We’re meeting in a place called Las Tapas de Lola, on Wexford Street at 8 p.m. I’ve had tapas plenty of times before, in fact Pops used to bring me to tapas restaurants and order the Catalonian specials, even encouraged me to take Spanish lessons in school in an effort to feed my cultural heritage. When it came to eating out I chose the Pakistani restaurant, and at school I chose to learn French instead. I don’t know, maybe I was trying to reject Carmencita like she rejected me. Maybe I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to learn the language and I’d fail again without her knowing.
Maybe I just wanted to learn French and eat different food.
But first I must face the gallery. The details of our night out are still pretty hazy and I cringe as snippets of conversations with Genevieve and Jasper come back to me. Things I said and shouldn’t have said, things I don’t think I even meant but liked the feeling of saying aloud. I arrive very close to starting time, deliberately so, less time to chat. I hope when I enter Jasper is busy with a customer but I’m afraid not. He looks up: hi Allegra, hi Jasper. Cringey-cringe-cringe. I walk up the steps, out of his view. Genevieve is on her phone, thankfully, talking to an artist, rolling her eyes at me as he or she blathers on. For someone who loves art, she has complications with the artists. Needy fuckers, she always calls them.
I disappear behind the changing screen. The room is being aired, the chairs and easels are set up. I feel an uneasiness about doing this today; it’s difficult to sit and wait when you’re excited for something. Time goes especially slow. I never had a problem sitting in all the weeks and months before, because there was nothing to be excited about.
I came across the job advertisement before I left Valentia when I was looking for accommodation. For the first two weeks in Dublin I was house sharing with two professionals from the tech sector, so the advertisement said. They were looking for a male or female, 125 euro per week for a box bedroom with a single bed … It didn’t go down well when she found me in my single bed in my box bedroom with him. They never said they were together. Not once. Never shared a touch or kiss in my company. They had separate rooms. How was I supposed to know. I was happy enough to leave. I lived there for a month, during training, and when I was placed in Fingal for work it made sense to move out there. I got the job at the gallery to cover the cost of the house share, paid them in cash. Thought I was being clever but Dublin’s expensive, money goes fast. A coffee, a sandwich, a small run to the shop and bam it’s gone.
I remove my clothes behind the screen and listen to Genevieve discuss a picture frame for longer than a frame ever needs to be discussed.
I moisturise my skin and wrap the kimono around me just in time to hear the artists arrive. Genevieve tells Vincent she must go but she’ll call him later to pick up where they left off.
Needy fucking artists, she mumbles as she hangs up.
Hi Allegra, sorry about that. Bloody Vincent.
I heard.
She dips her head behind the screen, and gives me a once-over and asks if I’m ready.
I nod.
The session passes by surprisingly fast as I think about the conversation Daisy and I can have, which parts of me and my life I’ll tell her and which parts I’ll edit, and before I know it I’ve been captured … pensive, is the word I’d give their overall depictions of me. One is quite forlorn, I look lost in a whirlpool of pencil, and a man who has given me a sympathetic stare throughout has drawn my scars as deep incisions, battle wounds, raw.
I arrive at the restaurant early so that I can settle myself and my nerves, but Daisy is there already. Oh my God, Freckles, look at you! She stands up and opens her arms wide and gives me the tightest hug. She smells flowery and sweet. Her arms jangle with layers of delicate bangles, one with a star, one with a moon, one with the sun, one with a flower. She steps back and takes me in. You look amazing, your hair … She reaches out to touch it gently. Wow. It’s been way too long, can you believe it’s been almost seven years since we left. So good to see you, I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to, let’s sit, do you want a drink, I ordered tap water, the food here is delish, have you been here before.
No, never, are my first words as I sit down and she waves for the waiter. A pretty smile, a delicate movement of her hand. Can we get another glass for the table, it’s missing, thank you, here’s the wine menu, she offers it to me.
I wonder if I should drink even though she doesn’t. I order a glass of Cava and Daisy tells the waiter to bring a bottle.