Perfect Skin by Nick Earls Page B

wasn’t prepared for the Tickle-Me-Elmo side of her world. This was just a chance for her to get out of the house, not to get semi-dressed-up, play with my baby, be interesting.
    Tattoos,
she says, when she comes back over.
You were starting to tell me about tattoos.
    Okay. Here’s the strange thing. You’d think tattoos’d be the easiest part of the job, but they aren’t. They canneed quite a few treatments, and there aren’t any lasers that cover all the colours effectively. So you can need several different machines to treat the one tattoo. And you can really only justify having multiple machines if you’re doing an awful lot of business. You also don’t know for sure how many different components modern tattoo inks are made of. Some of them are pure, some of them are a mixture. So very occasionally you’ll see a bizarre response, where the laser changes the tattoo ink to another colour instead of making it go away. Another issue, at least in this part of the world, is that almost nobody has white skin. As in, actually close to white. And the laser you use for blue or black ink also picks out pigment cells. It depigments the area so – if you imagine it treating your reasonably tanned skin – you could end up with a white tattoo ghost if you had one removed. Whereas, with a lot of diseases, you’re much more likely to get a good result. Those farmers who are sixty and look ninety because of all the sun damage to their faces.
    Like my father.
    That kind of thing can come up really well. It looks like they’ve had their wrinkles done, even though you’re actually doing it to treat premalignant skin change.
    It’s strange that something like a cancer can be easy to get rid of and a tattoo’s harder.
    It’s all to do with how the skin works. And the laser, too, I guess. People think skin is easy. They think it’s a really simple organ. Probably just because it’s on the outside and they can see it. It’s much more subtle than they realise. There’s a lot to it, and most of it’s not on show. It’s got quite a few layers, and different components to it,and different cell types. Laser’s good because it takes that into account. You can shave off layers microns thick, or you can target particular things.
    Our second coffees arrive, and I know we need a change of subject. I’m right on the brink of doing what I used to watch old housemates do when they brought women home, told them all about work and made sure we’d never see them again. And they never actually say,
Yes, you’re being boring,
do they?
    Lily’s awake and talking again, wanting to be part of things. I pick her up and let her bounce around on my thigh. Ash smooths out a mint wrapper and turns it into a goblet.
    Is that all right, or is it too small for her?
she says as she holds it up and Lily reaches for it.
    I think we’ll notice if she does anything risky with it. It’s a neat goblet. You look like you’ve done that before.
    Hey, I’ve drunk wine from them before.
    You know what fun is, don’t you?
    Well, there goes your chance of getting a set of six for your birthday.
    Sorry. It was just envy. The dexterity of it all . . .
    My mobile rings. It’s somewhere down in the baby bag, so it takes me a while to recognise it and then to find it. It’s a medical receptionist and she’s saying,
It’s Doctor Mendoza’s rooms calling for Doctor Brand.
    Calling for Melissa.
    Calling now as I’m sitting here, having my attention caught by a student and her neat, mint-wrapper goblet, halfway through a long discussion about all kinds of things. Complacent, and I told myself I wouldn’t be complacent.
    The receptionist hasn’t heard. It’s not her fault that she hasn’t heard.
    It’s been weeks since we last had one of these calls. Weeks and weeks.
    I was sure they were over.
    Doctor Mendoza’s rooms