I watch her spin around a streetlight a few times, with one arm outstretched again, like a child. ‘Now, you’ve got it,’ she says slowly, still spinning. Then she stops and turns to me, deadly serious. ‘You’re going to be an eminent songwriter one day.’
Eminent! God, she’s a gas. I laugh. Maybe it’s relief or maybe because it’s funny. She’s funny. This whole night is like something I’d never even dare to dream. ‘You know this for a fact then, do you?’
‘I know things,’ she says, even more slowly. Her eyes locked on mine.
That she might believe, even for one tiny, twatted, pilled-up second, this could be possible feels feckin’ deadly. I ask her the same question back.
‘A writer,’ she says, tipping an imaginary hat from her head. I’ve no idea why. ‘OK, forget I said that.’ She waves one hand in front of her face like she’s rubbing out her words. ‘I mean it’s so … predictable,’ she says, scrunching up her face, before curling herself back into the streetlight once more.
I keep staring as she does another whirl out from the pole, her face staring up at the stars. Then she joins me on the road and takes my arm again. She’s on a roll now, jabbering away, describing her best friend who it turns out is this Kitty girl and she’s raving on about some fancy party she should be at with her in England tonight. She lets slip that she nearly took her first pill at the Glastonbury festival three weeks ago. I knew it! I’m about to have a go at her but then she seems upset, talking about some other friend who’s been making her life miserable. She’s full of chat now, about some school ball and a lake where they all hang out during the summer. I could listen to her forever. Her world sounds like Skins, but at Hogwarts, and all a million miles from here. I’m glad she’s taken over the talking because whatever’s coming out of her, I’m gripped.
‘Not that any of it matters now I’ve ended up in this place.’
I have to hide what happens to my face as she says this. We cut through the car park and scrape along the hedgerows, our linked arms never coming undone. Finally we find ourselves standing on top of the huge sand dunes, staring out. From here, I have to catch my breath and I can feel her do it too.
‘OK … so this is kind of mind-blowing,’ she says.
‘What?’
‘This!’ She motions to the moonlit sea, stretched out before us like an explosion of possibility, glistening in the velvet night as far as our eyes can see.
My heart swells; I love that she loves this too. ‘Guess it is.’
We drop on to the soft sand, marvelling in silence. We don’t need to speak. I turn to look as her blonde hair blows gently around her face and those large, unnaturally dark eyes hook on to mine.
‘Tell me more stuff,’ she says. ‘Go on.’
I wish I could fascinate her like she fascinates me. ‘There are wallabies on that island,’ I say after a while.
I hadn’t planned to reveal this local factoid, it just came out. Maybe because she reminds me of one of them: an exotic creature washed up on the wrong shore.
She knocks me over playfully with her shoulder. ‘Shut up!’
‘I’m serious. Almost two hundred of them.’ I’m pointing needlessly towards the great shadow of rock several miles out in the sea. ‘It’s true, although not many people around here even know.’
‘You mean like kangaroos?’
‘From the marsupial family, yes.’ For some reason I adopt a woeful Australian accent as I say this.
‘On that island?’ she asks, indicating across the water and looking at me like I’m the one who’s lost it.
‘Yeah, on the island.’
She digs me with her elbow. ‘I’m not that off my face!’
‘I swear! They came from Dublin Zoo in the Eighties.’
‘Er, why?’
‘An uncontrollable baby boom! They go at it like rabbits, apparently.’ As I say this, my cheeks start to burn.
She smiles and stares out to sea. ‘Let’s go and see them?’
I check her face but she doesn’t flinch. I wonder whether she realises what she’s said and then, without stopping to think, I just say it. ‘I’ll take you.’
She laughs. ‘In a canoe?’
‘No, we could take a trip. You know, if Rupert wouldn’t mind?’
‘Yes!’ she squeals, ignoring the question part of what I said.
I don’t know how to describe it, but something extraordinary is happening in the tips of all my nerve endings.
She fumbles in her little bag and takes out her phone. ‘It’s nearly two,’ she announces.
