4.4

 

Paul had already left by the time she rose the next morning. Unsure of his work schedule, she assumed him to be at his studio, beating the living daylights out of a chunk of masonry. Still, she knocked on his door and waited, hoping he'd have a power tool she could borrow to adjust her sign stand.

There was no reply to the first knock, or the second, so she gave up and went into the bathroom to perform her morning ablutions, and with the adjustment of the mirror, managed to avoid looking at the reflected image of her body while showering. 'Body Dysmorphic Disorder,' the psychologist had called it, advising her to go to a medical practitioner as soon as possible for a clinical diagnosis and their permission to administer anti-depressants. She'd had it for years, the teachers at St Mary's dismissing her as fat and lazy, rather than admit the possibility she might need professional help with her state of mind. "God is omnipotent and therefore doesn't make mistakes," she was told. If he was so all-knowing, what was the whole deal with Adam and Lilith, then? And was Eve set up to be the fall guy for their expulsion from Eden? Never mind why He'd allow people to change the wording in the Bible to make it 'more relevant.  The only bit that was relevant to modern times was the whole ending of the world, at the behest of a few oligarchs' desperate need to make an indelible stain on history. As far as she could tell, we were only a couple of upgrades away from making the fun, limited-flight drones of her youth become the giant stinging locusts of the bottomless pit in Revelations Nine. The only good bit about Bible Studies had been reading The Revelations of St. John and finding out how the world would end. Not with a bang after all, it would seem, but the blowing of Seven Trumpets. Catholics must have crapped themselves when they first heard Jazz.

Her mum had dismissed it entirely. "Don't be silly," she said. "Everyone has something about themselves they don't like. "I wanted blonde hair and a rich husband when I was your age, but wanting something never makes it happen and I did all right in the end, didn't I? I had a lovely wedding and a lovely boy."

"And then you got me, and your husband walked out."

"More fool him." She picked up her knitting, a sure sign she was tired of the conversation. It wasn't like it wasn't one they'd had before and would again. "He'll come crawling back, you just wait and see. If I even want him back after all this time. I've got used to not being nagged about every little thing he finds offensive to his delicate tastes. I like my life as it is, thank you very much."

"That's pretty much the point I'm trying to make, though, isn't it? You've made the changes you needed to make to become happy. All I want is the chance to do the same."

"I didn't want to change bits of myself, though. I've said it before. If you want to mess with what God's given you, then there's nothing I can do about it." She reached for the television remote, a sure sign the conversation was over with and there was nothing else to be said.

Roisin dried herself of with the largest towel in the bathroom. Paul's, obviously, since it held the memory of his body odour. It wasn't offensive, per se, but boy it was strong. He evoked no desire in her whatsoever, but his natural odour was intoxicating to the point where it could give her a spontaneous ladyboner. Not that she'd ever act upon it. She'd long ago learned the lesson of not shitting on your own doorstep.

Finally dry, she wiped the shower down, mindful of Paul's house rules when she'd arrived the day before yesterday and put her shoes on the return to her room. She’d not got round to cleaning the flat up, yet, and the carpet between her bedroom and the bathroom -- and the rest of the flat -- was still sticky with old dirt, dust and bits of stone from the upturned cuffs of Paul's 'retro' jeans. She was pretty sure they were just too long for his little legs, and he was unable or unwilling to trim them off and hem them. He'd dropped a chip last night and it had landed in his trouser cuff. She'd almost gagged when he dusted it off and ate it anyway. He'd laughed at her expression. "You've got to eat a bit of dirt to build up your immunities," he'd said.