Chapter 1
Mary had always known she was different. Different from the strangers, she passed on the street. Different from her school mates, who sometimes looked at her weirdly. Different from her own family even, her father and mother, who looked at her with the most worried, most love-filled gaze, that made Mary want to scream. I’m normal, she wanted to say. Don’t look at me like this, please. No one's ever said anything. Well, except that one annoying kid from her school. Andy or something. Mary doesn’t really remember what he said, but she remembers feeling so much fury and anger inside her at the sight of his stupid, teeth less grin. After she punched him, he had lost the last remaining teeth, too. And he stopped being a complete asshole to her.
So, no, no one’s ever really told her she wasn’t completely normal, but she knew. She might be only nine, but she wasn’t stupid. Mind you.
It was that weird feeling inside of her, like something was aching to break out of her skin. She’d once told her father.
“Dad.”, she had said, after she had gotten in her bed. “I think that there are bugs under my skin.”
Her father had frowned deeply. “Bugs? Why would you think that?”
“It tickles everywhere.” The feeling had gotten worse and worse.
Her fathers gaze had softened. “Oh no, sweetheart, just because you’re feeling funny sometimes, doesn’t mean there are bugs under your skin.”
Mary had started to scratch herself, trying to get that uncomfortable feeling away. “Yes. Yes, I do think there is something.” Panic had started to come up in her. “Dad. Dad, I think my skin is breaking.”
Concern had flicked in her fathers eyes. “Mary? What do you mean? Your skin can’t break.” He started to feel her arms up and down, trying to find the source of whatever it was, making Mary freak out.
“Dad?” She could feel something build up, something growing bigger and bigger. Something that was going to explode, something dangerous, something-
The glass bottle on her desk had exploded with one loud break, water and glass falling everywhere.
But Mary hadn’t screamed, because for the first time the weird feeling had disappeared.
“Dad?” She had asked silently.
But her father had only pulled her into a tight hug. “Everything is alright.” He had mumbled into her hair, putting a soft kiss on her head. “Everything is alright.” His eyes wouldn't leave the broken glass bottle, though.
That was the only time, they had talked about it. Well, talked more or less. But neither she nor her dad seemed to want to talk about it again.
Things like that happened sometimes again. They actually became more and more consistent until Mary couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something wrong with her. Like that one time she lifted her paint brush from the floor, after dropping it and not wanting to stand up. She didn’t really lift it. Not like a foot in the air or something. But there was no denying of the few inches, the paint brush was being lifted.
Mary would like to pretend she was chill about it and didn’t freak out. She had, though. Freaked out. Had ran straight to the toilets and locked herself in one cabin.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She had repeated over and over again. First silently in her head, then louder and louder until she was almost shouting it, little hands closed into fists, nails digging deep into her soft skin. It only had drawn a little bit of blood. Nothing compared to that one time, her room had lit up in the middle of the night. That evening she had closed her fist accidentally around the scissor, with which she had been cutting an art project for school. Blood had been running down her hand, creeping closer and closer to demolishing everything.
So, no, Mary had not been chill about it. Had not known a good way to handle this- yeah, what was this even?
“Dad?” She had asked the next time, she had seen him. He had been cutting the roses of their little balcony.
“Yeah?” He had hummed without looking up.
And because Mary was no shy child and because she was more afraid of not knowing rather than knowing something terrible, she had asked bluntly: “Am I wrong?”
“What?” He had looked up, scissor forgotten in his hand. “No! Mary, why would you say that?”
She had stared right back, eyes not blinking. She hadn’t want to miss any kind of reaction. “I think something’s wrong with me.”
Concern had flashed up in her fathers deep brown eyes. “No! Listen, sweetheart, you are the most wonderful person I know.” He had taken her hands, fingers softly following the little scar, that had remained after her cut had healed.
Mary had cocked her head to the side. “Can’t there be wonderful wrongs?”
“Yes, there can.” He had squeezed her hands tightly, almost as if he had been afraid she might slip away. “But you, Mary, are wonderfully right. Don’t forget that, okay?”
“I don’t believe you.”
He had smiled, but it had been sad. “I know. But promise to try?”
She had shrugged. “Fine.”
“Okay.” He had looked at her for a moment, considering something, and then he had smiled again, this time more excited. “Do you want to learn poker?”
***
Mary stares at the men in front of her with their amused expression, eyes slightly glazed from the scotch in front of them. She’s always hated not being taken serious, but in this moment she can’t bring herself to feel that same anger.
With shaking hands she holds her cards, trying not to look as frightened as she feels. Her eyes find her fathers and somehow the warm gaze brings her a comfort, grounding her again.
‘They’re going to make fun of you.’ He had said, before inviting his poker friends. ‘But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re brilliant. Don’t let them get to your nerves.’
Still, now sitting there with these men Mary can’t help but feel unsure. Childish. Stupid. Who is she, thinking a few poker lessons with her father will turn her into someone good enough to compete with his experienced friends? She is nine for fucks sake!
Mary scolds herself in her thoughts. Her mother always frowns, when she swears and although her father doesn’t really mind it, she can’t bring herself to ignore the sharpness in her mothers gaze. No swearing, Mary reminds herself.
