At night in bed, I trace my fingers over the scabs on my legs. They feel like the mountain ranges on that globe we used to have in the sitting-room of our old house. Mum got it in some market; it was bumpy like the surface of the earth. It had a big pink USSR on it and that was my favourite part of all because it isn’t a real country any more. I don’t know why I liked it so much. But I did. The scab on the underside of my knee feels exactly like a piece of the USSR used to. Which is funny. Mum wouldn’t find it funny, though. She’d be worried about me if she could see me now. Her forehead would get all squiggly with concern. But then again, if she were here, she wouldn’t have very much to be worried about. If she were here my problems would shrink. And the biggest keep-you-up-at-night one of all would have disappeared if she were here. If my mum were alive.
I wonder where our globe went. Maybe it’s in some other little girl’s house now. Or gathering dust in a flea market, waiting for a home. I think about that, lying on my back, waiting for sleep.
HOMONYMS
Joel came over and spent most of the afternoon on my sofa, crying. I hadn’t seen him cry since we were kids. It was kind of disconcerting. His face got all red and crumbly and he made a lot of snuffly exploding noises. He had told his parents. His mum was fine. She said, ‘We knew all along, darling.’
Then his dad was, like, ‘No. We didn’t’
And,
‘Are you sure?’
And,
‘Maybe it’s just a phase.’
Which wasn’t too bad, but then his mum went mad at his dad, all, ‘Well he’d want to be bloody sure, and him after telling us, Liam. Do you think he’d have done that at fourteen years of age if he didn’t know it in his heart?’
And his dad said, All I’m saying, Anne, is –’
And she said that she did not give a damn what all he was saying was. Unless it was ‘We love and support you — not in spite of who you are, but because of it.’
Then she had several ideas for what he could do with himself and none of them were pleasant. One particularly graphic one involved the leg of their piano stool, and now Joel cannot look at the piano stool. He is planning on covering it with a tablecloth or something. Anyway, in this way, Joel coming out erupted into a big dirty row that was not about Joel at all but about how Liam never remembers to empty the dishwasher, which is symbolic of intolerance somehow. He let them at it and called over to mine.
‘What if they get separated, Prim? Where will we live?’
‘They won’t get separated, Joel. They’re mad about each other. Remember the neck-kissing?’
‘Ugh. Don’t remind me. Maybe they would be happier apart.’
‘They wouldn’t, though.’
‘Do you think I should not have told them?’
‘No. You had to tell them. You can’t live a lie.’
‘I could probably live a little one if it meant that they didn’t fight about me.’
‘It wasn’t just about you. You’re forgetting the villain of the piece.’
‘Dad?’
‘No! Liam’s just taken aback. I mean the dishwasher. That trumped-up little hussy’s been nothing but trouble since the day she was rolled into your house in the first place.’
‘You’re right. I am going to give it a kick as soon as I get home.’
‘Proper order.’
And so I spent the evening giving Joel hugs and telling him how wrong they were to make it all about them when they should have been supporting him. I mean, it isn’t easy telling your parents something like that. I never discuss people I fancy with Dad. That sort of thing should stay well away from your parents, in my opinion.
Fintan came home around six and he was in rare form, not at all fazed by the daughter, rat and boy who had obviously been crying on the sofa in one big tissue huddle.
‘What’s happening?’ (He still says things like this all the time. Once I asked him how he was and he said that he was ‘chilling like a villain’. I think he thinks it makes him seem younger than he is.)
‘Not much. Joel’s gay now.’
‘Marvellous! Let’s all go for crêpes!’
So we did. Dad had a voucher that he’d got through work, so we ate for mostly free. It was this French-ish place, and they had cider as well. We were allowed some with our dinner, because Dad said it was so weak it was basically apple juice and also that it was a big day. He was very interested in Joel’s being gay and asked him things like, ‘How did this all come about now?’ and, ‘Is there a young man in your life at the moment?’