I listen to the sounds of the sea in the dark, hoping for something: a sign, or anything to help me know what to do right now. What do I say, how do I stop her slipping away? ‘D’you think you’ll ever be allowed out again?’ I’m terrified she’s going to be locked up for the summer and my, as yet, unarticulated plan to spend as much time with her as is humanly possible is already foiled.
‘She’ll be asleep.’
‘Grandma?’
‘Yeah. I mean, she would have called, wouldn’t she? If she was awake, she would have, right?’
‘Er … ?’
I’m thinking about this pretty seriously, when she holds out her phone in front of us. ‘Smile!’ she says, placing her head softly against mine. The phone makes that digital shutter click sound. She stares at the picture, her thumb hovering over the filter options below it.
‘Can’t see much,’ I say, examining our two barely recognisable faces, silhouetted together against the night.
‘Watch this,’ she says turning to me.
She hits a small square at the bottom of the screen and I watch our faces burst out of the dark. ‘Hey, I like it now!’
‘You do?’ she asks and I nod. ‘Hail filter, bringer of light!’
‘I love it,’ I say truthfully.
‘I love it too.’ She pulls her coat around her. ‘You know I’ve got to go now.’
I lean my hand into the spiky grasses and push myself up. ‘Here!’ I reach out my hand to drag her up. ‘I’ll walk you back.’
‘S’OK, I can see those shelters from here.’
‘I’m not letting you walk home alone.’
‘Watch me then. You can see Grandma’s house from here.’
I’m about to object when she goes to kiss my cheek, but don’t I move and make our faces crash. My lips hit up against hers, the wrong way, and for at least three unbearably long seconds I’m sure I’ve ruined everything. I pull back in panic but she quickly throws her arms around me and draws me to her. I’m just beginning to sense the warmth of her body through her coat when she pushes herself back and tears off down the dunes.
I can only stare as she disappears into the night once more.
It’s like I’m standing in cement.
EMERALD
The last of these lies
Shards of sunlight pierce the badly drawn curtains, stinging my eyes. Utter ughh! I roll over to have a fresh wave of panic take hold and I try turning to the other side but there’s no escaping the realisations flashing behind my eyes in quick succession. I’ve no choice but to face the me of last night in the realness of this brand new day. My head hurts. My jaw aches. Even my teeth are in pain. What the holy effing f**k was I thinking?!?!?!
Liam? Liam! Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam. Suddenly I’m reliving the feel of his warm hand on my back and I physically retch a little, like I’m there, vomiting over that drain again. But why am I almost smiling now when I could as easily die of shame? He held my hair back. He tied it in a ponytail and held it back!
Something feels strange. I reach under the blankets and pull my phone out from underneath me, where I also find my headphones, which are somehow tangled up with the toes of my left foot. Then I remember: Grandma! Grandma? It takes my fogged brain several seconds to recall what even happened when I got in last night. Or more accurately, this morning. I get a flash of her bent over asleep in the living room and me creeping silently past the open door and upstairs
to bed. Oh, good God, did I really leave her there, crumpled up in the armchair?
Felt like hours later when I finally got to sleep. I glance at the bedside table where the rusty old carriage clock reads 11:41. My tongue feels like my school jumper and my throat is cracked and dry. I need to check Grandma’s OK. I need to know I haven’t been caught. I need to see Liam. I need to thank him for not leaving my side. I need to convince him I’m not a total tragedy. I need a shower.
I try to sit up. Shit, I am dizzy.
The water is hot. In fact I’m probably burning, but the steam feels good. I grab a tube of some antique-looking shower gel and begin to wash my face. I scrub my neck, my chest, my stomach, my thighs, my arms, my legs, all over me, in an effort to scour away the embarrassment of it all. I let the water run over me as I play-back all my lines from last night. Lord knows there were plenty. C’mon, Liam, dream! Like what the actual f**k? Who says that? Who was that mouthy girl, prattling on endlessly? I hang under the water for ages, contemplating how I managed to say more to Liam in one night than I have to Rupert in the entire two years I’ve known him. Oh no … Rupert! Was I banging on about him too? I’m not sure I’ll ever be done cringing, but the water is starting to get cold.
