‘I’m a footballer,’ I tell her, giving in.
‘Ah… who do you play for?’
‘Well… actually, y’know what,’ I say, puffing a small laugh out of my nostrils. ‘I don’t play for any team anymore. But don’t tell anybody that. Nobody knows. That can be our little secret.’
I wink at her. Not sure why I feel the need to be so honest with a girl I met literally two minutes ago. Perhaps a pretty face is more powerful than I ever thought it could be.
‘It’s eh… difficult to talk in here,’ I say, leaning towards her. ‘Fancy going outside for a minute?’
19:25
Sabrina
‘Eh… sure. A eh… red wine,’ I answer before checking the time on my phone. 7:25. My text should be coming through any minute now, but fuck it — it’s not every day a celebrity ever offers to buy me a drink.
I’m supposed to stay sober when I’m working, supposed to only drink non-alcoholic wine. But it’s impossible sometimes. The target almost always wants to buy me a drink.
I stare at the back of his head after following him to the bar. One or two people call out his name, wanting to be heard to acknowledge him. It must be great being a role model. I’ve probably dreamt of fame more than I’ve dreamt of anything in my entire life, though I know that doesn’t make me unique. I’m sure most people have fantasised about being a celebrity. I play the name over and over in my head. Jason Kenny. It doesn’t ring any bells.
‘So, what do you do?’ he shouts at me as he leans on the bar. It’s difficult to hear in here. The bar area is a lot louder than where we’d been standing.
‘Me? What do you do more like? Why is everyone keen to get a picture taken with you?’ I shout back, cupping my hand towards his ear.
‘I’m a green grocer,’ he lies, a big grin stretching across his face. He’s getting better looking the more I stare at him. I like his freckles, they look like they belong on his face; as if his face wouldn’t work without them.
‘Well your apples and pears must be the best in the business if people feel they need to get a photo taken with you,’ I shout back, aware it’s getting quite obvious that I’m flirting. I’m so uncool. I’ve never had the nerve to be flirtatious. Unless I’m on the job, of course.
‘I’m a footballer,’ he relents.
‘Ah… who do you play for?’
‘Well… actually, y’know what. I don’t play for any team anymore. But don’t tell anyone that. Nobody knows. That can be our little secret.’
I don’t really know what he means by that. Assume it’s some football transfer thingy. He’s probably waiting on another club to buy him or something. But I feel quite chuffed that we have our own little secret. It’s such a shame I’m working tonight — it’d be really cool to hang out with Jason; see how the other half live.
‘It’s eh… difficult to talk in here,’ he shouts at me. ‘Fancy going outside for a minute?’
I agree by nodding my head and standing aside, letting him lead the way. I notice the crucifix on his chain as he brushes past me. Jaysus, my dad would be delighted if I brought this fella home; not only a footballer, but a bible believer too. They’re the only two boxes a man would need to tick to make Dad happy. Dad still goes to church every Sunday. Myself and Amanda would join him on the rare occasion, especially around Christmas and almost certainly around the time of Mam’s anniversary. But that’s it. They both tried their best to raise two Catholic daughters, but they raised two atheists instead; probably by trying to force us to be Catholics. In truth, it wasn’t anything they did or didn’t do – it’s just a generational thing. The difference between our generation and their generation is that a world of common sense opened up to us. Media, TV, the Internet — our generation don’t have to believe fairy tales to explain some of life’s mysteries. We have all the answers at our fingertips. Dad is hugely disappointed that we don’t believe the fairy tale he happens to believe in. And he really believes it — is deluded enough to think he’s going to spend eternity with Mam, even though we burnt her body to a crisp eight years ago. But neither Amanda nor I would ever debate the subject with him. We’re happy that he’s happy to believe. Perhaps believing is the key to happiness. Because there’s definitely a key to happiness somewhere that I’ve not been able to find.
I can’t hold his faith against him though. Not when he has an ass like that. I stare at both of his cheeks snuggled into his jeans as he leads me towards the door. The crucifix is a bit cringe… would most likely put me off most other fellas, but when am I ever going to be flirted with by a professional footballer again?
