No Filter

by Orlagh Collins

  ‘Scarlet!’ I whisper it in her ear. Her head smells like clean washing, which is a welcome let-up after Kenny.

  ‘Sorry?’ she says, peeking up at me through her laced fingers.

  ‘That’s what we’d say … as in, I’m scarlet!’ She looks at me. Not getting it at all. ‘Ah, I’m just messing with you. You’re alive anyway, I see.’ I turn to pour more beans into the grinder. ‘Coffee?’

  She nods. ‘I left Grandma asleep in her armchair!’ Her voice is even more raspy than usual.

  ‘Just now?’

  ‘At half two this morning!’

  My coffee-holding wrist falls limp. ‘You what?’

  ‘Don’t!’ she says, closing her eyes. ‘I’ve already bathed in self-loathing this morning.’

  ‘And she seemed so nice –’

  She shivers and then makes this noise: a bit like a getting sick sound.

  ‘Was it all right that I –’

  ‘Phoned my grandma’s house? Yeah. Wouldn’t make a habit of it though.’

  ‘Hadn’t planned on it.’ It bursts out of me defensively, like an emotional airbag.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just … we haven’t been here for a long time. Grandma’s afraid to put a foot wrong with me in case it’s another five years before we’re back.’ She’s rolling up a packet of sugar, not looking at me. ‘I’m pretty sure boys constitute a wrong foot. I think she liked you though.’

  I move over to the coffee machine so she doesn’t see me beaming to myself. ‘Let me guess … skinny latte, no sugar?’

  She sighs. ‘I’m not that predictable?’

  I shrug back, confused.

  ‘Flat white, extra hot,’ she says, like she’s given this request countless times. ‘Can I have it to take away?’

  ‘You’ll find we only do paper cups in this fine establishment,’ I say, hoping I’ve done a good job of hiding my disappointment, but then I can’t help it; it just comes out. ‘You’ve to leave already?’

  She jumps down off the stool. ‘Yeah. I just wanted to drop by and …’ She flicks her hair from her eyes. ‘You know … say thanks.’

  I’ve got that happy-kettle grin thing going on again, but I don’t care. ‘Thanks for what?’ I ask. I’m pushing my luck.

  She looks right at me and I can see she’s doing everything she can not to smile. ‘For the coffee of course.’ But then, like she can’t hold it in, her teeth bite down on her lip and she smiles her beautiful crooked smile. I’m weak.

  She lifts the cup to her mouth, stops before taking a sip, but as she goes to speak, Whiskers, the aul fella with the eyebrows, appears from behind the magazines. He approaches us and leans in, gently placing his elbow on the countertop. He looks to Emerald, studying her for a moment before greeting me with a slow, deep nod.

  My eyes flick between the two of them and I’m struggling to hide my frustration with his untimely interruption. I decide to serve him, if only to get him gone. I lean into him like an impatient barman from Moloney’s and bark, ‘Cappuccino, four sugars, no dust, and a tea?’

  One of his majestic white brows scrunches up the top of his lined face and he winks at me. ‘Good man,’ he says, but as he’s talking I’m sensing Em pull back from her stool and I’m panicking she’s going to leave. Before I know it I’ve already slid down the length of the countertop towards her.

  ‘Could we maybe … do that again?’

  She takes a plastic lid from the pile and carefully fixes it on top of her cup. ‘I’d like that.’

  I feel Whiskers watching us but I don’t even care. ‘I’m off Thursday night?’

  She takes a slow sip and there’s a long pause. ‘I think I’m free.’

  ‘Same place? You know, the kiosk by the beach where you didn’t show up last night?’ She smiles and shrugs a yes so I lean over and whisper, ‘Shall I have the paramedics on standby?’

  ‘Oh, that’s kind!’ she says, pushing me away. Then she turns towards the door. I’m waving at her back when suddenly she spins on her heel and raises her cup. ‘It’s delicious by the way.’

  I watch her leave. Whiskers is watching her too, both of us, what’s the word … mesmerised?

  EMERALD

  I’m good with complicated

  When I got back from the Metro, I decided to tell Grandma all about Liam. I was bursting to tell someone and I was too cross with Kitty to tell her anything. Besides, I knew it would mean nothing to her. Grandma was doing the crossword when I walked in. I watched her in silence, before announcing that I’d made a friend.

