Gripping the porcelain sink in our upstairs bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and homed in on the droplets of water dripping from my hair to my face, courtesy of the water I’d just splashed on my face.
A shiver racked through me at the sight, and I sucked back a groan. Shuddering in a combination of disgust and self-loathing, I licked my lips and forced myself to get a grip. “Get a handle on yourself.”
Because this was pathetic.
You are pathetic.
While the rest of my friends had spent their summer holidays neck deep in the Atlantic Ocean, I sat it out on the sand like the coward I was. Sure, I had an epic tan to show for myself, sun-bleached streaks in my hair that lads paid good money for, and had constructed some seriously impressive sand forts and castles, but it was such a damn waste of a summer.
Pathetic as it was, I struggled to cope with anything more than dipping my toes in the water.
Seriously, submerging my body in water was an abhorrent thought. I could never get out of my head, or my past, long enough to attempt it.
Showers, I could manage because I was upright and in no danger of going under. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a bath. It must have been before that day. I’d definitely been joined by Batman, and my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles figurines.
Come to think about it, where did Raphael ever go?
“Gibs?” Mam called from the bottom of the staircase. “The girls are here.”
Cowa-fucking-bunga. I smiled to myself, bad mood forgotten, and grabbed a towel off the rack to quickly dry my face. The knowledge that Keith had left the house an hour ago was another huge mood booster. “On the way, ladies.”
Freewheeling out of the bathroom, I grabbed a floral shirt from my wardrobe, pocketed a bottle of baby oil, and snatched up my sunglasses, determined to make the most of the late August sunshine.
It was our Saturday afternoon before school started back on Thursday, and I was determined to put a tan on my skin that would last until Mr. Sun made a reappearance next summer.
Batting down all worries of hazardous currents and riptides, I made a bolt for the staircase. Narrowly avoiding a side swipe from the demon – as my mother had christened Brian – on the turn of the staircase, I trip-tumbled off the last four steps.
“Did you just see that?” I demanded in outrage, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of my mother’s one-balled Persian. “He tried to push me down the stairs.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Gibs,” Mam scolded, scooping up the snow-white ball of fluff. “Brian has a heart of gold.”
Brian purred in response to my mother’s welcomed affection but narrowed his beady green eyes at me in warning. As if to say, I’ll get you next time.
Not if I get you first, fucker.
“Yeah, well, if I’m found mangled in my bed some morning, with cat scratches all over my body, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I huffed, as I shrugged on my shirt, not bothering to button it. “Because you’ve had plenty of warnings, woman.”
“That will never happen.”
“It could.”
“You’d have to sleep in your bed for that to happen.”
“Hi, Gibs,” the smallest of the three acknowledged with a shy smile.
“Little Shannon.” I smiled warmly at my best friend’s girl, as she stood in my front hall, armed with what I knew was a mountain of picnic food – courtesy of Mammy K – all ready for a day at the beach.
“Thanks for offering to drive us,” she said when I took the basket from her and set it down on the sideboard. “Johnny has that meeting with The Academy heads.” Blowing out a breath, she flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and smiled up at me. “His dad is going to drop him off afterwards.”
The girl standing beside Shan cleared her throat then, and that was all it took for my body to ignite. And holy shit, if I thought my heart had beat hard at the fear of water earlier, it paled in comparison to the tornado of internal tremors that ricocheted through every chamber of my heart at the sight of her.
Working hard to keep my head on my shoulders and my heart in my chest, my eyes gave her face their undivided attention. Something that had never been a challenge. Not when she’d been successfully garnering every ounce of my attention since the beginning of time. “Claire-Bear.”
Big brown doe eyes smiled back at me. Yeah, she had eyes that smiled. Her usual mountain of wild, blonde curls was piled on top of her head, and barely contained by what I could only describe as a hair claw. I didn’t know the correct terminology for such feminine creations, but having messed around in her room enough times, I knew it to be a tricky bastard, with a surprisingly forceful sting if it clamped your skin.
Not as bad as a scratch to the gooch from Brian when getting out of the shower, but still.
“Gerard,” she replied in that upbeat, lyrical tone of voice I adored, “it’s twenty-six degrees outside and you’re clearly caked in baby oil.” Shaking her head, she tutted in disapproval. “You’re going to burn your nipples again.”
“Ah Jesus, Gerard,” Mam scolded with a heavy sigh. “What did I tell you about protecting yourself in the sun?”
“I already told you, Mam: the sun loves me,” I shot back before turning to Claire. “And if I do burn my tits, you can nurse me back to full health again.”
Shannon laughed. “Again?”
“It’s a long story,” Claire explained, stepping forward to tie the buttons on my shirt. “One full of peeling skin and bleeding nipples that I don’t care to repeat any time soon.”
“Don’t listen to her, Little Shannon,” I offered with a chuckle. “She loves minding me.”
“So, who else is going to be at this beach campout?” Mam enquired, smiling lovingly at Shan who was rubbing the demon in her arms.
“The usual gang,” Claire offered, keeping a wide berth of Brian.
“The usual gang?” Mam’s frown deepened, and I felt myself stiffen.
This was it.
She was about to start.
“Who does that include exactly?”
“It’s okay,” I started to say. “I’ll be okay, Mam—”
“Stay away from the water,” she cut me off and ordered, delivering her own water balloon of misery on what I hoped would be a good day – and I needed it to be a good day, dammit. I hadn’t slept more than three hours last night what with my subconscious trying to lure me to a dark corner of my mind.