Jason motions for us to walk around the corner when we get outside, to the side of the pub, and I already know I’m going to kiss him. Jesus, if I still kept a diary this would be one hell of a Dear Diary moment. Before either of us offers up another word, his lips are locked onto mine; his tongue circling my mouth. This all happened so fast. I shouldn’t be enjoying it so much; shouldn’t be giving myself over so easily, but I am enjoying it. Lots. So much so, I can hear the little devil on my shoulder giggling. It’s unusual he gets his way.
My stomach flips a wave of excitement through me. This guy is so cute; he’s a footballer; he’s famous; he’s rich; he’s mine — for this moment anyway. He’ll probably be snogging someone else in ten minutes’ time. But right now, all of his attention is on me.
‘You’re so hot,’ he whispers into my ear after gnawing his mouth away from mine. But then he’s back in, his tongue now circling in the opposite direction. It’s a cute technique; new for me. His left arm squeezes me closer, his right hand working its way up my back, then around to my chest. I allow him to cup me, because the thrill is working. I haven’t felt this wanted in a long, long time. Certainly not by anyone I want to want me.
‘Touch me,’ he whispers. I just continue kissing him, unsure of what he’s asking exactly. Until I feel him unzipping his jeans.
I don’t move my hands. Not at first. I just continue to kiss him, until I notice my right hand slipping inside his zip; rubbing at his dick through his boxer shorts. Average size. I think. This is only the third dick I’ve ever touched. It’s certainly the average one by my experience.
‘I can’t,’ I say, pulling my hand away. I’m not sure how long I had it in there. Seconds, I’m sure.
I sigh, place my hands either side of his face and bring him in for more of that tongue circling. He wrestles his zip back up, then stops kissing me so he can fasten his top button. I hear the phone vibrate in my bag; a quick buzz that lasts less than a second. But I know it’s going to take me away from this moment forever.
‘Sorry,’ I say, leaning off Jason. I unzip my bag, take out the phone and open Lorna’s text message.
‘I eh… need to go back inside,’ I say, tilting my head and pursing my lips. ‘This has been… well… it’s been lovely.’
19:30
Li
Zach strolls back to me, a beer in each of his hands.
‘Here y’are, fella,’ he says holding one towards me. Now I’ve got one and a half pints. Zach’s already downed his first. That’s nothing new. It’s almost as if he sees drinking alcohol as a sport. A competition. I try to swig back the rest of my first pint, but I almost regurgitate it back into the glass.
‘I didn’t see Jason at the bar, where’d he go?’ Zach asks.
‘Signing autographs,’ I say. ‘We came to the wrong bar. I didn’t think it’d be this busy this early. Fancy heading somewhere else?’
‘Relax Li, we’ve only just got here.’
He seems worlds away, his head cocking around the room. He hasn’t even looked at me since he got back from the bar. Zach and I have always had a strange relationship. We’re definitely best mates. But I think we’d both admit – even though we never have out loud – that we’re best mates by default. If Jason wasn’t living in England, he’d be both mine and Zach’s best mate. But as it is, me and Zach are the ones who regularly get to see each other these days. Yet, bi
zarrely, we’ve never been really close. Like really close.
I know everything about Jason, and he knows everything about me. Not only about our families, but about everything: our feelings, opinions, insecurities. I don’t really know Zach that intimately. But only because Zach isn’t interested in talking about himself. Well, aside from how good a footballer he used to be. He would never share anything about his feelings. Would never ask after my family, ask how I’m genuinely getting on. I think it’s because he had a bit of a shitty upbringing. He’s just used to keeping everything bottled up. I’ve had a shitty upbringing too though, in fairness. Hasn’t stopped me from opening up.
My mam raised Jinny and me on one hundred and ninety pound a week. That’s how much she got off the social welfare when we were younger. I’ll always remember that figure. It just sticks in my mind. Mainly because I remember transitioning from thinking that’s a lot of money to realising ‘that is nothing!’ as I slowly began to fathom how much things cost.
I watch as Zach pivots his head around the room again.
‘Where’s yer one gone… that Sabrina bird?’ he asks.
