by Sienna Blake
“So do you, Mr B.”
I snorted. Even after three years, he still insisted on calling me that instead of my first name. “You excited for the Debs Ball, are you? Where’s your pretty date?”
Timmy’s cheeks flushed pink. He’d liked this girl for almost a year before I convinced him to ask her out. “She’s attending another pre-drinks. I’m going to meet her there.”
“Right, well, I’ll let you get back to your friends now. You probably don’t want to spend your graduation celebrations with us oldies.” I slung my arm around his neck and pulled him to me for another hug. “I’m so proud of you,” I said just for him.
“Thanks to you, Mr B. I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”
This right here, this was why I fucking loved my job.
“You did it all, kid. I just gave you some direction.”
I pulled away. He ducked his head and I knew there were tears rimming his eyes. I cleared my throat, blinking back twin stings, and slapped him on his back just a little too hard. “Oh, go on now.”
He grinned, gave his ma a quick cuddle, her tears much less guarded, then strode off to a group of his friends, the world at his feet.
When he’d been assigned to me three years ago, he’d been an angry teen, furious at his father for up and leaving him and his ma, lashing out his only way of dealing with his messy turmoil. He’d was about to get kicked out of school for his behaviour. Now look at him, graduated high school with plans for a furniture-making apprenticeship.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my spirit dipping when I read the text.
Ava: Sorry babe can’t make it have fun
“What’s wrong?” Mrs O’Leary asked.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and shook my head, forcing the smile back on my face. I wasn’t about to let my fucking problems take anything away from what should be an evening all about Timothy.
“Oh, nothing. Ava’s had something come up so she can’t make it,” I lied.
Then I changed the subject.
Later that evening, I pulled up on the street out front of my home, a cosy two-bed brick terrace house with a small patch of garden out front.
I had to mow our small lawn. I had to trim back those rose bushes that threatened to climb over the neighbour’s low wooden fence and start a riot. Ava had wanted roses. She’d promised she’d keep them trimmed and take care of them. I’d spent an entire day off breaking my back getting those thorny fuckers in the ground for her. She lost interest only weeks later.
Squinting at the grey drizzle that hung around this city like a bad smell, I could see two figures through the front window—Ava’s and another that looked like one of her work friends. I switched off the engine to my truck and climbed out, tempering my annoyance.
The sound of two women giggling hit me as I barged through the front door.
I walked into our small living room to find an utter mess. They’d set up camp, it looked like. Cold lumps of cheese in the bottom of a greasy pizza box along with eight or nine empty bottles of Bulmers cider littering the grey carpet.
Dee, one of Ava’s girlfriends from work, sat in my armchair, a ciggie in her hand, her dark hair blown out. I fucking hated it when people smoked in the house and Ava knew it. The smell of cigarette smoke brought back too many bad memories.
Anger swirled around in my gut. “You both been here all evening, have ya?”
“Yeah,” Dee slurred, oblivious to the tension snapping in the air like rubber bands, “Ava invited me over after work.”
“Did she now?” I turned towards my girlfriend of two years, her throat column bobbing as she avoided my eyes. She knew how much Timmy’s graduation meant to me. She promised she would come. She broke her promise.
“Babe,” Ava began, her voice climbing into a high-pitched whine, “it’s not—”
“Time to go home, Dee,” I growled.
Ava gasped. “Don’t you talk to her—”
“It’s you I’m thinking about, Ava. I don’t think you want your friend here for this…discussion, do you?”
Her normally thick lips thinned to a white slash across her made-up face.
Dee hopped up to her feet, her hands going to smooth down her jeans and grab her bag. “I probably should go anyways, Ava. Paddy will shit bricks if I’m home too late.”
I glared at my girlfriend as Dee hugged her goodbye, ignoring Dee when she called goodbye to me.
Ava turned to me the moment the door shut behind Dee. “You are such an asshole, Brennan.”
“You knew how much Timmy’s Debs celebrations meant to me. You promised you’d come.”
“I had a bad day at work, okay? Needed a drink.”
Every day for Ava was a bad day it seemed. Every day was some excuse. Some complaint.
“Besides, it was just some kid’s graduation. He’s not even your kid.”
Disbelief stabbed me. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand that these kids assigned to me might not be my blood but they were my kids.
“You fucking promised me, Ava,” I roared.
“Baby…” Ava’s bottom lip started quivering. “Why are you yelling at me?”
Fuck. Now I felt like a shit.
The fight sagged out of me as Ava tottered towards me, still in her short skirt and blouse from her part-time work at the beauty salon. I stood like a stone as she collapsed in my arms.
“We just need a holiday,” she said into my shirt, her fingers roaming my chest, “you and me, baby. Somewhere warm. Somewhere nice. Majorca. Or Ibiza.”
“I can’t take a holiday right now.” My arm curled around her small waist and I pulled her closer.
She pouted up at me. “Yes, you can. You have so much leave accrued at your job.” She smiled, a twinkle growing in her eyes. “It could be more than just a holiday, you know?”
I stiffened. “What does that mean?”
“Just think how everyone will react when we come back all tanned and refreshed…and married.”
