OCTOBER 10TH 2000
AOIFE
SITTING on the wall of the GAA pavilion, I waited for my reluctant chaperone to emerge from the changing room, while furiously tapping out a text to the asshole who upped and left me on my own in the dark.
Aoife: I really hope you enjoy celebrating the win with your little pals because you won’t be celebrating anything with me ever again, asshole.
Paul: Don’t be mad, babe. I’ll make it up to you. xx
Aoife: Make it up to me? You LEFT me ALONE to go bowling with your teammates, Paul! You didn’t even offer me a spin home!
Paul: It’s not my fault there wasn’t any room in the car. Come on, Aoif. Don’t make a big deal of this. It’s not like you live in the countryside. You know the town better than I do. You’ll be grand. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, k? I’ll buy you lunch. xx
“Ugh!” Furious, I powered off my phone, unwilling to deal with him a second longer.
I didn’t want him to buy me lunch or anything else.
I wanted him to walk me home.
I didn’t think that was a lot to ask for, considering the only reason I had traipsed across town in the first place was because he had badgered me to come and watch him play.
It was a good forty-minute walk from the GAA grounds to my terrace on the other side of town, and while my parents were fairly chill, if my dad found out that I walked home alone, I would be grounded for a month. Minimum.
No way was I losing my freedom over some asshole boy.
When Joey finally emerged from the back of the building, his hostility was obvious.
With a gear bag slung over his shoulder, his helmet and hurley in hand, and a cigarette balancing between his lips, he inclined his head to where I was sitting and said, “Let’s go.”
Resisting the urge to taunt or goad him like I usually would, I hopped down from my perch and joined him on the footpath, knowing that having him walk me home would was the safest way out of getting hell from my dad.
My dad loved Joey.
What’s more, he trusted him.
Having Joey walk me home would be an improvement on Paul in my father’s eyes.
Looking wholly unimpressed with the position I had put him in, my classmate pounded the footpath beside me, silently seething, while he smoked his cigarette.
“Aren’t you a little young to be getting hooked on smoking?”
“Aren’t you a little nosey to be asking for answers to questions that are none of your business?”
“Seriously?” I laughed humorlessly. “You’re this pissed off because I asked you to walk me home?”
“No, Molloy,” he bit out. “I’m pissed off because that prick put you in a position where you had to ask me to walk you home.”
His answer was sharp, cutting, and precisely to the point.
“Listen, I’m embarrassed enough about it,” I heard myself admit. “No need to layer it on, Joe.”
“You should be embarrassed,” he snapped, tossing his cigarette butt away. “Embarrassed for giving an asshole like Paul Rice the chance to treat you like an option.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled. “I’m not fighting with you on this.”
“Because you know I’m right.”
“What’s it to you?” I demanded.
“Nothing,” he hissed, tone laced with venom. “It’s nothing to me, Molloy.”
Yes, it was.
It was everything to him, just like it was everything to me, but he was too damn stubborn to ever admit it.
“Well then, shut up about it,” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest protectively. “Damn.”
Joey was quiet for about half a minute until he blew out a frustrated breath and said, “All I’m saying is if some asshole treated my sister the way I watched him treat you tonight, he sure as hell wouldn’t be getting another chance to pull that stunt on her again.”
“Wow,” I deadpanned. “Keep it up, Joe, and I’m going to start thinking that you have actual feelings.”
“I do,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “For the people I actually care about.”
“Like your sister.”
“Like my sister,” he confirmed without a hint of embarrassment, which wasn’t something most guys our age would admit. “Although Shan’s not thick enough to fall in with a prick like Rice.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like you’re such a saint when it comes to girls.”
Joey shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve never left my girlfriend alone in a dodgy side of town so I can fuck around with my buddies.”
“Because you refuse to have a girlfriend.”
“Which is a good thing for Ricey,” he snapped. “Considering I seem to spend most of my time looking out for his one!”
“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “So, you’ve walked me home a few times. Big deal.”
“A few? You might want to count again.” He gave me a hard look. “How many times has your old man had me walk you home from the garage?”
Half a dozen or more.
“How many times has that prick treated you like an afterthought?”
My cheeks reddened. “Oh, shut up.”
