The Things We Do For The Children

She looks in the mirror and carefully assesses her reflection. Brown eyes stare back at her, almost mocking her with their resilient beauty and yet, so defiantly empty. Her mouth is twisted with distaste – she isn’t happy. She looks twice her age with the garish make-up she’s been forced to apply.

She can see her mother in her reflection. She can see the same hard-by-done expression she had. She wonders if her father’s in there too. She wouldn’t know him even if she ran into him on the street. She splashes some cold water on her face. It wakes her up. She still isn’t used to the late working hours.

She hears the catcalls as the men wait impatiently and hurries with the final touches. With the final pin in her lank hair, she smiles at herself. It isn’t a happy smile but it’ll do. She allows herself a moment’s amusement at the whiskey blur she’ll be walking into.

When the calls get louder, she does a little practice run in the inside room and rushes out with a feigned breathlessness. She sees most of her regular customers – good. She should get a lot of tips tonight. Her younger sister does need a new school uniform.