My arm dropped from around her body and I slid out of her grasp. “Now I need a drink.”
“Jesus, Diarmuid,” she snapped as she followed me into the kitchen, “we’ve been together for almost three years.”
I rubbed my forehead with my hands, a sudden pressure in my skull giving me a throbbing headache. “And it works, doesn’t it?” Most of the time.
“I swear to God, Diarmuid, if you’re stringing me along—”
“I’m not.”
I would do the right thing. It just didn’t feel like the right thing right now.
But that would change, right?
3
____________
Saoirse
Last day of summer holidays and the sky was thick grey carpet, threatening to rain. Typical Irish weather. Matching my mood.
I scuffed my way down the street, kicking at loose stones, hands shoved in my pockets, jaw set.
What I wouldn’t give to be even two years older. Then I could work. I could leave school if I wanted. I could make it out on my own. I’d been taking care of myself since I was twelve. Since my da was taken from us and my ma stopped being a ma. I ground my teeth. I was smarter than most folks. I was “older” in my head than some people twice my age.
But the stupid government mandated an arbitrary measure, days on this earth, to account for ability or maturity. Until I could work I was reliant on my ma, a woman who couldn’t hold a job to save her life, whose idea of “responsible” was to sometimes remember to grab toilet paper when she went out for smokes.
Fuck that. Fuck them. This wasn’t fair. But there was nothing—nothing—I could do about it. We didn’t have child emancipation laws here in Ireland.
“Saoirse,” someone called out my name.
I turned around but I couldn’t see anyone on the street. My name came again. This time I was able to pinpoint that it was coming from a dark head peeking round a brick wall down a skinny lane that shot off the main street. He waved me over. �
��Come here.”
It was Kian. He lived in the building over from me, that’s how he knew who I was. He was a senior at my school, or at least he would be when the new school year started tomorrow.
It seemed to me his auburn hair always glinted amongst the other guys’ duller locks. His confident, easy demeanour meant he was always surrounded by those wishing to bask in it, his boisterous unashamed laugh booming across the school grounds.
Whenever he saw me, he’d slow down and walk with me, talked to me like he would anyone else. I liked him. He was one of the few seniors that didn’t make me feel like a kid.
“Kian?” I walked towards him.
“Come ’ere.” He ducked back around the corner and I followed.
Another small lane shot off this one, just skinny enough to allow two people or a person with a bike to walk past, two tall wooden fences boarding up the sides. Kian was standing with another one of his friends, a rough-looking lad named Darryl, I think. Darryl stood scowling at me, guarding a partly open black backpack at his feet.
A large birch tree grew over one wall, shading the skinny passageway, making it seem darker than it was. The end of the lane kinked round so I couldn’t see where it led. The only way anyone could see into the lane is if they walked past the corner I’d just come from.
I slowed down, edging towards them, frowning at the thing in Darryl’s curled hand that I couldn’t quite make out.
Darryl glared at me, disdain clear on his face. “Why’d you invite this little squirt back ’ere?”
Fuck you, too, asshole.
“Lay off, Dazza. She’s alright.” Kian nodded to me. “Come on now. We don’t bite.”
Dazza looked like he’d bite. I wasn’t stupid. I knew not to get too close or to trust someone like Dazza.
I paused and stared at the fence where someone had tagged it with “Fuck yous Gards”, catching the sharp whiff of paint. This tag was fresh. Right, Darryl’s backpack. Those were the tops of paint cans in there. He’d probably just finished this tag, given the paint was still shiny. Wonder how the stupid knacker would react if I corrected his spelling?
Dazza lifted his hand to his face, catching my attention. A tiny flare of embers between his fingers told me that was a ciggie in his hand. He blew out a cloud of smoke towards me—I knew a fuck off sign when I saw one—and the smell of pot hit my nose. Not a normal ciggie, then. I forced myself to breathe casually through my mouth, not wanting to cough and make a tit out of myself.
“Good summer?” I asked cautiously.
Dazza snorted and muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t hear.
“Don’t be a dick.” Kian punched his shoulder and snatched the joint from him, taking a drag and blowing out smoke rings.
I watched his lips forming the rings. They were interesting lips. Thicker than most boys’. Not as thick as mine. His jaw, I noticed, was dotted with stubble in straining patches.
He must have caught me looking because he turned to me and held out the joint, the smoke waving towards me, causing more of the strong smell to go up my nose.
“Want some?”
I’d never done drugs. Not even something as benign as pot.
I’d seen plenty of drugs lying around our living room, tight green buds, white powder, small opaque crystals. I’d had more than ample opportunity to nick some if I wanted to.
I’d never wanted to. I’d always steered well clear of it because of how much of a loser it turned my ma into. I knew intellectually that it must be “good” or “fun”, otherwise why would she do it so often? Why would she put up with the men she brought home if it wasn’t to get the stuff off them? Still, the price looked too steep.
But today, curiosity and desire burned in my belly. Maybe it was the complete despondence I felt. Maybe I had just about given up, relegating my life to the shithole I was unfairly thrown into with no way out in sight.
Maybe today I just wanted to rebel. A giant fuck you to my life.
