what if the person you need most has been there all along . . . ?
Illustration by Janelle Barone
PENGUIN BOOKS
Also by Jenny Ireland
The First Move
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First published 2024
001
Text copyright © Jenny Ireland, 2024
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For my parents, Paul and Rosie, to whom I owe so much.
I hated autumn. Hear me out. I’m not some kind of hypochondriac, or tortured by health anxiety or anything, but the fact that so many people get sick at this time of year seriously pisses me off. Didn’t anyone learn anything from Covid? Wash your hands more, stop standing so close to people that their breath is your breath, but mostly: wash your hands! Maybe then Dad wouldn’t be leaving for work at seven thirty a.m. to open the surgery early to deal with the overspill of patients. Don’t get me wrong – I’m fine with Dad working all the time, in theory. The less time spent with him the better. But in practice, it means that sometimes I’m left to deal with Juno, until Gran picks her up to take her to school, which basically means we have an extra hour together some mornings from autumn right through to spring. And maybe it doesn’t sound like that big a deal. But until the sceptic has met the annoyance in question, they do not have the right to that opinion.
‘I’m away here, Fin, would you mind getting Juno something to eat before Gran picks her up, please?’ Dad hadn’t come all the way into my room; he just hovered in the doorway. His face
was flushed and he was out of breath. A memory flashed of us playing football in the back garden. He’d have a heart attack if he tried that now. But I guess that’ll happen if you stop doing any exercise and eat what you want.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘She eats grass, right?’
‘Very funny. Sorry I have to leave so early at the minute.’
I turned my desk chair towards him. ‘It’s fine.’ I said it with a sigh, before turning back to my desk so he couldn’t see me roll my eyes.
‘Yeah, well. Maybe this year won’t be so busy.’ When I didn’t say anything, I heard him tap the door frame. ‘See you later. Gran’s bringing Juno home. I’ll try not to be too late.’
I think it was about five minutes before I heard her squeaky little voice.
‘Finbar!’
I ignored her.
Then I heard her annoying stompy feet coming up the stairs. She burst into my room with a scowl half hidden by her curly dark thundercloud of hair.
‘Dad said you need to make me breakfast,’ Juno said.
‘Actually he asked if I minded getting you something to eat. Which I do.’ I scrolled through Insta on my phone. ‘I do mind.’
‘I’m telling when he gets back!’
I looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. Her tiny brow was furrowed.
‘Don’t care. You’ll have forgotten by the time you get home from school anyway.’
‘My stomach never forgets!’ She charged towards me, her hands balled into little fists.
I put my palm on her forehead to stop her getting too close. ‘Fine. But you can only have what I’m having.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Coffee.’
She’d given up fighting and walked past me to look out of the window. ‘Why does Molly go to school so early?’ She was on her toes, looking down on to the street.
‘Dunno.’ And I didn’t. I think the question may have crossed my mind once since I first saw her getting the early bus, but I’d shoved it out of my brain, because I didn’t care. I didn’t save any headspace for people like that.
‘She’s really pretty. I want to look like her when I grow up. And I’ll take Coco Pops, by the way.’ She skipped out of my room, leaving a tightness in my chest.
Gran came on time. She always did. Unless she was leaving Juno home after a day of looking after her. Then she was early.
Gran pulled me into a hug and then kissed my cheek. ‘How are you, love?’
‘Fine,’ I said.
‘And where’s my Junebug?’ she called into the house.
‘Coming!’ Juno shouted. Then she slid down the banister, jumped off and launched herself into Gran for a hug.
‘Jesus, Juno,’ I said, looking at Gran for evidence of pain. But I didn’t see any.
Gran chuckled. ‘Oh, it’s all right. I’ll drop her back later, Finbar. You’ll be here?’
‘Where else would he be?’ Juno cut in. ‘He only has Daisy as a friend and she’s always here. He doesn’t even have a
girlfriend. I’ve got loads of friends.’ She opened the door and Gran turned to me.
‘One good friend is worth a thousand acquaintances,’ she said. ‘See you later, pet.’ She had the same look in her eye as Dad when I knew he wanted to say something else but changed his mind. I saw that look a lot lately. I breathed in the silence when they left, enjoying the calm of a Juno-less house.
Then I grabbed my school bag, walked out of the door and turned right down the street to where my favourite person lived.
It’s not easy being perfect.
Kidding.
Sort of.