  ‘What’s her name?’ she asked immediately.

  Her assumption caught me off guard and when I opened my mouth Fiona’s name fell out.

  ‘And her surname?’

  I didn’t know.

  ‘Where does she live?’

  I knew this of course but that would be weird, so I just shrugged. ‘We … just met, up at the service station. At the notice board. She teaches piano, you know … part-time.’ Oh God, more lies.

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said, tapping her pen against the paper like she was thinking of the answer to a difficult clue. ‘She’s also sixteen, you say?’

  ‘I didn’t. She’s just finished her exams. More like seventeen, I think.’

  ‘Was she up in St Joseph’s?’

  I swear it was like she was running through a checklist. ‘Is that a school?’ I asked, even though I knew it was. We’ve passed it on the road lots of times; you can’t miss it.

  ‘D’you know anything … about her parents?’

  I laughed out loud at this. ‘No, Grandma, I don’t! She just asked if I wanted to hang out with some of her friends on Thursday night.’

  She put down the pen and lifted the glasses from her nose. Finally her face softened. ‘You’ll tell your dad all of this, won’t you?’

  About this fantasy friend! ‘Yes!’ I said, unable not to roll my eyes. Not even Dad is this bad. It’s like she really believes I’m still eleven.

  Every day since Sunday I intended to tell Dad about ‘Fiona and her friends’ but there was never room in our texts, and somehow it’s already Thursday. I glance at the grandfather clock in the hall: it’s 7:58 p.m. ‘See you later,’ I say, poking my head around the living room door.

  The gardening show Grandma likes is on TV. She’s in the zone. This is good. ‘Oh … bye, love. And you’ll be home before eleven?’ ‘Yes!’ I say, jokingly shaking my head. I walk further into the room and kiss her on the forehead. This affectionate gesture takes us both by surprise.

  She smiles up at me. ‘Have a nice time,’ she calls out to the closing door.

  As I step out on to the drive, the warm evening air wraps itself around me. I’m taking my shirt off, knotting it at my waist when I realise I haven’t even changed my clothes. I’m still wearing the leggings and T-shirt I’ve been wearing all day. I reach into my bag and feel for my lip gloss. I just like to know it’s there.

  A gentle wind carries the scent of Grandma’s gorgeous roses from the other side of the garden. An intense rush rinses through me, like excitement only with a vague queasiness. I’m halfway down the drive when I stop to marvel at one of the heavy yellow roses. These were Mum’s favourites. Dipping my nose into its soft, velvet petals, I close my eyes. I breathe in slowly and my head fills with a memory, sudden and vivid.

  She sings quietly beside me. We’re sat side by side and I’m looking up, swinging my tiny legs underneath the dressing table, watching as she puts her make-up on. Music’s playing and I make out the sound of ice clinking loose in a glass. I’m staring as her long, blonde lashes become darker with each stroke of her magic mascara wand. She takes the glass to her lips, smiling at me as she slowly comes alive. I play eeny, meeny, miny, moe with the perfume bottles clustered on her antique table, rearranging them like chess pieces, opening the lids and inhaling their scents of tuberose, fig and jasmine …

  My head goes heavy. I bury my face deeper into the flower like I’m trying to hide there in the smooth folds of Mum’
s skirt. I inhale again urgently. ‘Mum?’

  The scent is dizzying and sweet, but it was only a glimpse. She’s left with the breeze.

  A tiny stab of pain shoots through my fingers where I’ve gripped the yellow rose too tight. A trickle of crimson runs into the large outer petals. I suck my punctured thumb as the remains of the stained flower scatter on the drive behind me and all I’m left with is a sudden chill. I put my shirt back on, berating myself. I can’t let myself be seduced by these memories, not when I know there are others, lurking just below, which could as easily tear me apart.

  I reach the gate and turn right on to the pavement. The sun is still strong over the water. As soon as I cross the main road I can see someone leaning against the kiosk in the distance. I know it’s him; I can tell by the languid stance and the swell of dark-brown hair, swirling proud of his forehead like a Walnut Whip. I walk towards him, head down.

