The studio door buzzed as they entered. Asa was greeted warmly by two men covered with tattoos, setting up their work stations for the afternoon by wrapping cling film across every surface.
‘Morning fellas, anyone available to squeeze me in?’ asked Asa, looking between them.
‘One of your birds?’ asked the older male, his ear lobes stretched to golf ball size.
‘Yeah Tony, he died yesterday.’
‘Oh man, I’m sorry…’ continued the tattoo guy, ‘We don’t need you to tell us how much they struggle to stay alive.’
‘Exactly, but yeah, he asked for it in blue ink.’
‘Who did?’ asked Esmé.
‘Stig.’
‘He asked for a blue bird?’
‘I ask them what colour they want… they know what I do once they’ve gone.’
‘Free hand?’ asked Tony.
Esmé stood in awe as both guys offered to squeeze Asa in before their booked clients arrived. It seemed surreal to watch the two burly men speak so softly and respectfully.
‘Do you always come here?’ asked Esmé, interrupting their flow.
‘Always, these two are responsible for everything I’ve got inked,’ explained Asa, waving a hand at the duo. ‘You might want to take issue with them for ruining my skin.’
‘Not to your taste, hey, lady?’ asked the younger one in the corner, displaying a pair of tattooed sleeves that stopped at his knuckles.
‘He’s one of our regulars,’ laughed Tony, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
‘Asa!’
‘You said it, not me!’ retorted Asa, unbuttoning and removing his shirt and indicating a position to the top of his right shoulder.
Esmé wanted to look away but couldn’t. The sight of his naked torso in full daylight as he settled face down on their black couch was hypnotic.
‘Pull up a chair if you want?’ said the older guy, as he grabbed wipes and began cleaning the area.
‘No, I’ll stay here…’ answered Esmé, touching the counter top a short distance away.
Asa’s head lifted, then he turned and smiled at her.
‘Stop being a chicken, come and watch… you never know, you might fancy one yourself after this,’ he said, his eyes twinkling.
Esmé tried to think of a smart retort, but she had nothing. He’d won.
Let’s live a little.
‘I doubt it, but I’ll pull up a seat and watch you squirm in agony.’
Asa pulled a face.
‘It doesn’t hurt, you wuss.’
‘Hmmm, it might,’ she said, as she dragged a wooden stool across and sat near his head.
‘Wooooo, more like she’s hoping it hurts you!’ laughed Tony, using a purple pen to draw a tiny bird freehand. ‘Now, who am I to please, him or her?’
‘Me! I’m paying,’ laughed Asa.
‘You ready?’
‘Yep.’
Asa’s gaze lifted to meet Esmé’s.
‘I’m glad you came along. I thought you’d bail out.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ smiled Esmé. ‘I like proving you wrong.’
‘Mmmm, do you now?’ he whispered, as the artist stretched the skin on Asa’s back and the whir of the needle began.
*
‘What do you think?’ asked Asa, minutes later as he stood in front of the large mirror, clutching a smaller mirror to help view his shoulder.
Esmé couldn’t speak. Her tears had flowed from the minute the navy ink started to seep into his skin.
‘Hey, you big softy. I’m asking for your opinion and all you can do is snivel; does it look OK?’
‘It… looks… beautiful…’ she hiccuped, into the tissue hastily offered by the younger guy. ‘Stig… would… have… loved… it.’
Asa handed back the small mirror and wrapped his arms around her quivering shoulders as the booked client arrived looking bewildered.
‘Come here, you daft one, there’s no need to get so upset.’
Esmé inhaled his warmth, deep and musky with a hint of freshly applied deodorant.
‘It’s… just… that I’ve never seen something as beautiful as that before… you’ve actually given up your own skin to remember them… all of them.’
Asa pulled back to view her tear-stained face.
‘Exactly, but shhhh, that really isn’t rock and roll, is it?’
‘Nope, quite the opposite.’
Asa squeezed her tightly before releasing her.
‘It certainly is. Now, dry your eyes or this customer will think you’ve sobbed like a baby having your own tattoo.’
Esmé frantically wiped at her face as Asa sat down for protective wrapping to be taped to his shoulder and back.
‘You know the rules, look after it, care for it and it’ll last you a lifetime,’ laughed Tony.
‘Thanks,’
‘Always a pleasure, you know that.’
*
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Esmé, as they walked back home.
‘Sometimes, but I can hardly complain, can I?’
‘Suppose not, given the endless pain they endured.’
‘That’s life, petal. Endure the pain to receive the peace.’
Esmé stared up at him, as they strode along.
‘You talk in riddles a lot of the time, don’t you?’