I was cringing at every word that came out of his mouth, but Joel was really nice about it and seemed to cheer up. I also cheered up. Mostly because my crêpe had three kinds of cheese and also ham and mushrooms and spinach in it. But partly because of Dad doing some really good parenting. It’s a pity he couldn’t parent me on that level. Also, Joel kind of told him about the Kevin thing! I was mortified and tried to kick him under the table but couldn’t reach his stupid legs so had to content myself with pretending to drop something and giving him a big pinch when I went down to pick it up. He didn’t flinch.
This is what he told Dad. Word for word.
‘There is someone, but I’ve got a bit of competition from this one here.’ Jerks thumb at me.)
Dad nodded wisely and asked, ‘So, this young fellow. Is he bisexual at all?’
‘I don’t think so. What do you think, Prim?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Oh, I think you would.’
‘Oh, I think you should … shut your face’
‘Primrose, don’t talk to Joel like that on his special day.’
‘It’s not that special.’
‘Yes, it is. Look at all the fuss we made over you for your confirmation and that doesn’t really impact on your day to day life very much at all. You little heathen.’
Then I let out a big long sigh.
‘Fair enough.’
We had crème brulée for dessert. I love crème brulée. It is the best thing ever. And it just means burnt cream but it is actually so, so much more.
Dad is totally going to ask me questions about Kevin. He does not know that Kevin is called Kevin. Joel was not that dim, thank God. Dad said that maybe he was better off not having anyone special at the moment, because it only leads to heartache and unnecessary drama.
I congratulated him on turning Joel’s ‘special day’ into an excuse to moan about Hedda. Joel told me not to be so mean and asked Dad how he was holding up.
He said, ‘You know. Good days and bad days,’ and Joel nodded wisely, as if he had ANY idea what it was like to have your partner of almost two years break up with you instead of moving in with you. Ugh. The two of them!
I didn’t really mind, though. I mean, it is nice that Dad and Joel get on. He offered Joel the spare room but we ended up dropping him home. His mum and dad had been ringing and stuff, so he didn’t want them to worry or to get annoyed at him and start blaming each other and quarrelling. Sigh.
On the way home Dad asked me about seven hundred and eighty-six questions about ‘my young man’. This is a really creepy turn of phrase because Kevin isn’t a man, he’s a boy. And also he doesn’t belong to me, nor do I want him to. I haven’t seen him since the bouncy castle incident. I do not think it was gentlemanly of him to kiss me and then not (at least) get my number and text. I mean, not that I wanted it to be a thing or anything. Because of Joel and also inevitable rejection and heartbreak. But I would like to have someone to kiss, at least for a little while. Someone to think I’m pretty and take me to the cinema or buy me hot chocolate in town.
JESUS ROSE FOR THIS LONGEARED PHILANTHROPIST (6, 5)
Almost the Easter holidays today. Three more days until two weeks off. Joel’s birthday will fall smack bang in the middle.
After school, I went to the hospital to visit Grandma Lily. Mary dropped me and picked me up after two hours. It’s on the way to Felix’s guitar classes so it was handy. I hate asking her to d
o stuff. She’s so busy already.
Grandma Lily was very thin and very pale and she was eating some sort of runny yoghurt-like thing that looked absolutely disgusting. I told her about school and Ciara making more hats and missing her dreadfully, and she couldn’t really answer. I don’t know if she even understood.
She, like, nodded and made sounds in bits, but there wasn’t any kind of language I could decipher, and I really wanted to know what she was saying and I bet it was even more frustrating for her than it was for me and I almost burst into tears because I felt so useless, so I brushed her hair and told her she looked pretty. (She does look pretty; her mouth and chin are kind of like Ciara’s.)
Then I didn’t know what else to do, so I asked her if she’d like to say the rosary. She shook her head and pointed to the trashy magazines beside her bed, and so I read to her from them until Mary rang to say she was outside. I didn’t feel too bad about leaving because she pretty much fell asleep right away as soon as I started reading. Ciara says Grandma Lily can’t really follow stories and things that well any more because her brain is still all muddled, but she likes to hear voices around her because she gets lonely.
