Page 44 of Am I Allergic to Men?
‘Your sisters tell me you were very into exercise before the accident so I do not know why you are so resistant to work with me,’ Igor explains.
I can’t say because his mullet offends me, can I? The truth is, I think it’s because I don’t like him seeing me at my weakest, when my arms are like spaghetti and my legs don’t work. I don’t want anyone to see me like this because it feels vulnerable and exposing. That doesn’t feel like me. This is too deep to tell someone I dislike so much though.
‘You are getting there, Lucy. You’re walking around, you’ve regained some strength in your joints. It was good to get you in the pool. You’re here today on your own. You’re getting to a good place.’
‘I’m not on my own. My dad is waiting in the car with a newspaper and a puzzle book.’
He laughs. ‘You’re funny.’
‘I wasn’t trying to be.’
‘I’ll see you at your mum’s house in three days.’
‘I’ll bake a cake.’
‘Lemon, please.’
With shards of glass in the icing? He leaves as his next client is outside waiting and I head for the showers. We are lucky to have Emma and all her connections as this place really is high-end, unlike any leisure centre gym that I’ve been in and that’s because of the free towels, which I’m not quite sure if I’m allowed to keep. As I head into the communal showers, I look around and seem to have got the back end of some junior swimming class. I watch as mums and au pairs dance around trying to get their little ones to wash their hair without getting wet themselves. I strip down to my swimming costume and join them, noticing a little girl looking up at me, foam hanging from her curls. She studies the tattoos about my person and the scratches and scars down my legs. I look over at the woman I assume to be her au pair, who is trying to signal at her that it’s rude to stare.
‘You’re Lucy?’ she says, surprised.
‘I am,’ I say, studying the girl before me in her navy and pink Speedo swimming costume, goggles and hat in hand. Are we related? I hope you’re not a niece I’ve forgotten about.
‘You did my party once, my name is Ophelia.’
I study her face, remembering the name. ‘You wrote me a thank you note.’
She nods and smiles but I can see her examining the top of my head, confused. ‘What happened to you?’ she asks inquisitively.
The problem with my hair at the moment is that it’s a strange in-between stage where it looks like it may be a fashion choice but the scar is still there, plus the other various remnants of my injuries. My inclination is to tell her a whole different story to make things interesting but also to hide the fact I nearly died the day of her party.
‘I also work in the circus and I was in an awful accident where I fell off a trapeze.’
Ophelia’s eyes widen, as do her au pair’s, who’s now worried about the tattooed lunatic standing beside her charge in the shower.
‘I mean, I’m fine, but they had to cut off all my hair, which actually might be better because now I can just wear wigs and it’s much cooler in the summer.’
‘And easier after swimming,’ she adds.
‘This is so true.’
Her au pair hands over some conditioner and I offer to squeeze some into her hair, her hands clawing up to run it through her curls.I should remember you, I only met you a mere matter of months ago.
‘Was I Elsa at your party?’ I ask her.
‘No. Cinderella?’ she says, disappointed that I wouldn’t recall that detail.
‘Oh, of course. I remember it well.’
‘You do Elsa?’ she asks.
I now have a frame of reference for who this Elsa lady is and all I know is that she likes her ice and kids go batshit crazy for her.
‘I do. Actually, can you clear something up for me? You said in your thank you note that I said something at your party? I gave you advice?’
She nods. ‘You taught me some great phrases and words to use when people aren’t being very nice to me.’
I widen my eyes. Which ones, love? There are catalogues of the things.
