He winces as his feet hit the water and I can feel thousands of tiny bumps that rise on the skin of his upper arms. His grip gets tighter. ‘I’ve got you, I’ve got you,’ he says, wading faster into the waves, running at them furiously until they hit his chest. Suddenly he kneels down and we’re underwater. For a second there is no sound, only the wild beating of my heart. Deep stabs of pain shoot up from the bottom of my legs and glugs of salt water come gushing down my nose.
Drawing my head out of the icy water, I inhale deeply. ‘H’ahhh!’ I am hyperventilating. ‘Haha haha haha.’
He grasps my waist, pulling me tightly against him and I wrap my arms and legs around him. Every part of us is touching. I feel his rough, brackish lips on mine. His warm tongue hits my mouth and he kisses me. ‘I love you, Emerald Rutherford Byrne and I always will. That’s just the way it is.’
I’ve never, EVER, EVER felt this alive.
LIAM
Driving like an Apache
We’ve just left John-Joe’s and I’m powering along the motorway in my new wheels. Well, I’d be hammering it were co-pilot Da not next to me, eyeing over my shoulder, laying out the conditions of my repayment plan whilst insisting on a top speed of seventy kilometres per hour. Really we’re tootling along behind a slow-moving caravan while traffic whizzes past on either side. I indicate and cross into the fast lane.
Da rams his work boots into the passenger footwell, slamming his hand against the glove box. ‘Holy mother of God, Liam!’
‘What?’
‘You’re driving like an Apache.’
It takes everything I have not to lash back at him. Somehow I manage to keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘I did pass my test, Da, and there’s no law on overtaking as far as I’m aware.’
‘Still, you haven’t stolen the car either,’ he says, settling back into his seat. ‘Just … would you take it easy!’
I continue to drive on as the rest of the four-wheeled-world steadily passes us. He can’t resist the odd sharp glance, but at least we’re talking now; well, you know, sort of talking. It’s not like before, but I guess neither of us is either. I’m not him and I’ll never be how he wants me to be and that’s just the way it is.
At least we both know that now. Of course it’s hard for him. Maybe one day I’ll even understand.
We stop at the Metro on the way back and Da fills the car with petrol as a little pressie for me. I can see him jabbering away to Lorcan by the till. He comes out and throws a packet of Rolos on to the dash. He’s got a packet too and he’s chewing away something fierce.
‘All yap no trousers, that fella,’ he says with a nod back towards the shop.
‘Lorcan?’
Da nods, picking toffee out of his teeth. ‘He’s in there, talking up his position, which I’ve no problem with by the way, don’t get me wrong. But then, doesn’t he start saying he’s got you lined up for a managerial opportunity. I’m not being funny, but did you not tell that useless article what you got in your Leaving Cert?’
‘He’s only being nice, Da.’
‘He’s not the full-shilling all the same.’
There’s no point in defending poor Lorcan. I pull out of the forecourt and we steer along the twists of the coast road silently, the only sound being the pair of us chewing and some fella on the radio complaining about hospital waiting times. The sun beats down on the water and the golden sand glistens up ahead for miles and miles.
The dog-walkers and middle-aged women are out in force, pounding along Menopause Mile: that stretch of extraordinary coast between the beach and the village. There are families and day trippers ferrying armfuls of gear in and out of car-boots. Out there in the water, in the midst of all the everyday life, sits the island – Emerald’s isle – glittering under a shard of glorious, holy light.
Since lobbing the ‘she’s not a mistake’ grenade last week, I’d be lying if I said father-son relations weren’t strained. Still, I have a go. ‘We’re going to see a film later.’ He says nothing. ‘Da?’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m taking Em to the movies. She picked an Irish one, set in the Eighties.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘About a fella starting a rock ’n’ roll band at school … I’ve been dying to see it. Didn’t think it’d be her cup of tea, but there you go,’ I say.
He doesn’t flinch. Nothing. He’s zoned me out completely.
‘It’s in Swahili too, which is what I may as well be speaking.’
I thought I’d said this last bit under my breath but he turns around. ‘Don’t push it, son.’
