Page 18 of Ryan
7
Chris
“He collapsed before he’d even touched the bed.”
“Thank God he did touch it! At least you didn’t have to help him onto it and lay him down! The bastard.”
Vic and I have given ourselves a break. It’s three o’clock, which is normally a fairly quiet time. Quiet enough to leave Leah and Brad, two kids who work for me, alone behind the counter. Vic is more like my right arm. We’ve been friends since school, and we’ve both worked in this café together since we were eighteen. Actually, I started working here back then – she applied to keep me company, and then never left.
I started as soon as I left school. I didn’t have any big ambitions, I was never the star pupil at school; I needed a job that gave me some independence, where I could show my family that I could do it on my own. I knew I’d never be a doctor or a lawyer, and so when the old owner offered me a job, I felt at home right away. Then I never left. Three years ago, he decided to retire – I took over, and now it’s all mine.
I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, proud that, despite everything, I still manage to get through every day without setting anything on fire, or creating any irreparable damage. Without making my teenage son hate me, who seems, for now, not to be making any plans to run away or murder me. Let’s hope that lasts at least a few more years.
“Of course it never goes well for me! Honestly, is an evening out where I meet a guy who doesn’t pass out before I can shag him really too much to ask?”
Vic’s attempts to find a man – at least for a night – always make me laugh. It’s not easy nowadays, especially when you’re in your thirties and have barely any time to dedicate to the cause, and all the guys around are young, beautiful and carefree.
“Maybe you should just stop looking in the same old neighbourhood pubs?”
“What does a girl have to do around here to have, oh, I don’t know, one orgasm a month?”
A cough from the doorway shuts us up right away. I get down from the counter I’m perched on to smile at the aforementioned teenage son, standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Please, Mum, tell me you’re not actually talking about orgasms,” he says, probably horrified at the thought that his mother could possibly want one.
“You shouldn’t even know that word!” I tease him. I know full well that he knows the word, just as I know he’s probably already started to…have them. Something I’ve decided not to think about.
He laughs and comes into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.
“What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to go straight home after school?”
“I’m seeing some friends.”
“What about your homework?”
“It’s Friday, remember? I think we’re going to the cinema then grabbing something to eat.”
“Mmm.”
“I’ll be back at one.”
“Midnight at the latest,” I retort.
He snorts, shoving the sandwich he just made into his mouth.
“Do you have money?”
He shakes his head.
I pick up my bag and look for my purse. I’ve only got a fifty-euro note.
“I want the rest back, okay?” I warn him.
He gives me one of his cheeky smiles and leaves the kitchen, satisfied.
I know I’ll never see that money again.
“You’re too lenient with him,” Vic criticises me.