Good day.
Good day.
Good day.
I was manifesting the hell out of it.
“And stay away from that—”
“Mam,” I warned, cutting her off before she went there. Because I couldn’t go there. Not today. “It’ll be grand.”
“I mean it, young man,” Mam argued. “Play in the sand to your heart’s content but steer clear of the water. Don’t even paddle. Not after what happened last time.”
Last time being Johnny’s birthday back in May. The disastrous camping trip, where I’d nearly met my watery grave. Again. Damn Johnny for telling my mam about the whole being thrown in the river incident. She hadn’t slept through the night since, and I would know since I hadn’t slept through the night since I was seven.
“Play in the sand? Paddle?” I gaped at her, feigning outrage, while desperately trying to steer the conversation to safer waters – pun intended. “Jesus Christ, Mam, I’m seventeen, not seven.” Bending down, I snatched up the picnic basket and headed for the door, needing to get out of this house. “Do you want to slap factor fifty on me and hide me under an umbrella to build sandcastles for the day?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Shannon snickered from behind the hand she was using to bury her smile.
“Hey now, that wasn’t a castle, it was a man-sized fort,” I accused, pointing a finger at her. “And you two were the architects!”
“Yes, we were, Gerard, and you were a wonderful minion,” Claire laughed, catching ahold of my hand and pulling me towards the door, with a snickering Shannon in tow. “Don’t worry about him, Sadhbh. Gerard’s perfectly safe with us.”
“Yeah,” Shannon agreed, playfully slipping her arm through mine. “We’ve got his back.”
“I’ll hold you to that, girls,” Mam called after us. “Look after each other.”
“Always,” all three of us chorused in unison.
“Sadhbh is such a helicopter mam,” Claire cackled when she climbed into the passenger seat of my Ford Focus. “It’s cute.”
Not when I needed her to be. “It’s annoying is what it is,” I offered, climbing into the driver’s seat beside her.
“Well, I think she’s a sweetheart,” Shannon chimed in from the backseat.
“Yeah, a sweetheart with invisible rotor blades attached to her back,” I grumbled, cranking the engine, and tearing away from the house. “The woman is relentless. Guaranteed I’ll have at least three texts on my phone when I park up, warning me to stay out of the water.”
“I suppose you can’t blame her for worrying,” Shannon offered quietly. “You know, all things considered.”
“Hm,” was all I replied, because in all truth, I had no intention of going there today. Good day, good day, good day.
“Sorry, Gibs.”
“For what?” I asked, casting a glance in the rearview mirror.
“For bringing it up,” she replied with a small shrug. “I mean, I of all people should know better.”
“No worries, Little Shannon.” I forced a huge smile. “It’s all good.”
A warm hand settled on my lap then and I felt immense comfort. Fuck it, I had no clue how the girl did it, but she could ground me with her fingertip.
One touch and I was okay again.
I could breathe again.
For a little while, at least.
“So, what’s the gossip, girls?” I asked, sick to death of being in my own head. I needed an out. A distraction. Anything but my memories for company. “How was the interview, Claire-Bear?”
“Terrible,” Claire groaned, folding her arms across her chest. “Hugh’s boss is a mean old biddy.”
“So, you didn’t get the job?”
“Oh God, I hope not, guys.” Flicking through songs on my car stereo, she settled on one of our favorites: Matt Nathanson’s “Laid”. “I’m perfectly content as I am.”
“Yes, you are perfect as you are,” I agreed.
She rolled her eyes in response. “Oh, and fair warning, Hugh is like a demon since he got home from work.”
“Why?”
“It’s my fault,” she muttered, drumming her fingers on the car door. “Liz was at the pool this morning, and I asked him to talk to her about something.” She shrugged in defeat. “Obviously, it didn’t go well because he’s been banging around the house like a bear with a sore head since he got home. I mean, God only knows why. It’s not like his life is terrible. Pretty girlfriend. Pretty sister. Pretty fantastic life if you ask me.”
“You are fantastic.”
“You’re a dope.”
“I’d gladly be dope if you put me in your mouth.”
“Gibs, you’re getting worse,” Shannon laughed from the backseat. “That was weak.”
“It’s because I’m rusty,” I defended with a huff. “I haven’t seen anyone in weeks to practice on. I’ve been on house arrest, remember?”
“Well, it serves you right for doing what you did,” Claire cackled. “In all fairness, Gerard, what did you expect them to do?”
“Not ruin my summer.”
“You stole your stepfather’s tractor.”
“A digger,” I corrected with a huff. “It was a digger, not a tractor, and I borrowed it.”
“And then you rolled all over Mrs. Kingston’s flower bed with the wheels.”
“Only because I couldn’t get a handle on the pedals.” I narrowed my eyes. “And if I recall correctly, I wasn’t alone in my mission, either.”
“I plead the fifth,” Claire snickered.
“You would.”
“Why would you guys steal a digger?” Shannon laughed.
“No idea.” I laughed.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Claire added.
“And now?”
“Now?” Scratching my chin, I grinned sheepishly. “Maybe not so much.”
“You ruined her petunias,” Claire reminded me with a mischievous grin.
My mouth fell open in outrage. “That was you!”
“Nu-uh.” She patted my thigh. “Not according to our parents.”