‘Not really, if Stig was here right now he’d know exactly what that meant… but you, you’ve not known the pain, so why should you get it?’
‘I’ve known pain.’
‘When?’
‘I broke my arm at nine, I’ve had wisdom teeth come through all at the same time, I’ve had…’
‘That’s shite pain… I’m talking real pain, loss, death, injury, serious illness – that pain.’
Esmé shook her head.
‘Exactly, and until you do… you haven’t a clue about life.’
‘Asa!’
‘I’m not trying to patronise you, but honestly, if you had you’d know I don’t talk in riddles, I speak the truth, known by those who know.’
Esmé thrust her hands deep into her side pockets.
‘Don’t get arsey.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are. I can tell.’
‘You think you know everything…’
‘I know about life.’
‘Go on then, let’s hear it… let’s hear about the pain you’ve suffered to know everything there is to know, when I know nothing.’
‘Drink?’
‘Yeah, if it helps.’
‘Are you sure you’ve got the time, I thought you were planning to visit your parents’ to discuss Toby?’
‘I’ve plenty of time. I’ll phone them later today and make arrangements to visit on Sunday, it’ll give Kane a chance to talk to them before I do.’
‘Esmé, drink doesn’t help but it’ll give you something to cry into when I tell you, that’s all.’
‘Ha bloody ha.’
Within minutes Asa had cut down one street, crossed a main road and was hauling her through the doors of a distinctly grubby looking pub.
‘You seem to have a taste for dives,’ said Esmé, staring around the darkened room where a handful of customers cradled pint glasses.
‘Quite the opposite actually, I just don’t judge on face value as much as you do,’ whispered Asa, as they neared the lengthy bar.
A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her as she struggled to climb onto the bar stool.
‘We’re not sitting at the bar,’ said Asa. ‘Go grab that corner table, I’ll bring your JD over.’
Esmé did as she was told.
He’s got a bloody big chip on his shoulder, he thinks he knows everything about everybody – well he doesn’t.
Within minutes, Asa was carrying a full tray of glasses towards her.
‘How many?’
‘JD and coke. I cancelled the ice and two whisky chasers each.’ Asa settled the tray before settling himself.
‘Can you hear my liver screaming ‘no’?’ laughed Esmé.
‘Nah, but if I do I suggest we ignore it, it’ll cope.’
‘I’ve drunk more since moving in with you guys then I ever have before.’
‘Cheers!’ Asa gulped at his JD. Esmé followed. ‘How good is that?’
‘Great!’ mocked Esmé.
‘You see there’s one huge difference between us. I savour the little things, the taste of a drink, the smell of the place – you simply gulp it down and don’t recognise or acknowledge the enjoyment of it. That…’ pointing to his glass. ‘Tastes great.’
‘So, I don’t sample life like you, that doesn’t mean to say I don’t feel what you do.’
‘But you don’t.’
‘I do.’
‘Nah, you don’t.’
‘Asa!’
‘Esmé!’
‘I do.’
‘You don’t and here’s why… and I don’t mean this nastily but you’ve been brought up in a lovely little life where every pain and danger has been removed or eased.’
‘No.’
‘You have. You’ve never gone hungry, you’ve never known loneliness, hurt, pain, fear…’
‘Here we go again,’ mocked Esmé, busying her hands by sipping her drink. ‘I’ll remind you that we came in here to hear your story, so why focus on mine? Are you avoiding the topic?’
Asa shook his head.
‘Not at all.’
‘Let’s hear it then…’
‘OK. It’d been just me and mum, my father skipped out and moved on at the teenage pregnancy stage. Anyway, we lived in a small flat in a terraced build the other side of town. Mum worked… I went to school. That was the routine.’
Esmé hung on his every word. Her eyes flicking about his face as he seemed to return to the two bedroomed flat of yesteryear.
‘Anyway, it was getting near to Christmas, Mum took on an extra job to earn some pennies, so I used to go to my Gramp’s house after school until Mum collected me. One night I had to stay there even longer than usual, she mentioned something to do with more overtime – that kind of thing. Turned out she’d been busy decorating the lounge with Christmas decorations ready to surprise me when I returned.’
‘Like a reward?’
‘Exactly.’ He swigged his JD drink.
Esmé got it. A working mum making the most of things, adding in the treats as and when she could and trying her best to make ends meet.
‘Anyway, Gramps walked me home, Mum opened the door with a big grin, she covered my eyes with her hands and we walked into the centre of the lounge. I remember counting to three, then she whipped her hands away.’
Asa’s face softened. The hard edges had gone and a mellowness hung around his eyes as he stared into the distance some way beyond Esmé’s right shoulder.