I mean, it’s not like all of it was handed to me on a plate; I actually put the work in. Yeah, at the beginning it was all learning, getting things wrong (hello, super short fringe) and trying way too hard to look like whatever celebrity I loved at the time. But now? It was as habitual as brushing my teeth. Skincare routine, hair, make-up. Exercise (squats in the morning, cardio after school), meditation, healthy eating. No drinking, no drugs, ‘no fun’ Conor said, but whatever – he wasn’t complaining in April when I wore that dress to the Spring Formal and his jaw hit the floor. Same goes for his friends. I knew they were looking at me all night, and so did Conor.
I loved it when he got jealous. Because it meant I was doing it right.
And it wasn’t like I didn’t appreciate that I had good basics. That underneath the mascara and fake tan, I had Mum’s bone structure and the predisposition to lose weight easily (thanks, Dad).
So it wasn’t like I didn’t know I was lucky, and that I was walking around pretending not to notice all the attention that came with looking this way. I knew that I’d won some kind of genetic lottery when I was born Molly Eimear Cassidy.
Four forty-five a.m. alarm, up at five a.m. Pyjamas off, workout clothes on. Half an hour HIIT on YouTube (muted in case I wake up Mum and Dad), green tea, an orange, a shower. After the shower I’d send the same text to Conor I sent every morning.
me : Good morning, gorgeous x
He wouldn’t write back immediately. He’d still be asleep. He needed at least eight hours, he said, so he’d be on top form for rugby practice. Captain. I was going out with Conor Quinn, Captain of St Anne’s rugby team. And even though it had been six months now, I still got butterflies every time I thought about it.
And again, it wasn’t luck. If I’ve learned anything from Mum that isn’t to do with how to look my best, it’s ‘make your own luck’. It was easy in the end. Or maybe it just felt like it was easy because of all the graft I’d put in.
It was Year Thirteen when I decided I wanted him. I’d make sure to stand within his eyeline in the schoolyard and hold his gaze for a few seconds every time he looked at me. Me, Sofia and Chloe even started going to rugby matches. Standing there, Baltic in the mud, coordinating North Face jackets, pretending that we were there to watch Patrick for Chloe, even though she hated rugby and Patrick was on the bench.
But that’s what friends do for each other. I’d done it for them too. When Sofia asked us to go to the cinema four times in one week, because she fancied the girl who worked there, and when Chloe wanted to try to beat Patrick in the mock AS level exams because he called her dumb, we made a study group and worked our asses off. There wasn’t much we wouldn’t do for each other.
But anyway, it worked. The day of the Schools’ Cup final, Conor came up to me after the match, all mud and sweat, and asked me out. I pretended to think about it before agreeing, even though everything inside me screamed ‘yes!’.
Being with Conor felt like what I imagined being famous would feel like. Jealous eyes, people going out of their way to do favours, party invitations every weekend. Like separately we were just two semi-popular kids who were pretty easy on the eye. Together we were an institution.
I blow-dried my hair, put on my make-up, taking time to cover the patches of vitiligo with the expensive stuff Mum had bought from America. The bright white skin made reversepanda patches around my eyes and a circle around my mouth as well as patches behind my knees and dotted all over my stomach. I was so much quicker at it now, but just as careful. Conor still didn’t know I had it. And it wasn’t like I was ashamed of it or anything. I just didn’t see the point of making it a big deal.
Then I styled my hair. Straightening it into a shiny blonde sheet. After that it was pretty much time to leave if I wanted to get the early bus. Getting the early bus meant that Sofia and I could claim the second bench. The one that directly faced the school gates so I could watch Conor coming in and
Sofia could perv on whoever her crush-of-the-week was. Seriously, it changed all the time. She was totally in love with Brendan Slade a couple of weeks ago until he ate an apple too loudly near her and gave her the ‘ick’. Then it was Kerry Atkinson until Sofia decided she was getting total straight vibes from her. It was hard to keep up.
But yeah, second bench. We’d sit there, pretending to be deep in conversation while both half looking at the gates. Sometimes we’d talk about the Spring Formal. The one we’d agreed to help organize. That was before I’d started going out with Conor. So formal planning hadn’t really started. Nor had A-level revision. Not that that mattered. Mum wanted me to be the face of her business, Temple Health. She said it didn’t matter if I had a degree or not. I could do a couple of short courses in a few years if I wanted, but that I probably wouldn’t need to.
