.’
‘What’s it to do with you anyway? It’s my body!’
‘How old are you, fifteen?’
‘Phuh!’
‘Yeah, phuh! Show me.’
‘No.’
‘Otherwise I’ll phone your mother and she can sort this out.’
Esmé outstared Asa, her defiance grew like a fifteen year old grounded for the weekend.
‘Fine, I’ll phone her,’ Asa retrieved his mobile from his pocket and began to search his contacts list.
Esmé jumped up.
‘Here. Look all you bloody want!’ She lifted her jumper, wrenched off the white tape to reveal the black italic lettering ‘Live a little’ neatly inked across her hip bone and the soft contour of her stomach.
Asa’s mouth fell open. He eased himself from the kitchen chair, dropped to his knees and stared at the offending script.
‘You went to Tony’s?’
‘Yep.’
‘Tony did this?’
‘Yep.’
Esmé caught her breath as Asa’s finger gently stroked the embossed welt. Her stomach fluttered beneath his warm touch.
‘Why?’ he sat back on his haunches, almost on bended knee, his doleful gaze meeting hers.
‘I wanted it.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
Asa dropped his head forward. His neck extended and Esmé stared at his nape contoured and decorated in artful colours.
‘This is my fault… I kept needling you to try stuff, getting under your skin and now… this.’
‘I can think for myself, you know!’
‘Really? Jonah said he liked red hair so you dyed yours. Grace plays the flute and now you’re having lessons. Carys had a stupid calendar and you’ve lived by it all month. Tomorrow’s the first day of a new month… so who’s plan are you following then? Because it certainly won’t be your own!’
Asa stared at her intently, his eyes scanning every inch of her face.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Asa stood up, straightened the legs of his jeans, and walked through the kitchen archway.
‘What?’ called Esmé, watching his retreat. She heard the kettle switch flick.
‘Oh Esmé,’ came the sigh from Asa.
‘Don’t oh Esmé me, you know nothing… so stop kidding yourself.’
His head appeared around the archway wall.
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, don’t kid yourself, Asa.’
‘Me kidding myself?’ he prodded his index finger into the middle of his chest. ‘Never!’
‘Yeah, you!’ she scowled, standing to her full height, her temper ignited by his arrogance.
Asa walked under the archway, his eyes fixed on hers. His chest rapidly inflated and fell beneath his tee-shirt. In a flash, he stood before her, too close to talk. His hands cradled each side of her jaw and his mouth landed hard on hers. The energy from his mouth forced her head backwards and his warm lips worked at her mouth. Her breath snagged in her throat as his hands pulled her face closer and deeper into his kiss, before one hand glided around her earlobe and slid into her hairline. Minutes passed as Esmé responded and her hands roved around his waist and wide back.
It was over as quickly as it started. Asa pulled his face back from hers, his eyes alive and on fire, his breathing deep and troubled.
‘That! That’s what you just told me.’ His hands released her jaw and the base of her hairline as he stepped away into his own space and watched her quivering expression. Esmé watched as he rolled his lips inwards as if re-tasting their kiss. He turned and slowly walked back towards the boiling kettle. ‘And you’ve stupidly had that tattoo, to impress me… so, let’s stop the pretending. I can read you like a book.’
Oh my life, he knows everything.
*
‘Hey Asa, my man,’ called Tony, from behind the counter top.
‘Tony, I’m not impressed!’
Esmé stood a foot behind staring at the floor like a pupil awaiting the headmaster’s wrath.
‘Can’t she speak for herself?’
‘No, she damns herself every time.’
‘No, I don’t,’ muttered Esmé.
‘That tattoo sounds like a discount store slogan, I want you to add to it – same style and script but it’ll make it a little more acceptable.’
‘Who to?’ Esmé asked.
‘Me!’ Asa glared over his shoulder. ‘And don’t give me the ‘it’s my body crap’.’
‘As you were earlier,’ muttered Tony, waving Esmé towards the nearest couch station. Esmé pulled a face, slid off her coat, positioned herself and lifted her jumper to reveal the fresh script.
‘Uncovered?’ said Tony, cleaning the area.
‘For now, yes… as you need to add extras,’ said Asa, as he pulled up the nearest chair and plonked himself down without an invitation. He pointed to the offending script on her hip bone. ‘Here, you need to add ‘dream’ and then a few tiny flowers and possibly a s
tar or a glitter swirl… but that, urgh!’
‘Are you criticising my work?’ asked Tony, writing free hand on her stomach.
‘No, just your judgement… on this one.’ Asa pointed to Esmé, whose brow creased.
The needle began to whir, Tony’s head lowered and his hand altered the phrase as requested. Asa’s expression softened as he watched the needle glide across Esmé’s torso. His eyes intense, as if they were burning the image into her skin, a solid look, absorbing every inch of her naked stomach and yet, not leching as other men would.
‘Stop staring at me,’ grunted Asa, his eyes fixed on her stomach.
‘I’m not.’
‘Don’t lie.’
Esmé’s mouth fell open.
‘This is the thing with you – you always think you are right… well, this time you’re not… you seem to think I got this,’ she jabbed towards her flesh. ‘For you… and I didn’t.’
Tony glanced up from his handiwork and looked between them.
‘Exactly Tony, who is she trying to kid?’ muttered Asa. ‘Shhhhh woman, you doth protest too much.’
‘You’re such as arse!’ growled Esmé, her jaw clenched as the needle snagged her pain barrier.
‘You keep saying,’ mocked Asa.
‘You pair argue like a married couple,’ joked Tony.
‘Mmmm,’ grunted Asa, as he stared at her stomach.
Esmé remained silent as her phone began to vibrate in her pocket.
‘Is that your mobile?’ asked Asa.
‘Yeah, I’ll let it go to answer machine, it won’t be anything important.’
Within minutes the stark black script is transformed into a pretty, feminine version with the addition of ‘dream’ and a delicate floral decoration.
Chapter Forty-four
‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ asked Esmé, as she bustled into the foyer of the MacDonald Burlington hotel in a state of panic having received a brief text message from Kane. ‘I was going to call you later.’
Sue rose as Esmé entered the double doors, smoothed down the front of her peach and cream dress coat, and supressed the nervous giggle that rose to her throat.
‘You look nice. Why are you dressed like that?’ asked Esmé, oblivious to the fact that her first question hadn’t yet been answered.
‘Calm down, nothing is wrong… quite the opposite.’