by Kelly, A. S.
“So, you already know each other,” Martin adds.
Arsehole.
It pains me to admit it, but Ryan’s right: we have to get rid of Martin.
“Hey, Karen, it’s good to see you again – although I was hoping it would be under different circumstances.” Casey peels herself away from Mum, keeping hold of her hands.
“What are we all doing in the hall?”
Fuck, no.
“Oh, but…but…but…” Ryan can’t quite spit his words out. “What a weird coincidence,” he says.
Unfortunately, he recovered too quickly.
“Hi, Ryan!” Casey greets him. “Wow, it’s been a while…”
“Not that long – I saw you in the hospital the other day. Didn’t I, Nick?”
There we go. Little Ryan is about to crush this dickhead with his pinky finger.
“Well, you could’ve said hi.”
“You were busy saying hi to someone else. I didn’t want to intrude.”
I swear I’m going to cram him into the garage and lock him up there in the dark with Dad’s chainsaw.
“Ryan,” Martin nods.
“Martin,” Ryan replies, through his teeth.
“Nick! Are you stuck over there?” Mum calls me.
I slowly peel away from the front door. “Of course not.”
“What a nice surprise! Casey…you remember her, right?”
“Of course he remembers her,” Ryan adds suggestively, making me choke on my own embarrassment.
“Come in, we’re all through in the living room. I was just putting on some coffee – or I can get you some tea, if you prefer?”
Mum must have realised I was backed into a corner and come to my rescue.
“Coffee would be perfect, Karen. Thanks,” Martin says.
“Would you like some too, dear?” She turns to Casey.
“Sure, why not. Thank you.”
“Come on, my husband is through here, with the rest of the family.”
The three of them walk through to the living room, leaving me alone in the hallway with that dickhead. It makes me wonder why my parents wanted to conceive another little arsehole that night – was I not enough?
“So…” Ryan approaches me, hands in pockets and a falsely angelic expression plastered across his face.
No one buys it anymore. We all know that the guy is the work of the devil.
“Interesting, isn’t it? This coincidence.”
“Ha ha.”
“You know what I’d call it?”
“No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“It’s called karma, bro. You’re about to get what you deserve. And I really hope you’re good at maths, and you’ve worked out what you’re due.”
And I don’t know why, but I think that, for once in his life, Ryan’s fucking right.
* * *
Casey has made herself comfortable in my parents’ living room, surrounded by my family. She’s sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, as if she were perfectly at home; she’s wearing a pair of shorts which are almost invisible, and a T-shirt that says ‘The best underwear is no underwear at all’.
Jesus Christ.
I tear my gaze away from her top, before I start to wonder too hard about whether or not she’s wearing anything under those shorts.
We’re all here: die-hard O’Connors, ready to suffocate any unfortunate person who steps foot into our interrogating, embarrassing home. But Casey isn’t a stranger to all this. It’s not the first time she’s sat on that sofa and, to be honest, she never had any trouble surviving my parents’ attention – just as she’s never had any problems putting my brothers back in their places. And over the years, we haven’t changed – we’re still the same old group of lumbering idiots. That’s not counting the fact that our family is growing in front of our eyes, and the new entries have only made the situation worse, filling all the lovely gaps that used to preserve at least a little of our dignity, or prove that we hadn’t all totally lost our minds. Now, unfortunately, there’s no doubt about it.
“So you already knew the family?” Chris asks, curious. “What a weird coincidence.”
Ryan coughs loudly.
“Yeah, it’s been a good few years. How many exactly, Nick?” she asks, shooting me a glance.
Another coughing fit, this time even louder. I hope it chokes him, and Dr Martin doesn’t rush to his aid.
“How did you know them?” Chris asks, straightening herself on the armchair, her ears pricked up to hear how Casey’s past involved Ryan.
So predictable.
“My dad was the Ravens RFC coach.”
“All three of my boys played for that team,” Mum says, proudly. “They all started from there, in the youth team.”
“And the coach kicked us right up the…”
“And how is your dad?” Mum asks politely, her way of forcing Ryan to shut his huge mouth.
“He’s fine, thanks. He’s retired now. Not that he enjoys it much – his whole life was centred around sport, so it’s not easy for him to find something to do during the day. Apart from get involved in my life.”
I smile, remembering coach Madigan and his futile attempts at controlling his daughter; but then I remember all the times he tried to kill me, and a shiver of terror runs up my spine.
“So you work in the same hospital as Martin?” Mum continues.
“Exactly. I’m a physiotherapist.”
A physiotherapist. Not a doctor, like she’d always dreamed.
The news confuses me and, at the same time, leaves a bitterness in my stomach. Casey always wanted to be a doctor, was so focused on her goals, so headstrong and ambitious. I can’t help but ask myself why her plans were interrupted, what made her change her mind. And why I didn’t know about it.
Oh, yeah. I left.
