I’m sorry, he says immediately. It’s my fault.
I don’t know if he knows about the video on my phone but I’m not bringing it up.
It’s not as creepy as it seems, trust me, he says. He moves out of his position and reaches out of sight to retrieve the canvas. I bought it for you, he says. I was going to give it to you. Just didn’t get around to it yet. Was trying to figure out how to do it in a way that wouldn’t be creepy. So much for that.
I have to laugh at that.
Becky thought I drew it … I have informed her of the facts.
He hands it to me.
I saw this at the gallery. I thought it captured you beautifully, that you should have it.
I take it from him and study it properly. It’s pastel crayon. I never saw this one before. And he’s right, it is me. I look into my eyes and it’s like I’m trying to tell myself something. A kind of bemused tilt to my lips. My freckles, dotted all across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Less so on my body, but it’s as though the artist has captured each one perfectly. Mapped them out like the stars in the sky. My left arm shows the scars, the constellations I spent countless nights mapping out. An artist who noticed. It’s better than beautiful. It’s me.
Genevieve is the artist, he says. It wasn’t for sale, and I had a hard time convincing her to sell it. But then I told her it was for you. First time I’ve ever seen Genevieve shy, but she wanted you to have it.
Thank you, I say, deeply touched.
Do you have somewhere to stay, he asks.
I shake my head, tears welling.
A friend you can call, he says, shifting from foot to foot nervously. He doesn’t want me to be his problem and the more questions he asks, the higher the chance that I will be.
Again, I shake my head.
Well then we can’t just chuck you out on the street. Legally. You’ve paid until the end of the month, he asks, and I nod. Stay until the end of the month. Find someplace else in the meantime. I’ll tell Becky. And just maybe, for both your sakes, stay out of each other’s way.
Thank you, I sigh with relief.
Everything’s packed away and I’m exhausted. I can’t find my pyjamas so I sleep in my underwear. I hug my portrait to my chest. Refreshing and refreshing my emails in the hope that the minister emails me back.
Hey there, Tristan says, appearing out of nowhere and sitting down on an electrical box. What are you doing.
Sometimes the worst parking offenders can be disabled badge owners thinking they can park anywhere for however long they like, I say.
He laughs.
And then there’s people like this guy here – I point to the white minivan – who have a secret strategy. Or at least they think they do.
And what’s that, he asks me, eyes on me, grinning, arms folded, always amused by my job, or of how seriously I take it. As if, between me and him, I have the most entertaining job.
He’s hogging the temporary space, I explain. Once this van has exhausted the time in a free parking bay, he leaves and instantly returns to the same spot.
Ooh.
Yes ooh. So what I do is record the position of the wheel valve on my handheld computer so that later I can prove it’s been reparked. I’ve been doing this all morning, actually. He’s moved it three times already. Why are you looking at me like that.
You’re fascinating, he says with a grin.
Shut up.
I haven’t told him I’m being relocated. Not because I don’t think he’ll be able to cope without me, but because I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to say it out loud, make my moving away real, though maybe when my plan plays out with Carmencita it won’t matter if I don’t work here or live here. We’ll have formed our own new relationship. A healthier one where I’m not just an irritating parking warden to her. By then I’ll be visiting her in Malahide. It won’t be just a workplace. It’ll be a happy place that I look forward to spending time in. Instead of patrolling, I’ll be strolling with her. Maybe get an ice cream and sit on the beach like other people do. Maybe people won’t give me ugly stares and run when they see me.
I’m on a break, he explains. I like to watch you work. It calms me. Your face goes all – he scrunches up his face – so intense like I have all the power. Mwa-hahahaha.
I laugh and finally lower the machine. He’s lifted me out of my dark mood.
Want to have lunch in my office, he asks, I have something to show you.
I would if I could, but I can’t. I’m meeting Carmencita to discuss the event next week.
Oh of course. Lunch with your mother. He turns serious. I preferred the goofy Tristan. When are you going to tell her who you are.