I looked at myself in the mirror as I said the three things I’d been telling myself since Conor and I had started going out:
You’re the hottest girl in school.
Conor Quinn is your boyfriend.
Nothing else matters.
Mum had told me about affirmations. Confidence building, she said. And I think it worked because every time I said mine now, I couldn’t stop the smile that crept over my face.
sofia : Running late. Save the bench, bitch me : Obv
Dad was already in the study when I went downstairs. He worked from home most of the time, but he’d just started a new job, so I didn’t see him that much.
Mum was on the phone. She looked great for her age. I hoped I looked like that when I got to forty-three. Toned, tanned (fake) and a resting bitch face that terrified people. Even Dad. She was always on the phone. Either that or at work. But I guess that’s the deal if you run your own business. ‘Sleep is for the weak,’ she always said.
She was right. Since I’d started sleeping less, I’d got way more done. Made room for the important things. Like being on time for the early bus every morning to get the perfect view of Conor.
‘Are you wearing your hair down today?’ Mum looked at me, one eyebrow cocked, holding her phone to her ear.
‘Yeah. Why? Does it not look good?’ Panic mode.
‘You suit it up,’ she said and went back to talking on the phone.
She gave me a half-wave as I walked into the hall. I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and glanced in the mirror again as I put on my blazer. Mum was right. She was always right. What was I thinking?
I flicked through Conor’s Insta as I walked to the bus stop. It was only a few metres away, right in front of Finbar Fox’s house.
When I got off the bus, I power-walked to the bench, throwing my bag to one side and sitting on the other, back straight, shoulders relaxed so it didn’t look deliberate. Perfect view.
Sofia was right. She was late. Really late.
In fact, the boys got there before she did. I heard Conor’s laugh before I saw him. Then there he was, the tallest of the group, blonde hair that matched mine, a square-shouldered Adonis. He looked in my direction and I gave him a smile. No teeth, not obvious, just enough to let him know I’d seen him.
I stood up as he came over to me, planting warm lips on mine and exhaling at the same time. I breathed in his air.
‘Were you drinking Coke?’ I pushed his shoulder playfully. ‘Do you know how bad that is for you?’
He pulled me closer to him by my waist. ‘Do you know how bad you are for me?’ He whispered and it felt like my legs might give way. He kissed me again and didn’t flinch when his mates cheered behind us. In fact, I think it made him kiss me harder.
I pulled away when I felt a buzz in my pocket.
sofia : Conor’s tongue before nine a.m.? UGH
I laughed at the message and turned round. There was Sofia, walking through the gates with a smirk on her face. Dark hair, olive skin and curves that I would kill for. I had that straight up and down figure. Mum showed me some glute exercises so I could try to get some more shape. And they worked. At home in front of the mirror I was happy with what I saw. Then I’d see Sofia and I’d be reminded of what actual curves looked like. Sofia and Conor had a kind of lovehate relationship. She took the piss out of him all the time, and vice versa. By the time she’d walked over, he was away
talking to Patrick and Oliver again. She hooked her arm through mine.
‘Nothing I like better than some eight thirty a.m. tongue.’ I stuck mine out in response.
Sofia sighed. ‘I’m just jealous. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had my tongue in someone’s mouth?’ Sofia downturned her mouth and widened her brown eyes. I laughed.
‘Em, like two weeks? Jasmine Laine?’
‘Oh yeah. Forgot about that.’ Sofia nudged me. ‘Not sure how I forgot, though; she has her tongue pierced.’
I winced.
‘I’m thinking of getting mine done too. In the summer, so I can hide it from my mum.’
‘But the pain!’ The thought made me want to throw up.
‘Pain is beauty,’ she replied.
Chloe had appeared now, which was early for her. She’s one of those perpetually late people. She was leaning on Patrick and scrolling through her phone. We joined the group.
‘Party at Oliver’s tomorrow night?’ Conor said to everyone, but he looked straight at me.
‘Definitely.’ Chloe sang the word, still staring at her phone.
I nodded back at Conor. And just before we split up into different directions Conor grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him, kissing me on the lips.
‘See you later, babe?’ he said, before turning to catch up with Patrick.
I watched him turn to smile at something Patrick had said, his jawline sharp against the deep purple of his blazer. Gorgeous.
I took a deep breath.
You’re the hottest girl in school.
Conor Quinn is your boyfriend.
Nothing else matters.