“Casey’s the best. Everyone loves her,” Martin says, joining the conversation. “She’s the most organised, the sweetest and definitely the best-looking physio we have.”
What the fuck is he still doing in our house? And why hasn’t Ryan got rid of him yet? I need to have a little chat with him as soon as possible. We don’t need another nosey big-mouth hanging around, talking about pretty physiotherapists.
Fuck, I’m sweating. Maybe I’m suffocating. It’s way too hot in this house. I jump up suddenly to open the window and let some air in.
“Everything okay, Nick?” Him again. “You seem agitated.”
I should go into the garage. I think I remember seeing some mouse poison knocking around somewhere: I’m sure a few spoonfuls – or ten – would shut him up forever.
“They’ve recently cut back my hours at the hospital,” Casey continues. “I only work mornings, so I have time in the afternoons to do a few home visits.”
“Casey.” My father who, until this point, had sat there in worried silence, speaks up. “Until a few minutes ago, I was intent on chucking you out.”
Oh, fuck.
Everyone falls silent.
“I didn’t want anyone in my house, let alone a doctor.”
Casey smiles tightly.
“But seeing as it’s you, I think this could be good for me.”
Everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief.
“I’m so happy to hear that, Mr O’Connor.”
“Please, call me James. No one in this family calls me Mr O’Connor.”
I spit my coffee out all over Mum’s carpet.
“Dad,” Ian says. “Casey’s here for your physio. Your knee – remember?”
“No. Casey’s here for something else.”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
“What would that be?” Mum asks, trying not to panic.
Dad lifts his gaze and it falls onto me. I don’t add anything, and no one asks – mainly because they’re too scared of the response.
And, of everyone, I think I’m the most terrified.
Karma, you bitch.
Not even Ryan could’ve done any better.
10
Casey
We close the O’Connors’ front door behind us and head towards Martin’s car.
“See? That was fine. The O’Connors were happy to see you.”
“And you really enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
“Me?” He flutters a hand to his chest, mock-horrified.
“Did you really have to get involved?”
“What did I say?”
“Martin…”
“Oh, wow,” he exclaims, looking over my shoulder. “It looked like you weren’t the only one who hadn’t forgotten.” He nods behind me and I turn around. Nick has come out of the house and is heading towards us with the expression of someone who’s about have a rectal exam.
“Nick,” Martin speaks, without missing a beat. “Have you got something to say to us?”
Nick glares at him, as Martin keeps flashing him that smug smile, unaware of the fact he’s about to be punched right in the face.
“Could you give us a minute?” he asks.
“Sure, no problem.”
Martin gets into the car and I step away a few paces so that he can’t hear us – even though I know he’ll try anyway.
“Is there a problem?” I ask once we’re alone.
“I just wanted… I wanted to…” He sighs heavily. “I’m glad he likes you.”
“Thanks.”
“Dad isn’t how he used to be.”
“I know, Nick. I’m really sorry.”
He shrugs and attempts a smile. “I’m sure you’ll get him back on his feet.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Okay.”
“If that’s all…” I say, turning away – but Nick grabs my arm, stopping me.
I close my eyes, and take four deep breaths to let my heart rate calm down, before turning back to face him.
“I’m happy to see you again,” he says, and I know that he’s being honest.
“Me too,” I say.
And, unfortunately for me, I really am.
* * *
I close the passenger door as Martin starts up the ignition.
“So?” he asks, curious.
“I think you already heard everything, didn’t you?”
“Well…maybe bits…”
I shake my head, exasperated.
“I think you have two problems here.”
“Problems?”
“There are always problems. Especially when those three are involved.”
I burst out laughing. “And what would these problems be?”
“That you, my dear Casey, have never got over your abandonment issues.”
“No one’s ever abandoned me, Martin.”
“And that he, hon, has never got over leaving you behind.”
I direct my gaze out of the window, but I close my eyes: Martin’s words have lodged themselves into a corner of my heart, and the pain is so strong that I could cry.
* * *
When I get out of Martin’s car and head up the driveway towards the front door, I realise that my dad is waiting outside, sitting on the bench, with his favourite beer in hand. I say hi, sitting myself down next to him. I kick off my shoes and place my feet on the cool grass. Dad hands me the bottle, and I accept, taking a few sips.
“How did it go?”
“Good. I’m going to take the job.”
“And…?”
“Nothing, that’s it.”
“Nothing to tell me about the patient?”
“What do you want me to say? He needs a physiotherapist and I’m available.”
“Why are you being so vague?”
“I’m not.”
“Are you hiding something?”
“Me? No!” I jump to my feet and head for the front door, trying to avoid the conversation. “I’m tired. I have a shift at the hospital tomorrow morning.”
“Casey Madigan!” My father straightens his back, just like he used to when I was a kid and I did something I wasn’t supposed to.
