On the edge

Chapter 5: Ugly Monday

Monday morning came, like pretty much every beginning of a new week, without a warning but the violent ringing of Sue's alarm clock at seven in the morning.
"Monday's one ugly son of a bitch," George used to curse.
"Like Cousin Frederic?" Sue had asked when she was twelve, and her father had burst out in hearty laughter.
The young girl hadn't quite understood why. Her second Cousin wasn't exactly easy on the eyes with his huge rabbit-like front teeth but lips so thin, they were barely even visible. He had a massive nose that was covered in freckles and blackheads, and untamable red locks; even brighter of colour than Sue's. And his father used to yell through their house what a useless little son of a bitch his son was.
"It ain't easy for your Cousin," George had said after he had managed to catch his breath.
"Be nice to him."
Sue had nodded and obeyed, " Yes, dad."
And fifteen years later, when she was old enough to understand how hard life had truly been on poor Cousin Frederic, she pitied him a bit, every time this memory came back to her mind.

Like every day, every week, and every month, all year round, James got his bottle of water from the shop. Sue noticed that he appeared more confident than most days, and for some reason, he seemed unable to conceal this huge, stupid grin on his face.
"So," James began, as he put the bottle on the counter.
"How was London?" he wanted to know.
Sue nodded unimpressed, "Alright. The usual thing, I guess."
She took the eighty pence James handed her and put the coins in the till; they made a loud clinking noise, which was quickly drowned when Sue slammed the register shut.
"We met up with a few of Joanna friends. Blonde and Blonder, and that curly dude."

"Curly dude?" the, funnily, also blond man asked.
"Yeah, well, he had really curly hair. Like, really tight curls, you know?" Sue tried to describe Nicholas.
"Total idiot, nice, but a total idiot," she continued, and James lifted his right eyebrow to express scepticism.

"That... Sounds adventurous," he then said a bit hesitantly.

"It wasn't, unfortunately," Sue replied.

"Rather annoying," she complained, remembering Nicholas promising to visit them soon, just before she and Joanna had left.
Actually, as soon as he was on a holiday, which was in a few weeks' time already. He hadn't enlightened the two women with why exactly he wanted to come to Kent; all Nicholas had said, was that he would.

"I see..." James muttered.
It almost sounded as if he were sulking, something that went completely unnoticed by Sue, which only offended his feelings further.
"Nice glasses, by the way," the red-haired said unexpectedly, and James' mood seemed immediately lifted.
"You noticed," he chirped happily and adjusted the pair of black-framed Clubmasters.
"Of course," Sue said.
"I mean, it's quite a change, isn't it?"

It probably was the greatest and most dramatic change James had made to his appearance in the entire twenty-seven years of his life. And it had taken him at least twenty years, maybe longer, Sue wasn't sure; she didn't know him before that, before reaching out her hand to a seven-year-old boy at the playground; covered in dirt, his hair messy, his nose bloody; his jeans busted on one knee, and the silver frame of his glasses severely twisted and bent.
"Get up," she had ordered him, and James had stared at Sue for a moment, silently and with his eyes wide open, before doing as told.
"If you must cry, don't let them see," the little girl had advised him and then left without another word.
For a moment, the red-haired wondered if it had taken him that long to summon up all his courage to buy a new pair of spectacles, or if he simply didn't care.

"Does it matter?" she asked herself quietly, and her mind immediately put up a huge NO sign with bright red lights.
"They look good on you," Sue silenced her subconsciousness and complimented James instead.
His cheeks turned slightly pink, and he smiled at her happily; innocently, like a child.
"Well then," James finally said after a short moment of awkward silence.