I fling back the shower curtain and grab a towel, which is damp and far too small. What is it with Grandma and her tiny towels? I dry my face and see two dark black patches on the towel from where I’ve rubbed my eyes. How can there possibly be any mascara left? I stand in front of the mirror, rub away the steam and look at myself through the streaks – it’s not good. The remainder of last night’s make-up casts long grey shadows under my eyes. My lips are dry and my face looks fallen. I pick up the HD foundation I pinched from Mum and begin to smooth it across my freckly skin, but even that’s not doing its usual magic. The fact is nothing can hide the feeling creeping up through me: that I’d never have taken that pill if I hadn’t been so wasted. My eyes look funny but I can still see Mum in them, and that’s the worst feeling of all. It’s one thing to look like my mother, but I don’t want to be a drunk like her too.
‘Emerald?’ Grandma’s voice explodes into the silence and I automatically freeze. Panic thunders through me like a second heartbeat. I replay her voice in my head and decide it sounded normal so I allow myself to exhale cautiously. Maybe everything is OK. Why am I so jumpy?
‘In the bathroom!’ I say it with as much energy as I can but this takes it out of me and I have to sit back down on the loo. I’m convinced my guilt is obvious even behind the closed door.
‘You all right, darling?’ she asks gently.
What does this mean? What does she know? ‘Fine. I’ll be out in a minute,’ I reply, as chirpily as I can before collapsing back down on the floor.
‘Grand. I’ll be downstairs. I’ll get some sausages on.’ I hear her voice fade off down the stairs.
I lean my head against the door. It’s OK, I think. It’s OK. I stand, wrap the towel around me and lean up against the sink, glowering sternly at my reflection. I feel a soliloquy coming on.
‘Emerald, what were you thinking? Were you even thinking, letting your guard down like that?’ But it felt so good to talk. And he held my hair back. ‘STOP IT, EMERALD!’
Even from the top of the stairs I can tell it’s a beautiful day. The tiny glimpse of sea from the landing window is the bluest blue and the hallway is bathed in sunlight that lifts everything, including the carpet dust. Stepping into the kitchen I take a deep breath, hoping to somehow inhale the optimism of it all, but I’m immediately hit by wafts of frying pork. I swallow a gag.
Grandma is hovering over by the window sill, moving the begonias. ‘They don’t like too much sun,’ she says, like I actually need this detail.
‘Sorry I slept so late.’ I search around for my charger, trying not to look too frantic about it.
‘Sure you probably needed the rest.’
I can’t think of anything to say. Besides, it’s taking all I have to stay upright. I wish my heart would stop pounding. I also suspect my face is letting me down so I decide to plonk myself by the kettle in the corner and hide.
‘What did they pay you?’ she asks, flitting lightly around the room.
I start filling the kettle. ‘Forty euros.’ I’m desperately trying to remember the exchange rate? I think I’ve got it the wrong way round, but she doesn’t say anything. I turn around and watch her crack an egg into the pan one-handed.
She twists her upper body back to me. ‘He was very good, wasn’t he?’ Her right hand holds the egg flipper, and I watch tiny droplets of fat fall on to the shiny floor. It takes a minute for my blunted brain cells to realise she’s talking about Leonardo Di Caprio, from that movie she was going on about last night.
‘I finished my book.’ The words stick in my throat. Her eyebrows raise as she takes this in and if it’s possible I feel even worse. I can’t look at her. I vow this is the last of the lies. My phone pings back to life on the countertop and I lunge for it. Then, as I stare at the dark apple bursting from the bright white screen, my drunken 3 a.m. Google searches come flooding back to me. Please God say I didn’t go on Insta. No, no, no, please, no! OK, account still disabled. Hallelujah. I hit Safari and I see my long history, trawling through every Liam Flynn in Dublin and not one of them him.
I’m reading a jolly text from Dad, asking how the babysitting went, when I realise Grandma is talking again. ‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Someone called for you not long ago.’