‘Push what?’
‘You know bloody well what.’
I swerve to avoid a kamikaze courier who rips up from behind, weaving between my new motor and an oncoming bus, almost nipping my wing mirror with his handlebars as he goes. ‘I do?’
‘Jaysus, Liam. Watch it!’ His thunderous boot slams into the footwell again. He nearly grabs the handbrake. ‘John-Joe can’t take the car back if you’ve written the bloody thing off.’
I brake. ‘What are you talking about, Da?’
He sucks his teeth, looking out the window now. ‘Your mam’s been doing the sums,’ he says. ‘Even with the finance options, we’d have to sell these wheels back to make the enrolment fees. And you’d have to keep up the Metro job at weekends to help out with the remaining instalments.’ He’s still not doing eye contact.
I slow to a dangerous pace, steering the car into a bus stop on the main road, no mirror checks, no indicator, no nothing. Da doesn’t seem to notice. ‘If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, Da, then I’m definitely good with the bus.’
‘You better be,’ he says, before tapping at the little clock on the dash. ‘Get a move on. There’s a game on at six.’
I indicate and pull out on to the road again. In all seriousness, they should send Mam into Syria or Gaza or one of those places, such is her diplomatic talent.
‘She played me a couple of songs you’ve got up on that internet,’ Da says, unwrapping the Rolo packet the whole way so that all the chocolates spill out on to his lap. ‘A bit of Springsteen up there wouldn’t hurt,’ he says, popping one into his gob. ‘Something from the early stuff.’
A surge of gratitude seizes all my wits at once. ‘Right,’ I say, welling up. I know exactly what it’s taken him to get here. I have to blink a few times before I can turn around. ‘Thanks, Da.’
He looks at me, eyebrows skewed. ‘What’s that?’
‘I’m saying thanks, that’s all.’
He stops chomping and we gawp at each other for a second, his top lip in a sort of snarl. Mine’s quivering as I try to hold it together. I’m studying the lines around his eyes when he blinks and reaches over, fixing my left hand back on the wheel.
‘Ten o’clock, two o’clock, son, remember! Don’t be taking yer hands off that wheel,’ he says, before returning to the pile of Rolos in his lap.
I guess that’s it, but at least he’s heard me.
We pass the iron gates to Emerald’s grandma’s house. I think Da clocks me rubbernecking up the empty drive, but he says nothing.
EMERALD
This isn’t a game
Grandma and I are silently clock-watching. I don’t know which of us is more jumpy. I’m nervous about my results, obviously, but I’m even more anxious about seeing Dad.
Grandma is standing by the machine refilling her cup. ‘Coffee?’
‘I’m OK, thanks.’ Nothing tastes right this morning but I’m sure that’s to do with what’s ahead. There’s so much I have to say, so much I need to ask Dad about. Of course I’ll have to bring up Magda too, but not in front of Grandma; she’s been through enough.
‘He must have had an early start,’ Grandma says, pressing the button on the frothing machine. It whirrs into life and she clasps her hands together, standing back in admiration.
I say nothing. It’s almost eleven o’clock. Kitty and all the girls will have had their results
by now. WhatsApps flew around last night, wishing everyone luck, endless chatter and party plans, but the past few hours have been quiet. That I’m still in their WhatsApp groups at all was reassuring, I won’t lie.
Kitty called last night. Apparently St Tropez was kind of boring this year because they’re putting in a new pool and the place like was a building site, but the results party in Bath is going to be next-level, she says. Byrony and Rupert are still a thing but she also likes some older guy she met in Cornwall. It took over an hour for her to confirm that a) nothing has changed there over the entire summer and b) no one has actually missed me. Listening as she downloaded all her news I felt the full breadth of the Irish Sea between us.
Still, if I’m honest, it was comforting just to hear her voice. I don’t think Kitty will ever understand how it feels to love a boy like Liam, or how it feels to wake up on the island and watch the sun rise from its vast horizon and that’s OK. I’ve had sex and my best friend doesn’t even know. That’s a conversation for another time.