“And? What are you gonna do, little one?” One of her fathers friends asks, the one with the big beard and wrinkles around his eyes. Mr Thompson, she remembers.
Mary frowns, hating the term little one. She looks at her cards, trying to remember what on earth she should do. Should she bluff? Or play safe? Her eyes find her fathers yet again. He smiles, seems trying to say You got this. Mary nods. Yes, she got this.
In the end, she ends busted.
“GG.” Thompson says, but Mary can see the amusement in his light brown eyes.
Fuck you, she thinks, ignoring the mental image of her scolding mother.
“You got this.” Her father says that night, while covering her up with the blanket.
“They think I’m stupid.” She counters, frowning at her ceiling, which is covered up with little stars, that light in the dark.
Her father swipes a lock of her dark hair out of her face. “But are you stupid?”
“Yes.”
“No, sweetheart, you are not stupid.”
“Next to them I am.”
“They think you’re stupid. Do you want to know what I think?”
She looks at him with big eyes. “What?”
“I think you’re going to destroy them all.” He smiles proudly. “In a few years, though, if you want.”
“You think I can?”
“Do you want to?”
Mary thinks about Thompson’s stupid grin. “Yes.”
***
And because she is Mary and way too eager and fierce for a nine years old, she does exactly that. In school she studies the rules of poker, at home she eats with a poker book next to her food and when the stars appear there is a faint light coming from under her door and an exhausted but nevertheless determined Mary reading and learning.
She plays as much as she can with her father and his friends, but they don’t always can. Her mother frowns every time she comes back from work, when she sees her little girl playing and learning and not daring to stop.
“That is not good for her.” Mary once heard her say to her father. “She is down right obsessed, can’t you see that?”
Her father had nodded. “I know, Denise, I do. But you know what I also see? A happy girl with a passion to stop her from worrying too much.”
“I just want her to be alright.”
“She’ll be.” He smiled, proud and excited. “She will be brilliant.”
Her mother still doesn’t approve. At least not entirely. Mary can see it from the way her eyes narrow and her shoulders tense every time she sees Mary with cards in her hands.
But Mary continues and she does get better. She starts with ABC poker, simple, safe, nice to begin with. But every time she takes new cards in her hands, every time she ends up losing busted, she learns more and more, gets more sure of herself, until she starts bluffing, starts having a bigger and bigger arsenal. And then one evening, she is not the one with the least chips.
Her father celebrates the whole night and next day and when her uncles and aunts come over the next time for Mary’s birthday, they have to listen almost for two hours on how amazing Mary is doing.
“So, we’ve got a little poker genius among us now, eh?” Her uncle asks, grinning slightly, though his eyes have harden a little bit.
“Yes.” Mary says. “And Dad says I can go to his poker-hall next weekend!”
“Oh, does he?” He throws a glance towards her mother. “Did you know that, Denise?” He asks his sister. They are all from her mothers side, her two aunts and four uncles and all their little babies.
Her mother sighs. “I don’t think I could stop her, really. And it’s better, if she goes with him than alone.”
“It’s not as if it’s dangerous.” Her father laughs, ignoring the sharp eyes. “It’s my hall. We’ll have fun, right, sweetheart?” He lifts her in the air, making her giggle.
They still argue. Well, more like her father argues with her mothers siblings. It’s tiring, so Mary doesn’t think too much about it and falls asleep over the voices being raised until the sun disappears. One sentence she does remember, though. You are not good enough for her. From one of her uncles, Mary thinks, about her mother maybe? Before she can think too much about it the following day, her father takes her to the poker-hall and every thought fades away.
When Mary doesn’t spend her time in the poker-hall, her mother takes her to the river. They live in London, near by the Thames and her mother and Mary always just had the tradition to walk along the big river, while her mother tells her stories from her work. She works as a doctor and Mary loves hearing about it. For her, her mother is a hero. She may not always have time, but Mary gets it. She is saving lives and nothing could make Mary prouder.
One time, on a weekend they drove to the sea and Mary stood there on the edge, looking down into the wild water, darkness creeping up through the waves, darkness and mystery and so, so much more and she wasn’t scared. She thought, yes, here is where I belong.
“I want to be here.” She had said.
Her mother had looked at her, frowning slightly. “Here?”
“The sea.”
Her mother had hummed. “Oh, you mean as a marine biologist?”
And Mary had tasted the word in her mouth, on her tongue, had felt that weird kick inside of her, that pull towards the sea. Waves were crushing onto the cliffs, salt was hanging in the air and the wind was pushing them towards the edge. “Yes.” Mary had said. “I will be a marine biologist.”
And her mother had smiled. “Okay.” She had said and somehow this was exactly what Mary had needed.
And this was how her second obsession began. Poker and the sea. The sea and poker. Numbers and facts and probability calculations and salt and strong wind. Mystery and passion.
When Mary won her first time against all those men, when the GG from Thompson was not amused but amazed, when Mary started to forget that weird and not normal part inside of her, that was the day, everything crashed down. Like a wave drowning her, keeping her from oxygen.
It was an accident. A car crash. Normal. Nothing special.
When Mary and her father came back to their little apartment that night, there was an ambulance on the street and cops in front of their house.
Her mother had died.
All the lights burned out in the street that night, while Mary’s nails dug deep into her hands.