‘It was fab, she’d decorated the entire room in tinsel, coloured streamers, a real Christmas tree stood in the corner – the full works. She really had spent ages on it. I was thrilled, we’d never had anything like that in previous years but this year was going be different. She’d said so, so many times.’
Asa took another swig of his JD and coke, before he returned to his story.
‘She was happy – I know that now… to be able to thrill a child and hear his delight after you’ve spent hard earned money on a few bits and bobs stapled around a room – that gave her pleasure.’ A lengthy pause occurred, Esmé waited, ready for him to resume his story.
‘Anyway, bedtime came and she always went to bed at the same time as me, there was no point her staying up on her own… it made sense to close the flat down for the night. So, while I warmed my pyjamas by the fire she went round blowing out the candles that she’d lit around the room: on the mantelpiece, the bookcase, the window ledge. I can see her now, moving quietly to each one, blowing them out and wafting the whisper of smoke away with her hand.’
Asa ignored his JD and coke, grabbed a whisky shot and downed it in one gulp.
‘We were asleep when the noise from outside woke me in the middle of the night. My room was thick with smoke. I got out of bed and looked out of the window, I could see the neighbours outside pointing up at our flat. I started to call for Mum, she should have been in the room next to mine, but when I ran in she wasn’t there. The bed had the clothes pulled back but nothing. I started along the corridor towards the lounge door and that’s when I saw the fire. A total blaze, everything in it was on fire, including the couch on which my mum was lying.
I couldn’t leave her there, by this time people were banging on the front door, trying to smash it down, I was trying to wake my mum. I shook her. I yelled at her… but nothing. I understand now that she was overcome by the smoke because her face had black soot marks on it. She knew nothing about it.’
Esmé exhaled in a gasp, having held her breath for much of the story. Asa’s focus returned to the room and he blinked, as if he’d forgotten where he was. He sipped his JD and continued.
‘That’s it really, the neighbours came charging in once the door had given way, the fire brigade arrived soon afterwards and Gramps was called.’
‘Your mum?’
‘Dead… it was too much to fight once the door was open, the fire used the additional oxygen and the intensity was just too much, even the fire brigade had a job on their hands, let alone the neighbours trying to save her.’
Orphaned at nine, thought Esmé.
She snatched up a whisky shot and downed it in one. No face pulling, no twisted expression, nothing. Asa watched her intensely, his eyes deepening into glistening pools as he stared.
‘That’s how I got this,’ he pointed to the left side of his face.
‘The tattoo?’ mouthed Esmé, her brow furrowing deeply as she peered at his face.
‘No, you fool. I was nine! You broke your leg, I received a burnt face.’
Esmé stared, speechless. Her eyes peeled away the colour of feathers and fine lines to imagine the scarred tissue beneath. The uneven skin, the bumps and stretched web effect now apparent and clear to see despite the peacock’s colouring.
‘I had the tattoo to cover up the scar tissue.’
‘But a tattoo of all things? It must draw more attention than any scar?’
‘Are you joking? People used to stare more at my burns with revulsion as if I was a freak of nature… with this,’ he pointed to his tattoo. ‘They glance once or twice, some stare but the disgust and revulsion has disappeared. They simply stare.’
‘I assumed you were thuggish… and uneducated.’
‘That’s better than being labelled as Quasimodo, or socially unacceptable, purely through no fault of my own.’
Esmé grabbed her second whisky shot and necked it in one. She gave a satisfied gasp on returning the shot glass to the tray.
‘Easy, tiger,’ laughed Asa, ‘you’re getting quite a habit.’
‘That… is possibly the saddest story I’ve ever heard.’ Esmé’s voice cracked as tears flowed.
‘And me,’ added Asa, as his eyes glistened.
‘Why peacock feathers?’
‘They symbolise immortality and resurrection.’
‘They may look beautiful but have you ever heard one calling?’ asked Esmé, her face screwed up in disgust, as she wiped her eyes. ‘They sound bloody awful… beauty and the beast wrapped in one.’
‘Doesn’t that apply to most things in life?’
Esmé thought about Jonah – yep. Andrew – possibly. Asa? Yes, but in reverse with a beastly scar but a beautiful heart.
‘I think that last whisky is yours,’ said Esmé, pointing at the tray of glasses.
‘Cheers.’ Asa necked the final whisky and sat back. ‘So, there you are… the reason I live my life as I do, it’s precious – don’t waste it.’
‘I am so sorry, Asa – it never occurred to me that that,’ she pointed to his face, ‘covered anything.’
‘You assumed I was a thug who wanted to be different and shout it loud and proud?’
‘Something like that, sorry.’
‘No worries… now, you know different.’