  ‘Punctual this time, I’ll give you that,’ he says, reaching into his backpack without taking his eyes off me. He hands me a container and takes one out for himself.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A flask.’

  I examine the One Direction sticker stuck to the front of it. ‘You don’t say.’

  He laughs and jumps over the low wall before setting off towards the water. ‘C’mon,’ he says, beckoning me down the grassy hill.

  ‘What are we doing?’ But he takes my hand and I try to hide my surprise as I place mine in his and we hike down the steep slope together. There’s hardly a ripple on the shimmering sea before us. He brushes his thumb against my palm as we amble over the grassy mounds. His skin feels rough but his grip is reassuring and strong.

  The shelters are empty, apart from a few empty beers cans. ‘There’s never anyone here this early,’ he says, like a mind reader.

  We sit down at the nearest edge of the bench. Despite the warm evening, it feels cold down here in the shelters. Perhaps dank is the word. In fact, it’s hard to imagine a more desolate place to spend a summer’s evening than this concrete tunnel and I wonder why something so bleak was built somewhere so beautiful. Even on a dry night like tonight there are unnatural puddles on its uneven floor. Shards of bruised purple and silvery grey sparkle out from its slate coloured wall.

  I reach over to look at his flask and see his also has a sticker. I nudge him. ‘Which one was your favourite?’

  He elbows me back. ‘They’re Laura’s, my sister,’ he says, leaning into the wall and setting his backpack between his legs. ‘She was mad about that Niall fella. She’s gone off him though – far too cool for all that now. But once you put those yokes in the dishwasher, that’s it, stuck for life,’ he says. ‘That’s real commitment for you.’

  ‘So I see!’ I say, picking at the shiny worn sticker with my nail.

  He peers over and twists my flask around to have a look. ‘Yeah, look, there he is!’

  He smiles and I smile back at him, for a bunch of reasons really, one of which is that he’s beautiful. Not upfront hot, but like that guy in a band (some band much cooler than 1D), who you don’t notice at first, because you’re trained to be distracted by the Harry Styles type frontman. As I look closely at Liam’s cheekbones and chalky complexion, I realise he’s definitely the cute one – a drummer maybe?

  I hold up the flask. ‘Gonna tell me what this is?’

  ‘Open it!’ he says, twisting the cap off his.

  The air fills with the rich, unmistakeable smell of cocoa and without taking anything to my lips I drink in all the easy, unfolding loveliness of Liam Flynn. As if he can feel me watching, his nose twitches and with one long swipe he wipes at the rim of the flask with his sleeve before taking a drink. I slowly unscrew the cap off mine and hold my face over it, gratefully drawing in its warmth. ‘That smell …’ I say, closing my eyes.

  ‘Mam was making some earlier. Made me think of you.’

  I’m pouring the steaming liquid into the lid just like I watched him do, but I stop before it’s full. ‘Hang on. You’re saying I smell like … hot chocolate?’

  He leans over. ‘C’mere, let me check,’ he says, sniffing at my neck.

  Suddenly I know what it is. ‘Oh God, it’s Grandma’s cocoa butter cream.’

  ‘That’s it! You smell like an old lady. Hard to resist.’ He laughs. ‘Cheers.’

  We chink our warm cups and I take a sip. Feeling the delicious, sugary heat slip down my throat, I quickly take another. ‘Mmm … D’you know, I see a bright future for you in hot beverages.’

  Liam’s smile falls. ‘It’s no worse than my current plan.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to work for your dad’s company?’ I rest my cup on my thigh, but taking in his new, tight expression, I squirm. Something passes through him and I suddenly remember all the awkwardness the last time we talked about this. ‘I got that totally wrong, didn’t I?’

  He sighs. ‘My da doesn’t have a company any more. I mean he works, obviously, but …’ He places the flask down on the bench and stares out at the waves. ‘Nothing’s like how it used to be.’

  Liam speaks fast. I need to concentrate when he talks. His accent is so much thicker than Dad’s and it takes a second for the syntax to rearrange itself inside my head. I have to watch his mouth to check that the shape matches the words I’m hearing, but my eyes won’t play along and they keep flitting back up to his eyes, which are open and easier to read. He’s uncomfortable now, pressing his tongue into his cheek. ‘Sorry,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I shouldn’t have got weird about it at Fiona’s. It’s just … complicated.’