St Anne’s was a ten-minute walk from the house. But I always started my mornings by walking in the opposite direction. Daisy lived ten minutes further away from school. Most kids got the bus, but if you’re friends with Northern Ireland’s Greta Thunberg, you are forced to walk, everywhere.
Daisy and I started being friends on the first day of high school. I was just minding my own business, trying to get through the day, and this tiny black-haired girl with a huge orange Dragon Ball Z backpack started talking to me at break time. I had been sitting on the radiator in the corridor. By myself. It’s not a sob story, it was just that none of my friends from primary school had come to St Anne’s. And I was fine with that.
‘You don’t talk very much, do you?’ was the first thing she said to me.
‘No,’ I replied. It wasn’t a lie.
‘I’m Daisy Kim.’ She smiled and held out a tiny hand. I took it and considered asking her to go away. But before I said anything she dumped her backpack on the ground and jumped up on to the radiator beside me.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Finbar.’
‘Finbar what?’
‘Finbar Fox.’
‘Cool name.’
‘Cool backpack,’ I said.
She gasped. ‘You like Dragon Ball Z ?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t trust anybody who doesn’t.’
‘I think I’ve found the winner.’
‘Winner of what?’ I asked.
‘That was an interview. We only just moved so I’ve no friends round here. I’ve been secretly interviewing people to see who I want to be my friend. And you get the job. Do you want the job? Please say you want the job, and I don’t have to go back to that girl who asked me to pray with her. She was the best of a bad bunch and I promise I don’t care if people believe in God, people can believe whatever they want, I just don’t, so it would be weird if I prayed.’
By this point I had no idea what was going on. She was obviously a complete lunatic, and I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I didn’t want to upset her so I said, ‘I accept.’
Then she squealed, threw herself at me and we both fell off the radiator.
By the end of the first day at school I knew her whole life story. How she refused to visit family in South Korea over the summer because it was too bad for her carbon footprint. That her mum and dad got divorced and her mum is now married to another woman. That her parents keep saying how guilty
they feel about splitting up but how Daisy didn’t care at all because now they were always buying her (ethical and sustainable) gifts.
I changed the subject when she asked about my family. We’d go back to her house and watch Dragon Ball Z after school and we’d eat incredible food her dad had sent over for us, most of which I couldn’t pronounce but tasted unbelievable.
And within a week it felt like I’d known her my whole life.
me : Outside
daisy : Coming!
‘You’re looking surprisingly attractive for a heterosexual male today, Finbar.’
Daisy never just said hello.
‘Thanks?’
‘My pleasure. It’s like you’re the Fin from last year, except in HD . What I would give for that hair!’ Daisy stuck her againstschool-regulation-ringed-fingers in my dark curls and tugged them gently. ‘And those soulful brown eyes. I swear to God if I was straight, I’d be all over you.’ She nudged me and laughed.
‘Nah, it would never work. You’re too annoying.’ I nudged her back.
‘You love annoying.’
‘Do I?’ I cocked my head at her.
‘You do. That’s why we’ve been friends for so long – because you can’t bear to be without me.’
‘Or is it because you stalked me into being your friend and I’m scared to tell you to go away?’
‘Could be that or could be Stockholm syndrome. I’ll let you choose. But, hey, you didn’t even mention my haircut.’ Daisy stopped in front of me, and I tried to work out what was different.
‘A fringe. I got a fringe.’ She pointed to her forehead. ‘Did it myself.’
‘Oh yeah. Nice,’ I said, even though I hadn’t noticed the difference. Her black hair was long, straight and shiny, and it always looked the same to me.
‘Ugh. I need more girlfriends.’
We walked back the way I’d come. It was stupidly busy in Westing in the mornings. It set Daisy off about car fumes, SUV s and how she wanted to slash their tyres. Sometimes I’d wind her up and tell her I didn’t believe in climate change. The first time I did it she almost exploded and made me watch a Greta Thunberg documentary. But most of the time I thought about how great it was that she was so into the environment, that she cared so deeply about something that you could almost see the feelings fizzing all over her.
We were on my street again. When we passed my empty house, Daisy gazed at the window of the house next door.
‘Have you ever seen Molly naked?’ she asked.
‘Don’t be gross.’
‘It’s hardly gross,’ she replied. ‘Molly Cassidy naked is not a thought that could ever provoke that word.’ She sighed.
‘I can think of some other words for her if you want to hear them,’ I said, trying to ignore the emotions that twisted inside me when I heard her name.