How is it that what once felt like the entire universe is now just one tiny little world orbiting around like a gazillion others? Stupid as it sounds, I never realised how many worlds fit within the one world; worlds as real as the one I left behind. I see now the deep, dark ocean that separates the reality I live and the reality I so desperately wanted. There were times when I thought those waters would take me under; times I thought I’d drown. I can’t avoid going back, I know that, but I’ve found an island now, somewhere I can go, somewhere in the middle that is mine.
I’m digging into my boiled egg and thinking about all of this when my phone starts to buzz gently, lighting up Grandma’s newspaper from underneath. Praying it might be Liam, I jump for it: unknown number.
I place the phone to my ear. ‘Hello?’ Grandma and I exchange glances.
‘Emerald?’
It’s not Magda, which is an instant relief. ‘Who’s this?’
There’s a shrill laugh I recognise, but can’t place. ‘It’s Mrs McKenzie, Georgina McKenzie. A star in Economics! Bet you’re pleased you stuck with it for A Level now.’
My stomach cartwheels. ‘Oh, h–hi, Mrs McKenzie,’ I stammer. Grandma is standing in front of me now.
‘The only girl in the year with that result. It really is quite something.’
I’m pointing to the phone, for Grandma’s benefit, I think. ‘Really?’ It’s all my swimming brain can manage.
‘Super results. You must be delighted,’ she says excitedly. ‘Your parents too.’
I’m picturing her now, sitting in her large, oak-panelled office where I stood opposite her on the second-last day of term. I’m not sure what to say; that my parents don’t know, that it’s just Grandma and me here in Dublin? Does she have any idea about what happened with Mum, or even Dad for that matter?
‘Anyway, I’ll let you get on with celebrating. I wanted to congratulate you, that’s all …’
I don’t hear the rest of what she says, I just blurt out, ‘What did I get?’
There’s a little cough on the other end of the line. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Could you tell me my results, please, Miss?’
‘Oh, gosh!’ She stops. ‘I’m so … I assumed that you’d have opened them by now. Your father was here at eight o’clock sharp, one of the first in line. Emerald, I’m terribly –’
‘I’m in Dublin. Dad’s on his way – you may as well tell me. Please!’
‘Oh,’ she says again. ‘Goodness, I don’t know what the protocol is on this, but I expect in this case there won’t be any complaints …’
I’m about to burst.
‘Ah yes, well, Emerald, you attained one A star, 6 As and three Bs.’
I press speaker and hold the phone out again so that Grandma can hear. ‘Could you say that again, please?’
She clears her throat, ‘One A star, six As and three Bs, Emerald. The As were in English Language and Literature, Maths, Science, History and French,’ she says. Grandma grips my arm tight, like she can’t believe it either and we both gurn crazily at each other. ‘Emerald?’
‘Thank you. Thanks again, for everything,’ I say and hang up.
Grandma takes me in her arms. The last time she did this was when we sat outside on Granddad’s bench after watching The Fault in our Stars, me spilling a barrel of buried pain, but now we’re both standing, hugging each other properly. It’s so lovely I have to close my eyes to feel it more.
Grandma pushes me away, looking me up and down. ‘I never knew there was such a thing as an A star,’ she says. ‘How on earth did you get one of those?’ I laugh and she laughs too. ‘Well, it’s astonishing is what it is.’
I glance up at the clock; it’s quarter past. I fumble for my phone to dial Mum but Grandma gently pulls at my hands as we hear the hall door close and the sounds of what must be the taxi pulling away on the drive. Grandma looks shaken.
‘Hellooo,’ Dad cries out cheerily from the hall.
‘In the kitchen,’ says Grandma, covering well.
Dad strides into the kitchen, looking dapper in a slim-fit, dark suit. ‘Special delivery for Miss Emerald Rutherford Byrne,’ he says, handing me the envelope with a wink. Behind the smile he looks exhausted and grey. I grasp it without our hands touching and place it on the counter. His eyes follow my moving arm.
