Page 45 of Last Call at the Local

I don’t tell her about the other thoughts. The ones that bothered me the most. What if instead of tattooing a picture of a client’s dog, I tattooed a dick orFuck your mum, or some other awful thing? I knew I wouldn’treallydo those things, but... what if I was wrong? Whatif I just lost it one day and did it? Why else would I have those thoughts? I developed a compulsion to confess to my clients the awful thoughts I had. I’d try to pass it off as a joke, but it was awkward.

“I started being late to appointments, and then missing them completely. So one day I just... quit. Canceled all my bookings. Deleted my social media accounts. Recommended other artists to my clients. My mentor, Shauna—that’s Róisín’s mum—was the one who suspected I had OCD and suggested I see a psychiatrist. The girl I was seeing at the time tried to be supportive and stuck around for a while, but it was too much for her. Can’t say I fault her. I was in a really bad place.”

“And therapy helped?”

“It changed my life.”

“But you still don’t want to go back to tattooing?”

“It would be a lot to take on with the pub.”

It isn’t the real reason, but Raine doesn’t question it. I don’t want to tell her the truth—that I’m scared. I’m scared that not even therapy can help me get to a place where I enjoy tattooing again. Somehow it feels easier not to try.

Raine’s arms tighten around my shoulders. “Do you miss it?”

“I do.”

It feels strange to talk about that time. It feels so long ago, but also too close for comfort.

“Well,” Raine says. “If you ever change your mind about traveling, will you promise not to go to Tokyo without me?”

I laugh. That’s an easy promise to make, because I can’t see that happening. Not anytime soon, anyway. “Sure. If you go to Tokyo without me, do you promise to send me pictures?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take a million videos. I’ll get a tattoo, just so you can live vicariously through me.”

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or not,” I say.

“I’m not teasing. I really will. Before I leave Cobh, you’ll have to give me the names of some tattoo artists there.”

Before I leave Cobh.How is it that only a few weeks ago I didn’t even know Raine Hart existed, and now I hardly go a few minutes without thinking about her?

“If you go as soon as you leave here, you might make it in time to see the cherry blossoms,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to see that.”

Raine hums to herself for a moment. “Maybe next year. Just in case you change your mind.”

The image comes to me so clearly. Raine in Tokyo. Her face tilted up to the trees. Cherry blossoms in her hair.

It hurts to think about. Because when I try to imagine myself there too, Ican’t.

February

Eleven

Raine

Before I know it, more than half my time at the Local is over.

The pub might not look all that different than it did a few weeks ago, but I have managed to make some changes. Tambourine Tuesday and our pub quiz nights have more and more participants each week, but my favorite visible change by far has been the corkboard. It’s filled with photos I took on Nina’s Polaroid. Photos of Ollie, who looked grumpy even as he smiled at me from behind the bar. Of Nina and the girls. Aoife and Róisín. Of the Old Codgers and our other regular patrons, new and old alike.

My favorite photo is one I took of Jack. I found him on the steps out behind the pub with Sebastian at his side. Jack had propped his chin in his hand and turned his face to Sebastian, who, at the exact moment I took the photo, turned to look at him too. In it, the two of them look deep in thought-provoking conversation. Whenever I walk past the corkboard, my eyes find that photo first, and it never fails to make me smile.

Today is my day off. Jack isn’t working today either, but we didn’thang out like we normally do when our schedules line up. He had a mysterious errand to run. I was a bit bummed he didn’t invite me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tagged along for some mundane task. But seeing as he didn’t invite me, I’ve spent most of the day playing Dave’s guitar or mindlessly scrolling on my phone, all while pretending the various piles of dirty clothes around the flat do not exist.

The minutes drag on, but the day passes in a flash, and before I know it, I find myself on the floor of the flat, texting Jack with useless updates about Sebastian like I do every night.

Raine

8:05pm Cat loafed on top of couch.

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