I have to grip the countertop to keep myself upright. ‘Yeah?’
‘A young man from the Metro Service Station. Said his name was Liam.’
Here? He phoned here? I watch her laying strips of bacon into the hot fat, letting each one sizzle before lowering it slowly down into the pan. I pivot on my bare foot to hide my face from hers. ‘Did he say anything else … you know, or … leave a message?’ I ask, clearing some imaginary dirt from the sink.
‘’Twas about the babysitting ad, he said. He wanted to know whether you’d like it to go in the newsletter.’
I can feel my shoulders melt from around my ears and I allow myself a smile.
‘I’ll take a walk up there later,’ I say, biting my cheeks inside my mouth to stop the ridiculous grin breaking out all over my face.
She looks up and out into the garden. ‘Nice manners,’ she says, almost to herself.
Right, last lie, I promise.
LIAM
Skinny latte, no sugar?
‘Where d’you get to, Romeo?’
It’s Kenny. He’s standing in front of me, brandishing an open can of Red Bull and a packet of Tayto. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’s still sporting last night’s clobber and there’s a manky bang of drink off him too.
‘Have you even been home?’ I ask. I lean over the counter to get a good look at him in his full walk-of-shame glory.
‘On my way now,’ he says, practically skipping up and down between my neatly stacked baskets of freshly baked baguettes. He’s grinning like a muppet. I know he’s desperate for me to ask him, but I won’t, not yet. ‘What time were you in here this morning?’ he says, fishing noisily into his crisps.
‘Eleven.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘Grand.’ Then I start smiling. I try to hold it in, but I can’t help it. We’re grinning at each other like two happy kettles about to hop off the boil. The smug head on him; I can’t bear to look. I spot one of Mam’s friends by the till and I wave over.
‘Ah, here, Flynn, you’re killing me. What in the Jaysus happened?’
‘What?’
His kettle’s beginning to whistle. ‘With yer one!’
‘You mean Emerald?’
‘Yeah, yeah. C’mon, man. Did ye? You know … ?
‘Did I what?’ I ask, leering at him over the glass counter the way Mr Gallagher used to do to us over the desks in Geography.
He rolls his eyes in frustration. ‘Did you –’
I can tell he’s about to burst. ‘Hav
e you something you’d like to tell me, Kenny?’
He hustles in real close. I breathe through my mouth to avoid the ferocious whack of cheese and onion. He motions to me to lean in closer again and I do. I swear I’m faint from the fumes, but I hang in there.
‘Unbelievable!’ He mouths it, before looking around like some hammy spy in a film. ‘UN-BE-FECKING-LEEVIBLE!’ he goes again. Then he stands up all straight and gawks at me.
‘Those were her words I take it?’
‘I’m serious, man,’ he says, taking a long slug from the can, clearly delighted with himself. ‘Phenomenal is what it was!’
I hit him a playful thump on the shoulder. ‘Good for you. Milestone moment and all that!’ He rolls up one sleeve and I can tell he’s about to start again. ‘No more details though, yeah?’ I say, holding my hand up. ‘I get the picture.’
‘Sound,’ he says. ‘I’ve got to run but I’ll bell you later.’
I look up and he’s off. I’m not sure if I even answer him because that second, literally that exact second, I see her by the bank of newspapers outside. I follow her as she passes the flower buckets and then, there she is, standing in the doorway, that same fallen angel, only wearier. I wave over but she doesn’t see me and scans the shop, looking lost. I want to run out there, but I’m cool. Finally she clocks me and shuffles over. Her chin is dipped, tucked apologetically into a scarf that’s looped around her neck. I focus on the tiny stars dotted all over it, unsure where else to look.
‘Nice!’ she says, pointing to the top of my head.
I fix the stupid-looking hat. ‘How you doing, madser?’ I’m incapable of not smiling wildly at her.
‘There are no words for what I feel right now,’ she says, dragging one of the tall stools towards her and slumping elegantly into it. She rests her head in her hands and her long hair spills on to the countertop. I discreetly move the sugar and the container of plastic stirrers.
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