I began my life outside Edinburgh, in a small town, 'wee' as they would say locally. My parents were kind, loving. I was a surprise to them, my twin siblings born eight years earlier. They must have been impressed with me as three years later, my younger sister was born.
I grew up shy, reserved. I wasn't girly by any means, a tomboy, I felt more secure dressed more in the grunge style clothes of my favorite artists, as opposed to being girly; my flannel shirt, my black jeans, leather boots, and my hair cut in the goth style.
I never embraced the goth outlook on life, though. I was always too smiley. As I went through my teenage years, the frequent changes happened to my body. They popped out, not massive but a sign of my gender. Boys noticed me, and I saw them.
The last few years of high school had presented issues. My mood changed, more so as I had an on-again-off-again relationship with a boy. One minute we were together, the next we weren't. It would be now, in my mid-twenties, despite the lectures from my dad at the time, that he wasn't right for me.
Now at 26, it's been three years since all that ended, the boyfriend who wasn't right. I find myself here in London, chasing my career. Music has been my life, my love since I was young. Theatre came naturally to me, despite my shyness and introversion, I found being on stage performing as a character a great escape.
London life has had its ups and downs; anything does. On my second house share now. The first had its moments, its characters. I'd always felt comfortable there, except for a few moments with strange guys. But after Joanne had moved out, I decided to move across town.
A few men had been through my life. Nothing serious, they just seemed to want one thing, and my moral compass denied them that until I was sure. That just seemed to see them run off; there must be a world of options out there in the city, women who drop their knickers for anyone with a bottle of Smirnoff.
I stood and surveyed myself in the mirror. In my sports bra and briefs, I looked pretty damn good. My breasts, a good size, I get comments about being small, in truth, I keep them well concealed, no need to give too much away. Besides, my best feature is my arse, as many guys have pointed out. Years of squats, despite my back issues, had given me an arse that I was incredibly proud of.
I would like to be taller, maybe have a face that looked a little older. At 26, I'm not quite at the age were being told I look 15 years younger is flattering. My casting notes always said I could play 13-20.
I looked through my wardrobe. The grunge look was now long gone, in its place a mixture of band t-shirts, hero t-shirts, all dark, jeans still black. And then in the next part of my wardrobe what I called my 'as best as you are going to get girly collection'.
I pulled out a dress, floral, down to mid-thigh. 'Too short?' I pondered to myself, looking at it. To be fair probably about the average. Plus, it is the height of summer outside, so I need something that will keep me fresh.
With minimal ceremony, I pulled it on, zipping it up at the back. My hair was its usual uncontrolled mess. I grabbed a hairband and tied it back. 'That's as good as it gets for mid-week Joanne, I hate to say,' I said to myself, sliding my feet into some flip flops and grabbing my bag.
*****************
I hate trains. They are a necessary evil of city life; no sane human being would try and drive anywhere in this place. The teenage boys in the group of seats opposite me were acting like typical London idiots. One was leering at my legs, I crossed them and tried to act like I hadn't seen them. They had seen me through.
"How old are you then?" one of them asked.
I stared back. "Too good to answer us, then are ya?" another asked, chewing gum and sounding way older than he looked.
"None of your fucking business," I responded, before turning back away.
They came to the bank of seats I was in surrounding me, "ere, listen to this Scottish bitch giving us lip."
"She should learn some manners," one of them said, getting well into my personal space.
"Go on fuck off the lot of ya," a female voice said from behind them. I looked up and saw a woman in her 40's, with a friend. Both looked like they had seen battles, but I was happy for their interruption.
"Looks like your mums here slut," said one of the boys. The woman swung at him, but the boys scampered away.
"You alright, love?" the friend asked, smiling at me.
"Yes, thank you," I said, smiling. They sat with me for the rest of the trip. They spoke to each other, occasionally throwing a question my way. But for the most part, they were just welcome security for me.
I got off the train and rushed to the exit, not wanting to be accosted by the brat pack again. The pub was, as Joanne had said, just next to the station.
I walked in, and she was already there. Taller than me, and curvier, in her short blue dress, low cut. I admired her confidence for someone who was genuinely shy and introverted when she dressed all that went out the window.
"Happy Birthday," I said as I hugged her.
"Shush," she said in her Kent accent, "I told you I hate birthdays."
"30 years old," we should be out getting you well and truly messed up.
We both laughed. Joannes's boyfriend Mo joined us. One of the nicest men you could meet and tallest. His gentle demeanor and way with her always made me so happy. She'd been through the wringer, but come out the other side.
"So who's this guy you've found for our Ginny?" Joanne asked Mo, smiling at me with a comical wide-eyed expression.
"I told ya, he's a geezer just started working with us in the office."
"As long as he looks a little gay man, Ginny will love him," Joanne said, laughing as I gave her a dirty joke look.
"Here he is now," Mo said, gesturing to the door.
I nervously turned around, looking, but not seeing who it could be. Then I saw a man walking towards us. Tall, his beard and hair having a wisp of grey, his eyes a little dark. A full suit, including a waistcoat, polished leather shoes. A handsome man, but older.
"Jon," Mo said, giving the man a handshake, "this is my girl Joanne, and her friend Ginny."
He smiled and said hello to us both, shaking hands. His hands were soft, his nails manicured, but his grip firm. "Can you ladies excuse us a moment," he said, his accent posh but northern, "Mo, I just need to chat with you over here."
As they walked away, I turned to Joanne, "You said he was an older man, not the fucking oldest man."
Joanne stifled a laugh, "Mo didn't say his age, just that he was single, into music, and pretty."
"Fuck," I said, looking over at him, "My mum would like him; she likes George Clooney."
The two men walked back. "Sorry, ladies, unfortunately, something has come up, and I must return to work," Jon said, "it has been a pleasure."
"Can you not stay for one?" I asked, unsure why I asked, but my friendliness popped out.
"Sadly, no," he said, "as Mo understands, my work is something I often get dragged away by."
And with that, he was gone.
"He is a little old for Ginny, isn't he?" Joanne said, poking Mo in the arm.
"Yeah," Mo said, "he realized that as well, that's why he is off."
I stood for a moment; I looked over my shoulder and watched as Jon walked out.
"Hang on a second," I said and ran to the door after him.
*****************
"Ok," I said, "it's been a month of us dating now, and I still have no idea what it is you do, where you live?"
Jon smiled at me from across the table. He was treating me to another of London's best restaurants. Everywhere we went, people who owned the place would come out and greet him. He knew everyone, and yet I still had no idea who it was I had been dating this last month.
"Well," he said, smiling back, "I thought you liked mystery?"
"Mystery, yes," I laughed, "but you're a sodding enigma."
The food came out. I was famished, a day of teaching kids to sing and dance had taken it out of me. It looked amazing, I was on the verge of taking my phone out to take a picture for Instagram, but then I remembered I wasn't at Bella Italia.
