As Simon approached our table, my sister commented that he looked different again somehow. Last Sunday his face was sallow, he was fidgety, talked too much, overlapped his sentences with one another, full stops and commas awry. I knew his reasonably current girlfriend had trouble sleeping so had put it down to her keeping him awake. My sister on the other hand thought something more sinister but I brushed the thought away, deeming it too far fetched, knowing my sister’s propensity to be just a little bit dramatic.
He sat down at the table and tugging slightly at one of his small ears, rambled off his week without pausing for breath. The occasional smile seemed heavy and forced, his black hair was unbrushed and flaky, pieces of skin resting on his gardening jumper tried to blend in with the greeny-brown wool, without success. His dry hand, knuckles like small hills tormented by drought, fractured and wild, moved from his ear to the glass salt pot. He tipped it left and right, knocking it on the surface creating a frantic rhythm, only stopping when he noticed us throwing him a look.
“Simon, are you ok?” I asked, knowing I probably wouldn’t get a straight answer.
“Of course Dee, It’s been a busy week that’s all, I’m tired, overworked, underpaid, you know how it is.”
As I reached over to touch his arm, an empathic gesture, he pulled away stretching his neck to signal to the waiter we were ready; Emily fired a look at me this time. She had noticed it before I had. The mark on his neck was the size of a ten pence piece and several shades of green and yellow, although it could have been mistaken for a bodged tattoo of Northern Ireland.
“Simon, what did you do to your neck?”
“Oh nothing Emily, I was in the garden, had a fight with a bush, bloody thing needs trimming back, can’t afford to pay someone to do it, so looks like it will be me, she’s no bloody good either, ‘might break a nail, might knock myself out, might slip and saw myself in half’. I know I can’t expect a woman to cut down a bush but bloody hell getting her to do anything would be something.”
“Are you and Amy ok? Emily said that you’ve been having a few problems, how long have you two been going out together now?”
“Yes, Dee! Bloody hell what’s with all the questions, she’s just a lazy cow nothing new there, I’ve had ‘em before, I seem to attract ‘em, six months if you must know. Look, sorry, just ignore me, work is stressful at the moment, what with me having to make people redundant, trying to keep a roof over our heads and worrying I may also be out of a job.”
“Why don’t you ask her to contribute more, surely she could get a bloody job and at least help around the house a bit, you’re too bloody soft Simon, she obviously needs telling?”
“Last time we talked about that Emily, we had a fight and…well….she did this!” Our mutual friend pointed at the bruise, jumped out of his seat, whipped the café door open, and was gone.