I turn to face him, slowly. “It’s just a family that needs my help.”
Dad crosses his arms and sits, waiting to hear the rest of the story.
“He’s ill. Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t like hospitals, doctors or strangers. So they wanted to find someone who could go to the house. He had an operation on his meniscus and has to have physio, or he won’t be able to regain any of his normal movement.”
“I’m sorry, that can’t be an easy situation.”
“It’s not.”
“Are you up for it?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to work so much, you know. We can manage.”
“Please, don’t start.”
I open the door to my apartment and quickly start to climb the stairs. But Dad won’t drop it.
“You know I’d help you out if you needed it. You don’t even have to ask.”
“I’m twenty-seven years old, Dad!”
“So?”
“So I want to do it on my own. I want to find my own place one day, a house… I don’t want to keep getting under your feet.”
“It doesn’t bother me. You don’t even live with me. Look, you have your own apartment.”
“Yeah, which is part of your house.”
Dad looks at me for a few seconds before shaking his head, and going to the fridge for another beer.
“This is your house, Casey. You’re my only daughter – who else will it go to once I’m six feet under?”
“I don’t want to have this conversation.”
Dad leans down and opens the top drawer to grab the bottle opener.
“What’s this family called, anyway?”
Oh God.
He closes the drawer and looks at me again, waiting. Is there any point in lying? He’ll find out sooner or later.
“It’s the O’Connors.”
He slams his bottle down onto the countertop, sending foam shooting out of the top.
“Are you kidding?”
I shake my head.
“Casey…”
“Dad, it’s just work.”
“I don’t like the thought of you having anything to do with those three dickheads.”
“I only have to work with their dad, and I promise you he’s no dickhead.”
“But they’ll be there, too.”
“They don’t even live there. They’re adults.”
Dad bursts out in bitter laughter. “Adults? Those three?” He laughs again, but it sends chills up my spine.
“It’s been a few years now, and you haven’t seen them since they were teenagers. Come on, they’ve grown up.”
“They’re making my blood pressure fly through the roof.”
“You have high blood pressure because you love bacon and battered sausages.”
He shrugs indifferently. “I don’t like you being in contact with them.”
“I won’t be.”
He looks at me, narrowing his eyes. “You used to be friends with them, once.”
“Not really,” I say bitterly.
“You always hung around with them behind my back.”
“If you knew about it, it wasn’t behind your back.”
“Only because you can’t lie, and because I have eyes in the back of my head.”
Okay, Dad. I’ll let you believe that.
“Well, I’ve accepted it now, so you need to keep out of this. Okay?”
Dad lifts his hands in defence.
“And don’t do anything. No jokes, no following me. No intimidating or threatening anyone.”
“Me?” he asks, falsely innocent. “When have I ever done anything like that?” He says goodbye and heads back downstairs. He slams the door behind him, and I let myself crumble onto the sofa.
Okay, so I live with my father. Well, actually, I live upstairs: a few years ago, Dad split the two floors apart; to give me some privacy, he said, but I know that he really did it in the hope that I’d stay. I have an outside entrance that leads straight up to my ap
artment; a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and a bedroom. There’s nothing missing, really – apart from my independence, which it’ll take a few years to gain. Especially if they keep reducing my hours at the hospital.
My parents split up when I was four; I don’t have any memories of the three of us living together. For me, it’s always just been the two of us. Dad’s never really got over the divorce – he threw himself into his work and dedicated himself to me instead, giving up on the idea of ever finding someone. And we were happy like that, despite his overbearing, controlling parenting style. We were a team, united and unbreakable: we helped each other out, gave each other strength, and overcame some difficult moments together, thanks to our closeness. Up until a few months ago, I never would’ve thought of leaving, but I get the impression that neither of us will be off anytime soon. I’ll never grow out of this lifestyle, and he’ll keep using my living here as an excuse not to get on with his own life.
He worked hard, and he’s been alone for so long. But now it’s time for him to live again, to start putting himself first, just like he should. Just as I should concentrate on my own life, and my future.
11
Nick
I slump down onto the bottom step of the bleachers miserably, watching my uncoordinated students attempt to play rugby. How can they still not know how to catch a ball at their age?
“Oh, come on!” I jump to my feet as Corey trips over for the thousandth time. He’s top of the class for science and maths, but right at the bottom of the league for any outdoor activity that requires even a little physical effort.
I sit back down, exhausted, with a banging headache, when I hear a few laughs behind me. Maybe it’s just my imagination: if I ignore them, they might go away. I shout at the kids, growing redder by the second, jumping up and sitting down over and over. I mutter a series of swear words through my teeth – it doesn’t seem right to shout them at the kids – when I hear the laughter again. I know that I’m not imagining things, just like I know that, unfortunately, they’re really there. But I keep trying to ignore them as long as possible – I’ll even play dead if I have to, before I kill them instead.