I stepped closer to Kian and reached out my hand, our fingers brushing as I took the joint from him, copying the way he held it between the tip of his thumb and forefinger.
Kian’s beautiful lips formed into a smirk. “You ever smoked before?”
I paused before shaking my head. Despite not wanting to look uncool and inexperienced, I knew lying about it would make me look like an utter eejit if I was found out.
“I’m poppin’ your pot cherry, then,” he said just low enough for me to hear. “Lucky me.”
“Aw, fockin’ ’ell. Whyd’ya have to waste it on her?” Dazza whined.
I ignored him. So did Kian. My eyes were locked onto his, two pools of sky-blue encouragement. Two pools of acceptance. I felt warm inside. Despite a tiny warning bell in my head, my desire to please him was louder.
“What’ll happen to me?” I asked, in a low voice so Dazza wouldn’t hear. I didn’t want to give him any more reason to complain. He already thought I was too young to hang out with them.
“You’ll get relaxed. S’all.”
I looked down to the burning joint between my fingers. Something that looked tiny in Kian’s fingers looked too large in mine. It was almost as thick as my little finger, about half as long. If I did this…
“I won’t let anything happen to ye,” Kian said in a low and liquid voice. “Promise.”
That was all I needed.
I held the end of the joint to my face and tentatively placed my lips on the rolled paper, noting the bit of card they’d rolled to keep the end formed. I ignored the clanging hesitation and drew in a breath. The smoke hit the back of my throat and lungs like I’d sucked in hot ash.
“Hold your breath for as long as you can.”
I began to cough and splutter.
“Steady now,” Kian said. “That was a big breath for such a little girl.”
“I’m not a girl,” I spat out between the coughs I was trying to suppress.
Kian stepped closer—he smelled like smoke and leather from his jacket—took the joint from me and rubbed his free hand across my back. I was so surprised I didn’t think to flinch away. No one had ever touched me like that before. It felt…nice.
He chuckled low. “Sure, you’re not a girl now. But a woman, right? You can do things only a woman can do, yeah?”
I wasn’t sure what he was saying or what he meant. But something in his tone made me pause.
He drew in a lungful of pot and held his breath. His hand on my back reached up to grab my neck, so quick I couldn’t move, pulling my face towards his, his open mouth coming down on mine, breathing out more smoke into my lungs. I sucked in a breath out of instinct.
His lips were cool, a little dry. But it felt good to be held there like that. Felt good to be paid such attention. To be taken care of like he was doing to me.
He let go of me, a smirk playing at his mouth when he pulled back. “You’ll be good and fucked up now.”
I swayed where I stood. This time I only coughed a little.
Before I could ask what it was I should be feeling, an odd sensation stole over me. Not there one second, there the next. I felt lightheaded, my thoughts turning sticky and ever so slow. My limbs began to tingle. The heaviness of my life lifted, and I felt like I was hung from a hook on the back of a door, not quite touching the ground.
“Fuck,” Dazza yelled, his voice cutting through my fog.
“Shit,” hissed Kian. His hand moved quick as a flash. Then he turned and ran after Dazza, who was already pelting down the laneway.
Why were they running?
I watched them run as if I were looking through a telescope from far away. I should move too. Run too.
But I couldn’t move.
I realised why when a hand came down on my shoulder. In a delayed second, my body feeling like it was submerged in treacle, I looked up. A tall male Garda officer was standing at my side.
“You smoking pot?”
I just stared at him while my mind struggled to work.
&nb
sp; The Garda were here.
They knew I was high.
I bit down my anger. Kian just left me here. He promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He lied. They all just lie.
Another Garda, a female officer, walked past us and bent down by the backpack Dazza had left on the ground. With the tip of her pen, she pushed open the top of the backpack, exposing the paint cans I had suspected were in there. She looked up to the “art” Dazza had left behind on the wall and frowned.
The male officer who had me by the shoulder clicked his tongue. “Possession of a controlled substance and destruction of property.”
I didn’t need to be smart to know I was in so much trouble.
“You want to tell me what happened here?” he asked.
It’s not mine. I know exactly who it belongs to.
I clamped my mouth shut as my da’s words came back to me. Don’t fucking talk to the Gards. Never talk to those fuckers.
The female officer stood staring at the tag on the fence, then at me. “She’s barely five feet. Not tall enough to make this tag. One of the two guys who ran off must have done it.”
She turned her face towards me. She looked stern, thin lips set into a line, her dark blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun at her neck under her cap. But her blue eyes betrayed a kind of softness in them.
“Who were those guys? Is that their pot?” She indicated the partial joint on the ground near my feet. Kian must have thrown it down before he ran.
I pressed my lips even tighter together, a rush of clarity cutting through the sticky high. I was no rat. A rat was the worst thing to be.
“If you don’t tell us, you’ll be in even more trouble.”
I was fucked anyway.
But I was no rat.
The officer at my side sighed. “You’re coming with us, then.”
4
____________
Diarmuid
I had a new assignment.
“Caught smoking pot,” the admin girl yelled at me as she threw me my new assignment’s file.
I caught it before folding it into my jacket. Bloody paperwork. Seemed like all they wanted to do was drown me in the shit.