‘Oh… haven’t seen her in a while.’
‘She’s not with Jason, is she? I’m into that. Don’t want him getting his hands on her first.’
‘Don’t think so,’ I say, finishing off my first pint, staring at my second as if it’s going to be responsible for me feeling like shit tomorrow. ‘I think he’s signing autographs somewhere.’
That’s just an assumption. Jason often goes missing when we’re in pubs together, only for us to find him in the middle of a tiny scrum, scribbling his name down on peeled beer mats.
‘Where do you wanna go anyway?’ Zach asks.
‘Somewhere a little quieter. Didn’t think this place would be so jammed. I wanted to have a word with the two of you.’
‘About what?’
‘Ah… I’ll tell you later.’
‘It’s not… it’s not about…’ Zach says, his eyes narrowing. ‘It’s not about the secret is it?’
‘Jesus no!’ I say, noting further evidence that the secret never really leaves Zach’s mind. It has affected all three of us, massively. But Zach, I’m sure, is the one who has suffered the most.
Jason and I can keep the secret to the back of our minds. But I just know Zach carries it around with him on a daily basis. He’s still as paranoid about it now as he was back then. He still thinks we’re all going to get found out. Put behind bars.
‘Fuck sake, mate. You’ve gotta let it go. That was years ago. It’s over. No… I just have something to say to my two best mates. We haven’t been out in — ah here he is now,’ I say, nodding as Jason strolls towards us.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Zach asks him. ‘Y’haven’t seen that Sabrina bird have ye? I’m dying to chat her up. She’s amazing lookin’.’
‘Eh…’ Jason hesitates. I know he’s about to lie. I know Jason inside out. ‘Nah, haven’t seen her since I bought her that drink, mate,’ he says.
19:30
Jason
I usher her around the corner of the pub, along the pathway. And as soon as she stops walking, I kiss her. Couldn’t help myself. I actually brought her outside to have a chat, to get to know her a little better, but she just looked too pretty to not kiss.
I squeeze her tighter, feeling her breasts against my chest, then bring my hand back around, just to feel one. It would be a lie to say I haven’t moved this fast before — I have — but certainly not with anybody I genuinely like. This just feels right.
‘Touch me,’ I say, almost regretting it as soon as the two words come out of my mouth. My dick has shot up since I started kissing her. It’s almost calling out for her to touch it. But what a stupid fucking way to ask a girl to give you some intimacy. Touch me. Jee… I’m such a twat. I cringe inside. Yet for some reason I’ve popped the button of my jeans open, and pulled my zip down. I leave my jeans hanging on to my hips, wondering how stupid I’ve made myself look. I contemplate zipping back up and apologising when Sabrina’s hand slips inside my jeans, her fingers twiddling at my balls, working her hand up to my shaft. Jesus, this is a hell of a turn on. How the fuck can one woman be this good looking and this dirty?
‘I can’t,’ she says, taking her hand back out, killing my bone instantly. She goes rooting in her bag, picks out her phone.
‘Sorry,’ she says, offering me a little smile. ‘I eh… need to go inside. This has been… well… lovely.’
Bollocks! I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I’ve treated this girl like one of the little sluts who hang around nightclubs in the north east of England; the ones who don’t hide their ambition to spend the night with a footballer. Shagging a footballer is almost like a badge of honour to these girls. I would consider that really sad if I wasn’t the beneficiary of a thousand orgasms because of that reality. Though I’m pretty sure that kinda thing has led to my depression. I sometimes hate myself for how easy it is for me to have sex. Literally any time I want it.
‘I need to check through this,’ she says pointing the screen of her phone towards me just after we arrive back inside the pub. I cringe again. Maybe she has a boyfriend. Maybe she feels guilty and is pretending she got a text message to cool things with me before they got out of hand.
‘Okay, I’m eh… gonna go back up to the lads upstairs,’ I say. ‘Come see me before you leave.’
I curl my fingers back into my palms and stab with my nails into them as I watch her walk towards the toilets on the far side of the pub, my gaze only disturbed when somebody behind shouts out my name.
