It was still early enough that a sea mist lingered over the water and around the wharf. It was already warm though, the early heat hinting at a beautiful day to come. Gulls screeched down by the returning fishing boats, begging for scraps. All around the town tents were being set up, and I could hear the hum of excited voices, and the sound of bunting flapping in the breeze.
‘You said you wanted to come to the festival,’ I reminded Ray. ‘I have to be here this early to set up, and I’ll be too busy later to run back home and get you. You can either suck it up and be helpful, or go away and find someone else to annoy.’
He glared at me. ‘Fine. What do you want me to do?’
‘Be quiet for a second, while I figure out what’s missing.’ I squinted at the tent. ‘It just needs something else. Something like… ooh, I know.’
I dove into the box of things I’d found around Mom’s house that I’d thought might be useful, and pulled something out. ‘Perfect.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘That little bit of crap will make all the difference.’
‘Hold the other end,’ I said, passing him the end of the lights, small bulbs hanging off a twine string, and pointing to the other end of the pop-up tent front entrance. ‘Just keep it there while I fasten the rest of it. Can you manage that?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty technical stuff.’
I clipped the lights along the top of the entranceway, reaching the end and relieving him from his duty, flicked the on switch and stood back once again to have a look. ‘That’s much better.’
Somehow, against all my expectations, I’d been given a great spot to set up my pop-up booth. A high-foot-traffic area just next to the town green, not far from the wharf and the main street. Sandwiched in between a pottery stall and one selling art made from salvaged objects that the artist had beachcombed. Sea glass, driftwood, old buoys and the like. The tent I’d been allocated was navy and white striped, with a little white flag on the top and bunting around the edges. The whole front flap was able to be tied back, which I’d done, so that people could watch if they wanted. But if a client didn’t want prying eyes, I had a freestanding white wooden divider that I could unfold to give them privacy.
I’d set up chairs, a portable tattoo bed/table, and the trolley with my tattoo machine and inks, wipes, creams et cetera. Everything was full and ready to go. I’d hung art around the inside of the tent that I’d pilfered off my mother’s walls. It was my own artwork. Showcasing my evolving talent over the years. My first rough sketches. Lacking in the finer detail I’d self-taught myself to add over time. Paintings, oils and acrylics. Sunsets, waves. The lighthouse. My mother had proudly framed and displayed them all, and I knew she wouldn’t mind me borrowing them for this.
On one end wall I’d hung some of my tattoo designs, and I had folders on a small table out front that contained pictures of tattoos I’d done in the past. I’d spent the whole of the day before coming up and sketching new designs: small tattoos that wouldn’t take long and were perfect for the festival. Oyster shells, clams, lobsters, waves, a lighthouse, a sunset, a compass, anchors, sharks, dolphins, seals, and the silhouette of an old fisherman.
Near the entrance, I’d hung a windchime made of shells, hoping that the pretty sound it made in the warm breeze would help attract people to my booth. Despite the fact that I could probably do this in my sleep, if I wanted to, I was nervous. This was my hometown. Somehow it meant more to me that people here liked what I did.
As luck would have it, I already had a wooden sandwich board sign that I’d used at tattoo expos before. Renae, my second in charge back at my studio, had couriered the sign and all my gear to me, arriving two days ago. I opened the sign and arranged it near the entrance.
Taylor Calderwood Custom Tattoo Designs, it said in cursive letters.
I surveyed it all and nodded. ‘It’s ready.’
‘Your boyfriend’s over there.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘You knew who I meant though.’
I glared at him. ‘I thought you were going to go and get breakfast at the café.’
‘I thought you were going to go with me.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Well you could have said that half an hour ago,’ he complained. ‘Before I sat here and watched you decorate this place.’
‘Are you going to be OK to get there by yourself?’
He waved a hand dismissively. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s not far, and my hip isn’t as sore as it was.’
‘OK. You know my number if you need me though, right? Just ask someone to call. Literally anyone. You’re probably the only adult on this planet who doesn’t own a cell phone.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just tie a note around my neck like a puppy. “Please return to this address if found.”’
‘If I was going to write a note for whoever found you, it would say, “Free to a good home. He’s your problem now.”’
‘Charming.’
‘Thanks.’
