Page 102 of To Hell With It
‘So, it’s not gone in you.’
‘The lemonade would have passed over it. I only saw it when I took the slice of lemon off the side after I took a sip.’
‘There was a slice of lemon on the glass?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pearl, do you think that perhaps what you’ve seen is a bit of lemon that’s come loose?’
There was a beat.
‘Think about it logically for a moment, what are the chances of it being from someone’s nose? Don’t you think it’s more likely it is from the lemon?’
‘But it could have fallen from the waitress’s nose if she sneezed.’
‘Do you really think the waitress would have sneezed over your drink?’
Another beat.
‘Look at it, Pearl,’ Mairéad said. ‘Take another look.’
I glanced down at the glass. I could see it there, still stuck to the edge. I peered inside. And what I’d seen as yellowy-green was in fact pale yellow, lemon yellow.
‘Shit,’ I said to myself and to Mairéad.
‘Lemon?’ Mairéad asked.
‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘I really thought it was…’
‘Don’t worry about it. Don’t give it any more energy. Are you out?’
‘Just at a café.’
‘Well done!’ Mairéad said like a proud parent. ‘Just focus on that.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered as everything began to calm down inside of me.
‘It’s no problem. Now go and have some fun and I’ll speak to you soon. I’m always here if you need me.’ She sounded sleepy.
‘OK. Thank you again, Mairéad.’
‘Drink your lemonade, Pearl,’ Mairéad said and then she clicked the phoned off and it was only when I glanced down at the time that I realised it was two o’clock in the morning in Ireland.
I put my phone down and that’s when the anger came. It bubbled inside of me like a simmering pot. I looked around at everyone getting on with their lives; how could life appear so easy for them when I had to wake someone up in the early hours to get me through mine? I’d spent my whole bloody life in one place (and it was a lovely place, don’t get me wrong) apart from my week in Bath when my parents took me to England, but I don’t actually remember much of that, because my head was always down counting the lines on the pavement most of the time.
But this wonderful life – it had been going on all around me and I’d not had a clue because I’d been stuck in mine, dealing with imaginary penises, lemon bogies, and death threats from who exactly? Myself?
I was so consumed by my own internal rant that I didn’t notice her at first – the little old lady who had pulled up a chair on the next table along. But then my eyes fell to the blue coat and everything about it was so familiar I almost burst into tears.
‘Bunty?’ I half-shouted across to her.
She turned to face me.
‘Well now, would you believe it!’ she exclaimed (and it was Bunty by the way). Her hair was slightly wilder than I remembered it on the plane, and I don’t know how, but she looked younger too.
‘What are you…?’ I stuttered. ‘I thought you were in Kuala Lumpur?’ The joy of seeing her again made me instantly start crying. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, well, I do. I’m a bloody mess that’s why.’
‘Oh, my dear girl,’ Bunty said in a tone that was familiar and safe, which was strange given we had only met once, but sometimes people just feel like home, don’t they? And she got up and made her way over, pulling out the chair next to me.