Couldn’t Daisy see how fake Molly was? Scratch the surface of that suspiciously blemish-free skin and you’d probably find a robot looking back at you.
Nah, not a robot – robots are cool. A piece of dumb plastic maybe.
‘Fake, blah, blah, blah.’ Daisy rolled her eyes at me. ‘Maybe, Finbar, if you actually got to know her, instead of deciding what she’s like based on weird made-up, preconceived notions, then you might be pleasantly surprised.’ She dug her elbow into my side.
‘Nope.’
‘Think about it. She’s your neighbour. It makes no sense that you don’t talk to her. So what I think –’
‘Nope.’
‘Just listen to me. What I think is that you should become friends with her and then you can introduce me to Sofia.’
‘While I always respect an ulterior motive, that is something that is never going to happen. You’ll have to figure out how to talk to Sofia all by yourself. I mean, I can think of way more awesome people that you could go out with, but if shallow and vacuous is your thing, then who am I to stand in the way?’ I shrugged and smiled at her. I knew better than to be serious when I was being a dick about Daisy’s crush on Sofia.
She was obsessed.
Last year, on Valentine’s Day, Daisy anonymously sent Sofia all this Jay-Z merch, hoping she’d get the connection. Jay-Z, Day-Z. Nope, I didn’t get it either until she explained it to me. And obviously Sofia didn’t get it.
It was weird. Normal Daisy was the personification of confidence, but when it came to Sofia she was a ball of mush.
‘I bet she’s totally deep, you know. I bet she goes home and reads poetry in Catalan.’ Daisy did a little spin in front of me. A couple of years ago Mrs Patterson our physics teacher asked Sofia if one of her parents speaks Spanish. I still remember how quickly Sofia had replied, ‘No, my mum’s from Barcelona. So we don’t speak Spanish; we speak Catalan.’
I snorted. ‘On TikTok maybe.’
‘Oh, my judgemental friend.’ She ruffled my hair again. ‘A less deep person would be tired of all your doom and gloom by now. But I know there’s more to you than that.’
‘There really isn’t.’
‘Oh.’ Daisy elbowed me. ‘Party. We’re going to Oliver’s party tomorrow night. Sofia will definitely be there.’ She fluttered her eyelashes at me.
‘Must we?’ I asked, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice when Daisy set her mind to something. But it wasn’t like I had other plans anyway.
‘We must! Ugh, where is she?’ Daisy looked through the school gates at the bench that faced the road. Molly Cassidy was sitting on it by herself.
Usually Molly and Sofia Garcia were surgically attached.
Then Daisy was looking at me. Staring at me with concern on her face.
‘You OK ?’ she asked. She’d asked me the same question every day this week because she knew what date Monday had been. Mum’s birthday.
‘I’m OK ,’ I said, nodding back, and she reached over and squeezed my hand. It wasn’t true, but I’d seen Daisy upset on my behalf way too many times and it was almost worse than the actual feeling itself. Almost.
That was the kind of person Daisy was. Nicest human on earth.
The opposite kind of person to Molly Cassidy.
I got the message from Chloe after first period. The same message that I get whenever her anxiety has taken over and it’s impossible for her to think straight. The head explosion emoji.
She’s always been anxious. Ever since Year Eight she’d worry about things that most people wouldn’t even think about. And it’s just been getting worse ever since. She refused to see the doctor about it and won’t talk to her parents. She said they wouldn’t understand. So she tries to manage it as best she can. By talking to me.
I found her outside her English class with her head in her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said when she saw me, then took a huge breath.
‘What? Why?’ I asked and sat down beside her, putting my arm round shoulders that were stiff from tension.
‘I’m always asking you to help me. It isn’t fair.’ She had her forehead in her hands and was shaking her head.
‘Chlo, I like helping. I promise. What happened?’ And I did like helping. I hated that she had to deal with this, but it made me feel useful.
‘I forgot to do an essay and it’s due on Monday. I’ll never get it done on time and Miss Shah is going to be so pissed off.’ She sounded like she was going to cry, and her breathing was getting faster.
‘What’s it on?’ I asked.
‘To Kill a Mockingbird. I haven’t even read it, Mol. I’m so stupid. Why didn’t I listen better last week? And I spent most of this lesson thinking about Oliver’s party and what I was going to wear. I’m so, so stupid.’ Real tears had started now.
