She takes a step back, slightly, moves away, body language reads defensive, I know because I learned conflict management. She readies herself.
You know, I thought that there was something familiar about you.
My heart skips a beat at that. Did she feel something, a connection.
So did we meet, she asks. Tell me the terrible thing that I did. She’s trying it keep it light but I can see how much she has tensed up. A defensive woman who always likes to be right, does not like to be surprised.
You did no terrible thing, I smile. I’m the parking warden who issued you a ticket last week.
You, she says loudly, and the others stare. But you don’t look like … you. Lady, high-vis yellow is not your colour, she laughs.
I know, I smile. I’m sorry about how it all transpired, I wanted to come here and I wasn’t sure if you’d recognised me.
No no, well I didn’t. I would have said. Of course. As soon as you stepped in, I would have said something. Well, well, well. She’s flustered. She’s annoyed. She planned on holding a grudge forever and I’ve ruined it. Now I’m a customer and there’s nothing she can do. She doesn’t know what to say, she doesn’t look at me as she picks up the hairdryer and blasts my hair. Angrily. Not too dissimilar to how Pops would do it. Hair flies across my face and whips my eye.
I’ve ruined it.
My hair is so thick it takes a while and after fifteen minutes of no more talk, which I’m not sure there could have been anyway due to the noise, she switches it off.
I’ve never seen my hair look so beautiful and I say so. She has softened over time and this certainly helps. I’m waving the white flag and I hope, I think, she sees it.
Good, good, this makes me happy.
She removes the towel from my shoulders and our time is running out. Knowing who I am now, she may never want to take my booking again. Or she’ll take the booking and allow somebody else to do it. She doesn’t seem like one to turn away business. I feel desperate that this is the end of our physical connection. I don’t want to leave. I look at the nail bar.
I don’t suppose you have time for nails, I ask.
Ooh I don’t think so. I don’t think she’s lying because she’s looking through her bookings. Hmm. Not today and tomorrow, Saturday we’re fully booked. Closed on Sunday. Monday is quiet.
I’ve work. But maybe on my lunch break. I really shouldn’t, but I’d break my routine for her. I’d wave goodbye to the bench and my sandwich and walnuts and tea, to sit across from her, with my hands in her hands.
We agree on noon, Monday.
We’re at the money part. I look at the poster that she has on the window, the one facing out about the women in business event. You must be excited about the event I say. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Running your own business, and president of the Chamber of Commerce, I don’t know how you do it all.
And the children of course. Most important of all, she raises her finger in the air.
Of course. Raising children is most important, I agree.
Sixty euro, I give you ten per cent discount for new customer, for making the appreciated gesture and for new beginnings. Yes, she says.
Yes thank you. I pay in cash because I don’t want her to see my full name on my bank card.
I still will appeal the fine, she says, and I laugh. You should, I say, but I don’t want to talk about the fine with her. I’ll suggest your event to my friends, I say.
Yes of course, tell as many women in business as you can. The more the merrier. We’re still looking for a guest speaker. We went to print with the posters and so it says with special guest speaker, but I don’t have the special guest speaker. She hits her head playfully. Three weeks to go.
What about Ruth Brasil.
The politician, she asks.
Yes, the Minister for Justice. I could ask her.
Her eyes almost pop out of her head. She reaches out and takes my hands, squeezes them in hers. You know Ruth Brasil, our next Taoiseach, she asks. Our first female Taoiseach, I’m sure of it, and she ought to be with all this nonsense going on. He’s a bad man, he has to go.
Yes I know her. I feel the letter from Ruth throbbing in my handbag. In fact I already told her about the event and she was very interested. She thinks it’s a great idea. I’m quite sure she’ll come.
It just comes out, straight out. I don’t even think about it. I just want to make my mother happy.
Would she be the guest speaker, she asks.
I’ll ask her today.
Oh! she squeezes me excitedly. My goodness, if you got Ruth, you would be welcome here, free for life!