ONE
DION
NOW
“Who crawledup your butt and died?” Mari asks as they manoeuvre around me.
They’re referring to my scowl, which holds all the disdain I can muster.
“My next client if he doesn't show up in the next ten minutes,” I mutter back. Mari's last customer hasn't actually left the building, and the last thing I'd want is a bollocking from my boss Keeley — who also happens to be Mari’s mum — for slagging off the clientelein frontof the clientele. Again.
Mari makes polite conversation with their customer as she leaves, and then they return all their attention to me and my sulk.
“How late is he?”
I glance at my watch. “Seven minutes.”
“So technically you have to wait another thirteen before you can cancel the appointment and then murder him up your anus.”
I shudder. “Can we please stop talking about putting things—dead or alive—up my butt? Besides,” I pout and run a hand through the tight curls that spring from my scalp in all directions, “Mr Ben Smith should be so lucky.”
“Ben Smith? Hmm. Do you even know it’s a genuine booking? That's a very unoriginal name.”
“It is indeed,” I say and hope my tone doesn't reveal just how familiar a name it is to me.
Ben Smith could very easily be Benjamin Smith. And Benjamin Smith, or Benji Smith, was the name of somebody I went to school with fifteen years ago. But there's no way this isthatBen Smith. That Ben Smith left town a long time ago. That Ben Smith would never get a tattoo. That Ben Smith...I stop that trail of thought immediately.
“Did they have a consultation? Any sketches or notes on the file?” Mari asks. They are nothing if not a supportive colleague. No, friend. Mari is a friend. A good friend.
“No consultation. He, they, whatever, called up and made the appointment a week ago. Said they're bringing the design and that it's handwriting.”
Mari wrinkles their nose, making their nose piercing wiggle. “Probably some dad getting their kid’s name tattooed on them or something. Hopefully, it'll be a quick and easy job...once they show up.”
I watch with no small amount of jealousy as Mari logs their account out of our system and starts gathering their belongings from the concealed shelves behind the counter we use to check in customers, make bookings and take payments. It’s also where I like to sit and death-stare at clients who are late for their appointments.
“Do I really need to give them twenty minutes? It's gone seven o clock. Surely different rules should apply at this timeof night?”
Mari holds their hands up defensively. “I don't make the rules. And honestly, considering you're the last man standing once I'm out of here, you can do whatever you want. I won’t tell anyone.”
Man. I still get a kick of gender euphoria whenever someone calls me that.
“Anyway, didn't Mum put you in charge what with her and Dove being in London tonight and me buggering off to Amsterdam?” Mari continues.
That brightens my mood, or rather distracts me from Mr Ben ‘Antisocially Late’ Smith.
“Of course. The tattoo convention. That’s this weekend. You need to go, catch your flight. You must be pretty fucking excited.”
Mari shrugs and I can instantly tell they're about to bullshit me. “It's not a big deal. Just another tattoo convention. A lot of hot air and alternative-looking people. Just with canals as a backdrop. I've always wanted to visit so here I am, visiting. But also expensing my flights because I'm smart like that.”
“Hmm.” I fix my gaze on Mari. “So nothing to do with Amsterdam being the last known whereabouts of Lexi?”
Lexi was Mari’s first, and by all accounts, last-to-date love.
“Who?” Mari says with a too-innocent bat of their eyelashes.
They did not end well.
“Oh, look someone's outside parking now. Maybe that’s Ben Smith,” they add, far too eager to change the subject.