‘Would you like some tea, Jim?’ Grandma asks, but he doesn’t answer. ‘Or maybe a coffee?’ she suggests in an even smaller voice. Dad still says nothing; he’s staring at me, clearly thrown. I stare right back.
‘I’m going to pop upstairs a minute,’ Grandma says, backing out of the door.
Dad moves further into the room and I take a step back into the corner, by the kettle. He goes to the right and I instinctively move to mine, like a matador in the ring with my bull. Or maybe that should be the other way round.
‘Aren’t you going to open them?’ he asks, inching towards me. I step to the side again and his eyes fly all over my face.
‘When Grandma said you were staying in that airport hotel, Dad, I honestly thought she was losing her mind,’ I say, slowly shaking my head. ‘I mean, there was no way you’d lie to me, about anything. It was the only conclusion I could come to.’ His body slumps into a nearby chair. ‘How long were you going to keep it all from me?’
He shakes his head silently and lets out a lengthy breath, like one from Mum’s yoga DVD. It goes on forever. ‘Em.’ It’s a whisper.
I catch his wounded eyes before they close and despite everything I want to hug him. Gripping the edge of the sink, I anchor myself for strength. I’ve got to keep going. ‘I’ve lain awake every night trying to work out how long you’ve been lying to me about your work, about Magda …’ I can’t hide the quiver in my voice. ‘I’ve been running over everything in my head relentlessly.’
His eyes open but it’s like he doesn’t want to see me or anything else. ‘I was building our future, your future.’
‘By walking away from your debt, a mountain of it, by all accounts? By devastating this town, leaving other families suffering?’
He stands up and walks to the window further up, arranging his suited limbs against the countertop. ‘It’s not that simple, Em,’ he says, reaching for my hand. ‘The banks moved in. Most of it was outside of my control. It was a complicated and difficult situation for everyone. Nobody came out of it well, believe me. And then with everything with your mum, I was only trying to protect you, sweetheart.’ He reaches for my hand.
I step closer to him. I need to see into his eyes. ‘How, Dad?’
‘Shielding you from all the court-case stuff, I guess. Allowing you to concentrate on your studies.’
‘But how could you leave me here, knowing how everybody here feels about you?’
‘I’ve been so busy, so consumed –’ He stops here. Clearly even he knows this answers nothing.
I try to hook his eyes but he won’t look at me. ‘Busy sleeping with someone who’s not Mum?’ I say it, just
like that. ‘Your secretary?’
Dad collapses back into the chair. He rubs his furrowed brow, his thumb and index finger meeting in the middle.
What am I doing? I can’t believe this is really me talking to him like this, arguing. Nothing is as it should be; it’s all wrong, but I can’t ignore the fire that’s been lit inside me now.
‘Magda’s a director of the company –’
‘One that does your Amazon shopping, one that makes music playlists you pretend to like? One that arranges taxis to ferry your daughter to your wife’s rehab sessions when you’re tied up?’
He goes to protest but I keep going. ‘And while we’re at it, I’d like to talk about Mum, who could clearly do with our help right now. Trouble is, I’m not sure how your company director fits in with that plan.’
He shuffles in the seat and his fingers drum on the table, lightly at first but getting louder. Then his foot begins to tap against the table leg and he starts patting his trouser pockets like he’s looking for his keys.
‘Can I take it Mum found out about Magda around … the end of term?’ His eyes close. ‘Would that be right, Dad?’
‘The timing,’ he says, with his hands running roughly through his hair now, ‘I know the timing has been rough.’
‘That’s one way to put it.’
‘Sweetheart –’
‘I thought it was me, Dad – that I’d driven Mum to it. I still find it hard to convince myself it wasn’t something I’d done, or should have done … But clearly –’
‘Em, you mustn’t –’
‘Do you love her more than us?’
Without answering he pushes himself up, walking to the far side of the kitchen and into the laundry room. I follow and find him by the back door, which he flings wide open, drawing a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and putting one to his lips. He looks back. His damp eyes look just like Grandma’s. I have to look at him side-on as he stares out into the little orchard beyond. He looks up at the overcast sky.
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