I’m glad I went. I wanted to visit her because she was nice to me and she is important to Ciara and a horrible thing happened inside her body and made it betray her and not be able to do the stuff it used to be able to do for her, no bother. It’s probably a bit weird that I visited. I’m glad she remembered me, because otherwise it would have been really weird and I could have been asked to leave or something.
I spent most of the evening sending Joel messages of support. Things are still a bit prickly at his house. His parents got mad at him for leaving during an ‘important family discussion’ and he got mad right back at them and there was a lot of yelling and it woke Marcus up and he came downstairs crying and nobody got any sleep at all, between being grumpy and worrying about how grumpy everyone else was. He was so tired at school today.
He hasn’t actually officially told Ciara or Ella that he is gay, but I’m not supposed to either. It’s not that he wants to keep it from them, it’s just that if he tells them at school, it’ll be gossip-fodder. After what he went through at his last school, he has no desire to be bullied at our school.
Ella told me she saw Kevin at the shop earlier. He was hanging around, reading some sort of gaming magazine and looking a bit lurky. She nodded at him and he nodded back and this should not be as FASCINATING to me as it totally is. I wonder if he was lurking in the hopes of seeing me? Or maybe it is his sleazebag modus operandi. Maybe he lies in wait at the local shop and seduces young girls with the promise of bouncing and tickles? I hope that isn’t it. I would feel all used and dirty and so on and so forth.
MODUS OPERANDI: The way you work. It is Latin and Dad says it sometimes because when he was at school they all had to do Latin even though no one really speaks it. Except for phrases like modus operandi and carpe diem, which means ‘seize the day’ and is on T-shirts sometimes.
Not that I have anything used and dirty to be ashamed of. I mean, I’m probably one of the only girls in my year who hasn’t been kissed more than once.
Except by Joel. Actually, I’m going to text him now.
EASTER BUNNY
Remember when you kissed me like a ridiculous pervert because you wanted to impress the idiots in your year?
Remember when you kissed the boy you knew I fancied on a bouncy castle like a heartless lady prostitute?
I think that last was a bit passive aggressive. And I don’t like it.
Passive aggressive? Me?
Do you want to call over on Thursday evening with Ciara, strange boy. (subtext free)
I’d love to
(No ?! Perhaps he is frowning.)
Oh, sorry.
Phew. Was worried there for a second. Perhaps you can tell Ciara about your sexuality. Then smile as she gives out to me over the Kevin thing.
By sexuality, do you mean HOMO sexuality?
Yes, Joel. You can tell Ciara about your HOMOsexuality. As opposed to my HETEROsexuality.
Thursday is gayday.
As opposed to payday.
Or mayday.
I think henceforth, we shall refer to Thursday as HOMOsexual revelation day
Who are you calling a HOMOsexual?
You. You big gay.
I love you, Prim.
I love you too, Joel , but not in a HETEROsexual manner. In a you-are-my-best-friend manner. I would not tolerate being called a heartless lady prostitute by anyone other than you.
Double smiley face? Bit needy.
That’s because I NEED you
Oh. Right. Good luck with that.
I didn’t reply to that because I could not top my twenty-three consecutive smiley faces. Unless it was with twenty-four consecutive smiley faces. And my thumbs would probably be wrecked by the end of that.
YOU ARE BORN ON ONE (8)
I am off school. And I got to see Kevin again. We did not kiss, but I think that we might well do so in future.
I went to the shop to buy bread. Mary was asking Felix but I leapt up and exclaimed, ‘I’ll do it!’ in a helpful yet demented manner.
Anyway, Kevin was not at the shop, but he was walking his uncle’s dog on the way to the shop. His uncle is in Spain for the month for something work-related so Kevin and his family are minding his greyhound, Theo, which is short for Thelonious Monk. I have no idea who that is, but isn’t it the coolest name you have ever heard of, ever? I might have to change my own name to Thelonious Monk as soon as it is legal. I think it’s eighteen you can change your name at.