  ‘Hey, I’m good with complicated. Remember?’

  ‘Actually, it’s not even complicated. It’s just shit,’ he says. ‘Dad had to go bankrupt. He was badly exposed. In it up to his neck, he says, but how do you legislate for a ruthless prick who screws you over, smiling at you all the while. Now, it’s like the rest of the world’s back on its feet, but Da can’t seem to get up. What’s worse is that I don’t think he even wants to.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, inching my hand across his leg.

  ‘S’OK. It was over three years ago now. Only problem is he expects me to go into the same business. Not start up the old company, but more than anything in the world he wants me to do this building site management course ’cause he thinks that’ll fix it. If I succeed then all his and Grandda’s work won’t have been for nothing.’

  ‘That’s not exactly fair.’

  ‘It’s the way it is.’

  I want to make him feel better. ‘If it helps, I don’t really remember you getting weird.’ He turns his shoulders and raises one of his eyebrows. ‘I mean, a few parts of the evening could do with some … unravelling.’ I’m no longer sure what to do with my hands.

  He dusts down his thighs. ‘But you had a good time?’ he asks, flicking his gaze back to mine.

  I wish he didn’t ask like this. It implies he doesn’t know, or worse, that I don’t know, which is of course somewhat true, but it’s a dreadful thing to admit. ‘I think so.’ I know I enjoyed the walk home, but the party is a blur with only bursts of unbearable clarity. I sit on my hands now, trying to think of something to say. ‘People were nice. There was no backstory required. That was kind of cool, you know?’

  His face twists.

  ‘Like, no one asked where you go to school, or who you know, that sort of thing,’ I say. ‘It was just like, hi, I’m Em.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t ask you.’ He says ‘you’ in a way I don’t think I like. ‘You’re English. It’s a catch-all; it covers everything.’

  I realise he’s smiling and I swing my leg like a pendulum against his shoe. ‘Hey, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure,’ he says, wrestling his jumper over his head and for a second he’s lost in a storm of grey cotton. His T-shirt rides up his chest and I try not to look at his bare stomach, but I do. His skin is pale and creamy, a long way from the covers of those Men’s Health magazines I saw in Rupert’s bedroom. I never remember
wanting to reach out and touch those, the way I want to do to Liam now. I quickly lose all grip of my thoughts and for only the second time in ten minutes I feel myself blush.

  ‘Go on,’ he says, pulling the soft folds of his T-shirt back down to his waist. I turn towards him, but can’t meet his eye in case he’ll read the longing in mine. ‘Weren’t you going to ask me something?’ He whispers it.

  ‘Oh, um. I was wondering, did I bring up Rupert? You know, the other night?’

  His knee starts to bounce up rhythmically from the stone bench. ‘You may have mentioned him.’

  ‘I was afraid of that.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he says, but he’s not looking at me.

  ‘I’m totally OK with it, just to say.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘With him going off with my friend. Just in case I may have indicated differently.’

  ‘D’you wanna talk about it?’ he says, flashing his face back to mine.

  ‘Not really. She’s a cow and he’s a bit of a shit.’ Did I just say this out loud? I look at Liam’s face, registering these words in silence. I’m marvelling at how clear that whole situation suddenly looks, from this distance, when I see that Liam’s smiling.

  ‘Listen, don’t hold back on my account.’

  ‘She sent me a photo of them kissing. When I say to me, I mean to our entire WhatsApp group. Did I tell you that?’

  He smirks. ‘I believe you mentioned this also.’

  Ick! I can only imagine how much I prattled on about an ex who was never even mine. The bench suddenly feels too hard. He takes another drink and leans his body into mine. I feel the tightness in my shoulders dissolving as he gets closer.

  ‘I’m OK with it too,’ he says, pulling away from me.

  Missing the feel of him against me, I sit up. ‘With what?’

  ‘With you being OK with it. I especially like the part about him being a shit. I’m particularly OK with that bit,’ he says, grinning.