Page 200 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 21

EPILOGUE - CILLIAN

There are certain things I’m not allowed to say when we’re in another country.

Well, technically speaking, everything I say in another country is a struggle. All the places we go speak some form of English, but when you speak with my accent that is surprisingly not that much help.

Usually, I get by just fine with Meisie translating for me.

Time’s eh bar opin tae here mate?

Meisie: He’s asking what time do you close?

Prime example.

But there is one phrase she absolutely refuses to translate for me and that is “You keep the change, pal.”

This stems from the fact that wherever we go, the second I get off the plane and breathe in that warm foreign air, money stops being real to me.

Euros in Spain. Dollars at Disneyworld. Pesos. Rand. Might as well be playing with monopoly money.

Two-hundred and twenty dollars for a princess dress and a bit of nail polish? You keep the change, pal. Fourteen euros for two ice creams? You keep the change, pal.

And those currencies are the easy ones.

When it comes to the South African rand, like it does tomorrow, all bets are off. Meisie keeps a hold of the money in that country, which is probably a good thing because she’s the only one who can say no to the sprogs.

It’s not that we’re short of money. I mean, technically speaking, I’m straight now. Not as straight as a ruler. I don’t think I could ever be that straight. Think...rough around the edges as opposed to coming home with a blood-stained suit every night. But between the nightclub and the security business, and a few favors on the side for friends, we get by just as well as I always did.

The legalization still hasn’t gone through, which means things are still up in the air. That bill is a bit like when the UK voted to leave the EU. Just a colossal fucking hassle. It’s happening, one day, but nobody can actually tell you how or when. Nobody knows how to make it happen, so it’s just this awkward thing sitting over the country that everyone hopes will be forgotten about.

Remember that time you were going to legalize drugs?

Who? Us? When? Nah mate, I think you’ve got the wrong country. You must be mistaken.

Helen slinked off out of politics a while ago and now she writes opinion articles for some socialist newspaper. Fair play to her. We see her maybe once or twice a month, and Meisie’s learned to deal with our form of conversation. She says we should learn to play chess and be done with it.

Speaking of my wife, she’s in the living room right now, inspecting the twins’ bags ahead of the flight in the morning.

You have to do that because they’re sneaky little pricks, and causing a ruckus at airport security is a sport to them.

“iPads, earphones,” she says, pulling things out. “Did you charge them?”

Jordan nods his head. “I charged mine.”

“You’ve got 13%. And Josh yours is just...completely dead.”

“Bring them here,” I shout through from the kitchen.

The boys do as they’re told and go back to their mum to finish off the inspection.

“Tomato sauce? Seriously, Josh?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Da’ says the food’s different there.”

The twins have never actually been to SA. We took Maddie the year after we got her, but decided to wait until the twins were old enough before hauling them halfway across the world.

I’ve spent the last two weeks winding them up with how much of a riot the place is.