I don’t know anyone who has changed their name. Although I have my suspicions about Mum’s friend Sorrel, whose parents are farmers from Carlow. Sorrel is not the name of a farmer’s daughter from Carlow, but rather the name of a sort of eco-fairy. It suits her so precisely that I think it might be a self-appointed name. She probably grew up as a Padraigín or a Margaret. I must give her a buzz to thank her for the dress and ask if she has any other LARP-appropriate hand-me-downs to pass on to her late friend’s daughter.
Mum was quite often late, actually. Isn’t it weird that when you say ‘the late’ whoever, it has nothing to do with time-keeping and everything to do with their being dead? Although I suppose dead people don’t really go to anything so it’s not like they’re ever early. Except for their death, maybe. Mum died too early, I think. But I don’t like to think about that much because it makes me the kind of angry where I fill up with hate like a sippy-cup full of vitriol.
Thelonious and Wayne Rooney, Kevin’s family’s real dog, do not get along and must be walked separately. Thelonious has no problem with Wayne, mind you. But for some reason Wayne hates Thelonious. Kevin thinks it is because Thelonious’s presence in their home forces Wayne to acknowledge that he is, in fact, a small dog. Wayne normally acts like a much bigger dog, all swagger and bark and being the boss of everything, and it must be tough, mustn’t it? To have to accept that you aren’t as big and strong as you would like to believe. Particularly when that realisation is highlighted by a dog three and a bit times your size.
Thelonious is a very calm, lazy dog and doesn’t really care that Wayne Rooney hates him. He just lazes and eats and goes for walks and sometimes chews his big rubber bone in an unobtrusive manner. Each of these things is another twist of the jealous knife that has lodged in the tiny chest of Wayne Rooney. He steals Thelonious’s food and toys, commandeers his basket, snaps at him and in general makes a nuisance of himself. Thelonious could not give less of a toss, which galls the tiny Wayne all the more.
Kevin does not know why his uncle continues to leave Thelonious with them, knowing how damaging it is to Wayne’s fragile Jack Russell ego. I am not really a fan of Jack Russells myself. They were bred as ratters initially and because of that they all seem to be massive toolboxes.
I did agree to walk Wayne with Kevin, though, because I was at a loose end and wanted to talk to him for a bit more.
So I dropped off the bread while he replaced one dog with another.
Kevin was looking like a defrocked Brother Shade in jeans, runners, a Radiohead T-shirt and sunglasses with tortoiseshell frames. His hair had no product in it and it looked ridiculously soft. I wanted to run my fingers through it and have him smile at me. His top teeth are really even, but the bottom ones are all crooked and he has one growing in front of another one, the way sharks’ teeth do. For some reason I like his bottom teeth more than his top ones. Maybe because they would help me pick him out of a line-up. Or identify him by his dental records if he were to get murdered.
I made Ella come with me on the walk. She insisted on bringing Mr Cat along as well. He has a leash, and she has trained him to take walks on it. This took months, so she was keen to show off his mad skills.
Wayne Rooney initially tried to act the fool around Mr Cat, all ‘Bark! Bark! Bark!’ but Mr Cat just looked at him, like, ‘Yes? I am a cat. What of it, lesser being?’ (This is how Mr Cat looks at almost everyone.)
And eventually, after a single disciplinary paw-swipe, Wayne was ready to act like a grown-up dog instead of a horribly needy puppy. We went up past the primary school and all around the green and it was lovely, the five of us in the sunshine, chatting and panting and wagging and walking. At the green, we took Wayne Rooney off the leash and threw tennis balls for him until he was in a frenzy of joy. So much attention! Such things to chase! He hardly knew what to do with himself. He kept running between us being all, ‘I’m a happy dog! I’m such a happy, stupid little dog!’
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