‘Ye fuckin’ legend ye!’ a stranger says, pointing his two thumbs up at me after I turn around. ‘Me cousin used to play for the Bosco as well y’know? Was coached by your old man.’
I’m famous throughout the breadth of this country. But me dad’s more famous in Drimnagh than I am. Anyone who has any relationship to Drimnagh always talks to me about my old man. He must have coached three hundred kids, I reckon, at St John Bosco. He gave up his Saturday mornings playing golf with my uncle to coach my team when I signed up for the under tens. He coached me and Zach for years. I’d say I think of my dad about five times a day, every day. I miss him like crazy. Feel like I have nothing to prove if I don’t have him to prove it to.
‘Ah here he is now,’ I hear Li say in the middle of his conversation with Zach when I stroll up the stairs.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Zach asks. ‘Y’haven’t seen that Sabrina bird have ye? I’m dying to chat her up. She’s amazin’.’
Shit. I fucking knew this would happen. It’s not the first time hot birds have come on to me, that Zach assumes he could just have for himself. I can’t have this argument with him now. Not again.
‘Eh… nah, haven’t seen her since I bought her that drink, mate,’ I tell him. ‘Well, he wants to head off somewhere else,’ Zach says, nodding towards Li. ‘But I ain’t going till we see that bird. I’m not leaving without her number. She’s was a fuckin’ ten!’
‘Where d’ya wanna go anyway?’ I ask Li, trying to change the subject.
‘Somewhere quieter. We were supposed to come out for an early drink so we could catch up… have a chat. It’s too noisy here.’
‘Yeah – let’s head off then,’ I say.
But Zach’s having none of it, his head swivelling in search of Sabrina. He’s not gonna find her up here. She’s down in the loo. Probably with tears pouring down her face because she cheated on her fella.
3
Brian raises his voice the loudest.
‘Can we all jusht calm down one moment, please?’ he shouts.
It’s slightly ironic. It was he who started the jurors off on the tangent they were currently on. He then raises his eyebrows towards Number One, gesturing outwards with his hands.
‘Yes… yes,’ Number One says, taking the hint and rising from his seat. ‘Let’s keep perspective.’
He undoes one more button on his shirt, showing a bit more chest hair than
most would deem appropriate. He is one of a few jurors who is finding the temperature in the jury room too hot. But while Number One is loosening buttons on his shirt, Number Six is pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. She’s freezing. Isn’t the only one.
‘Number Six, you mentioned you were keen to get to this stage of deliberations, do you mind giving us your take on it?’ Number One says, sitting back down.
Number Six grabs her glass of water again, sips from it, lets out another gasp and then sucks her lips, making a bizarrely loud pop sound.
‘It’s just… it’s just,’ she stutters. ‘As Number Twelve said earlier. Somebody is lying through the whole night. And I feel that the handjob is the key aspect of the trial because whoever is lying about this, is lying about what happened at midnight… lying about the rape.’
‘Yes,’ Brian pipes up, resuming control from Number One. ‘But what is your take on the handjob specifically — what do you believe happened just outside the pub?’
‘Well, I’d rather hear from others on this,’ Number Six says, her voice almost shaking.
‘Number Six, at some point you have to realise that you are part of this jury too. Your thoughts count as much as anybody else’s in this room.’
Number Seven says this sympathetically across the table. It isn’t so much that she values Number Six’s opinion, it’s just that Number Seven wants everybody to be involved as much as they possibly can. She’s a typical teacher and is tired of listening to the same two voices all the time. Both Brian and Number One had gone beyond irritating her weeks ago.
‘Well, I think that maybe he wanted her to give him a handjob but she refused,’ says Number Six, giving her first genuine opinion of the trial.
‘Why didn’t she say that in her teshtimony, or to the police when she first made the allegations?’ Brian retorts. ‘If it was a case that Jason tried to get a handjob from Sabrina, why didn’t she mention this? Trying to get a handjob ishn’t what we have to deliberate here. Nobody argued about trying to get a handjob. Jason is saying she definitely gave him a handjob, while Sabrina is saying she kissed him and that was it; that she didn’t go near his… eh… his penis.’
She Said, Three Said Page 4