“All I’m saying is think about the way he treated you tonight. Especially when he shows up at school tomorrow with some bullshit apology and a flashy new bracelet, or whatever crap he locks you in with.”
“I’m not a magpie, Joey,” I snapped, seriously annoyed now. “I can’t be bought with shiny new jewelry.”
“No, you’re just a doll,” came his hurtful response. “Ricey’s personal fucking mannequin to drape in jewelry and stand by his side, looking pretty and saying nothing.”
I stopped walking.
I stopped breathing.
His words cut me to the bone.
“Move your legs, Molloy,” he growled, several feet up the road, as he turned back to glare at me. “I’m not waiting around all night for you. I have shit to do after this, ya know.”
“You asshole.”
“Me?”
“Yes you!”
“How am I the asshole?”
“Because you hurt my feelings.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did, Joey!”
“Fine,” he growled. “I’m an asshole. Now let’s go.”
I shook my head.
“Molloy.”
“I am not a mannequin!”
“Fine.” Joey shook his head. “I take it back. You’re not a mannequin.”
“That was really mean.”
He stared at me for a long time before finally blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I know.”
“Apologize.”
“For what?”
“For calling me a mannequin.”
“I just said you’re not a mannequin.”
“That wasn’t an apology.”
“Yeah, it was.”
I gaped at him. “No, it wasn’t, Joey.”
“How was that not an apology?”
“Because it didn’t contain the word sorry, asshole.”
Looking thoroughly confused – and thoroughly fed up – my classmate released a furious growl. “Let’s just walk, okay? Just move your legs, Molloy. Please.”
Relenting because he used the word ‘please’, I closed the space between us, and fell into step beside him once more. “Haven’t you ever apologized to someone?” I asked, morbidly curious now.
“I just did.”
“Oh my god.” I studied his side profile. “You haven’t.”
With a deep frown etched on his face, Joey concentrated on the road ahead of us, but didn’t respond.
We walked in silence for the rest of the way, and it wasn’t until we turned the corner of my street that I heard him mutter the words, “I’m sorry.”
“Wow.” My heart fluttered around in my chest. “Is that your first time saying that word to anyone?”
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “Probably.”
“Well, thanks,” I replied, nudging him with my shoulder when we reached my gate. “I forgive you.”
“Hm,” he grunted in response. “I’m thrilled.”
A reluctant smile spread across my face, and I asked, “Do you want to come inside?”
“That’s not a good idea,” he replied, dutifully walking me all the way to my door. He might be bad tempered, this boy, but he was a real quick learner, and hadn’t left me at my gate since the night I pitched a fit.
“Why not?” I asked, unlocking the front door, and stepping into the hall to switch on the light.
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You have a boyfriend.”
“So?” I argued. “I asked if you wanted to come inside, not marry me. Does having a boyfriend suddenly mean that I can’t be friends with boys?”
“I’m not your friend, Molloy.”
Releasing a frustrated growl, I caught ahold of his hand and dragged him into my house. “Well, I’m yours, asshole.” Closing the door behind us, I reached up and pushed his hood down. “See; that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No.”
“Besides, you’ve been in my house a million times with Dad.”
His jaw ticked. “That’s different.”
“Because he’s your friend?” I taunted. “Shut up and feed me.”
“Feed you?”
“I can’t cook, remember?” Leading him by the hand into my kitchen, I walked him over to my fridge and smiled. “And you can.”
Joey gaped at me. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”
“For us,” I corrected, giving him my sweetest smile.
“Don’t do that,” he warned.
“Do what?”
“Give me that butter wouldn’t melt smile,” he growled, pointing a finger at me. “It won’t work on me, Molloy. I’m immune.”
Of course it was going to work. “I love steak.”
“Steak?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“You have steak.”
“I have two steaks.”
He eyed me for a long moment, clearly weighing up his options, before blowing out a frustrated breath. “Get the frying pan.”
“Yay.” Clapping my hands in delight, I did a little shimmy dance before bouncing off in the direction of the cupboard where Mam kept the pots and pans. “I like my meat well done.”
“You’ll take your meat whatever way I give it to you,” Joey grumbled, rummaging in my fridge for what he needed. “This doesn’t mean anything, Molloy,” he added. “You didn’t win this round.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “I always win, Joe.”
