I’ve never thought that Mina was unattractive, but it’s not like I’ve spent a long time thinking she was beautiful. And yet, I see now that there is something about her that is undeniably pretty and appealing. Her face is open until it’s not, her chin a gentle point. Under her heavy black fringe, her eyes are big and brown despite the thick lines of make-up and mascara that frame them. Her nose is almost small enough to be called a button nose and yet it also has a defining end that makes your eyes drop immediately to her mouth, which is painted with a dark red, the colour of winter roses. And since when were Mina’s lips perfectly symmetrical, the upper lip matching the lower one for plumpness, fullness and shape?
It’s when I hear Mina saying my name that I know I’ve been staring at her face, or, oh God, her lips for an unreasonable amount of time.
“Charlie? You okay?”
I clap my hands together because what else would make this moment more awkward? “Yes! Totally fine! Happy to see you! Happy you’re here!”
“Okay,” Mina drags the word out and manages to sound increasingly unimpressed as she does.
“I can’t believe you came!” I state, sounding borderline hysterical. I will myself to take a deep breath. But I really cannot believe she came. Mina,Moanafor Christ’s sake, the company’s most unenthusiastic, antisocial and withdrawn employee showed up to my mother’s seventieth birthday party. Mina is here and she’s… my date. Shit, I should probably treat her as such.
“You look amazing,” I rush out.
“Thanks,” she says. “You look… colourful.”
She still doesn’t sound very impressed but at this stage, and knowing what I know about Mina, it would be weird if she started dishing out an abundance of compliments. I’m still just in shock that she’s even here.
“Do you want a drink?” I turn to pick my two glasses off the bar. “Do you like brandy and lemonade? I’ve got two here and you can have one if you like. I’ve not touched it, so you don’t need to worry about… about germs or stuff. I’m buying all your drinks, by the way. Not that that’s actually a big deal because my mum’s put some money behind the bar but knowing her friends, they’ll drink it dry in seconds. Oh goodness, I’m waffling on. I just can’t really believe you’re here. And I’m really happy you’re here, by the way, if I haven’t said that already. I really, really am and—”
“Charlie.” Mina’s hand lands on my forearm and my eyes are immediately drawn to her tattooed and silver ring-covered fingers resting on my suit jacket. Her thumb ring has a skull on it and it looks up at me, grinning manically. “Take a breath.”
“That’s an excellent idea.” I do as instructed and I watch her chest rise and fall like she’s coaching me through the breath. It isn’t unpleasant. Not at all.
“So, drink?” I ask again once we are finished with my breathing.
“Yes, please,” Mina says and the corner of her mouth twitches again, reminding me of our conversation yesterday. I guess that’s what a smile looks like on Mina’s face.
“A non-alcoholic beer? Like you have in the office?”
Mina pulls a face that is very far away from being a smile. “A sparkling water is fine.”
“Okey-kokey, ice? Lemon? Or lime? Or something even more exciting that my brain is yet to think of?”
“Just water,” she says and closes her eyes slowly like she wants to remove herself from her surroundings. In other words, like she wants to be away from me. And I can’t even blame her. But while her eyes are closed, I quickly glance around her head, looking to see if my mother is on the approach. I don’t spot her anywhere, not talking with any of the other guests that are now filling the space, a handful of whom I recognise. There’s Bert and Beatrice our old next-door neighbours who catch my eye and I wave awkwardly. Some way behind them, apparently admiring some of the dull as dishwater golfing memorabilia on display in a glass cabinet, are Quentin and Arthur who Mum went to university with. I waste no time moving my gaze on from them because I know exactly how irrationally disappointed they’ll be to see me with a woman. And a few metres down the long bar, I spot Angela who is Mum’s business partner and fellow theatre agent, who is a good laugh after a few drinks, but after a few more she’s a car crash waiting to happen, and oh, shit, is that her ordering two bottles of champagne.
“Maybe this was a terrible idea,” I say, by accident. Because while I’m thinking those exact thoughts, I really don’t mean to say them out loud.
Much to my surprise Mina’s face falls, like she’s stunned to hear what I just said. And maybe, possibly a bit disappointed. But just as I’m acknowledging this, she pulls herself together and another look of stoic disinterest falls into place.
“I washed my hair in a cold shower for this, Charlie. We. Are. Going. To. See. It. Through.” Her eyes darken with something that could be determination or frustration or just good old-fashioned exasperation. Yes, that’s what it is. That’s how people generally feel around me.
“Why did you have a cold shower?” I have to ask.
She tilts her head to the side. “Because my shower’s bust.”
“Right. So not because you’re doing some ice water exposure challenge like that mad Dutch bloke who likes to hump icebergs?”
“Do I look like someone who would take an ice-cold shower by choice?”
I look her up and down then. I mean, she practically invited me to, and I have to say I feel… things when I take her in.
Wearing a form-fitting dress that has thin straps that expose her collar bones and the ink that covers her chest, it’s black, made from a slightly ruffled texture material and ends just above her knee. Thick-soled heavy black boots come up to the middle of her calves, and her sheer tights are transparent enough to reveal some of the shapes and shades of the tattoos on her legs. A small black bag sits on one of her hips, the long silver chain strap crossing her body and bringing my attention to the narrowing of her waist and the curve of her breasts and hips, above and below respectively.
Mina has something about her. I’ve always known that, but I guess I used to bundle that up with her stand-offish air and her resting bitch face, but actually, there’s something more to her and her curvy petite body. Something that is sending heat and blood south in my body. Which is so far from ideal in this moment in time, because, oh shit-tits-arse-wanker-balls…
Mother.
“So, she did come after all?” Mum says with absolutely no shame as she swoops in. She sticks her hand out. “Diane Atkinson, lovely to meet you.”