‘Chloe, listen. Come round to mine after school and we’ll ask Sofia too. I’ve read it and Sofia is amazing at English. Between the three of us we’ll get it done, OK ? It will be fine. I promise.’ I squeezed her heaving shoulders. They seemed to have relaxed a bit.
She looked up at me with a tear-stained face then threw her skinny arms round me. ‘I’m sorry, Molly. I know how much you help me, and I appreciate it so much. Anything you ever need, and I’ll be there, OK ?’
‘I know you will, Chlo. That’s what friends are for.’ I helped her to her feet and reached into my pocket for some mascara and a mirror and watched her reapply it. It was our routine.
‘You OK ?’ I asked. Her breathing had slowed down again and I even got a half-smile.
‘I’m OK . But now we’re late for French.’
And before she could crumble again, I grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the language block.
Sofia was in our French class too and gave us ‘ WTF ’ eyes as soon as we came in.
‘Sorry, miss,’ I said to our teacher. ‘I felt really sick and thought I was going to throw up and Chloe stayed with me. I feel much better now.’ I flashed the smile that helped me get away with anything.
‘Mm-hm.’ Miss Clément looked sceptical but just rolled her eyes and waved us to our seats. ‘Asseyez-vous.’
I sat down beside Sofia and she whispered, ‘What happened?’ in my ear.
‘Chloe SOS ,’ I replied.
Sometimes I wondered if Sofia got annoyed that Chloe always called me when she was panicking and not her. But I never really got those vibes. Sofia was a lot of amazing things, but she could be way too blunt sometimes and couldn’t really understand why Chloe acted the way she did. So it just made sense that Chloe came to me.
‘All good now?’ she asked.
‘All good. But I said that she could come round to mine after school, and we’d help her with her essay.’
‘OK , sure,’ Sofia whispered back without asking any more questions.
Break time was Conor time. Every day I’d meet him on the steps where we could look over the whole schoolyard. It was perfect for people watching, and perfect for kissing.
He was looking at something on his phone when I got there, standing at the bottom of the steps, leaning on the handrail. I didn’t tell him I was there, instead sneaking up behind him and blowing on the blonde hairs at the back of his neck. He spun round and shoved his phone in his pocket. Then he smiled.
‘There she is.’
‘Here I am,’ I said and kissed him. He took my hand, and we found our seat at the top of the steps.
‘So, Oliver’s Halloween party on Saturday, what are you wearing?’ he asked, the edges of his mouth curling into a smile.
‘Something sexy,’ I replied.
I didn’t actually know what I was going to wear. Sofia had bought me three-inch silver heels for my birthday, and I’d been dying to wear them for ages, so maybe something I could wear those with.
Conor was playing with my ponytail, wrapping it round his hand and then letting it swing free.
‘Not heels, though?’ he asked. Like he’d read my mind. Like it was a statement rather than a question. Conor Quinn, the symbol of self-confidence, was self-conscious about one thing. The fact that I was almost as tall as him. Taller in heels.
‘It’ll definitely be flats. Can’t be bothered with heels.’ I shrugged easily and he grinned before kissing me on the cheek. At the Spring Formal last year Conor wore a pink tie to match my dress, even though I knew he hated pink. Those are just the things you do for each other when you’re in love.
‘The girls are coming round after school; maybe I could come to yours when we’re done?’ I nudged him and smiled.
‘Aw, I can’t tonight, sorry. Heading down to the pitches to practise drop kicks.’ He ran his hand through his hair.
‘You can’t miss it? Just once? Your drop kicks are amazing already,’ I said. I loved going round to Conor’s. His parents didn’t care if we went up to his bedroom. Sometimes St Anne’s felt like we were in a zoo. That Conor and I were trapped
behind a glass screen where people could come and stare at us. And don’t get me wrong, most of the time I loved all the attention, but my favourite thing ever was when it was just the two of us, twisted together in his bedroom, like we were the only people in the whole world.
‘Sorry, Mol. Can’t. Big game on Saturday.’
‘Fine,’ I said with the pout I knew he thought was sexy. I let my eyes flick to the schoolyard where I saw some Year Elevens staring at us. I kissed him again, harder this time.
And even though I was disappointed that he wouldn’t miss a kickabout for me, it got overshadowed by the smile on Conor’s face and then completely forgotten when he pulled me up from the steps and kept hold of my hand as we walked through the schoolyard, a thousand eyes on us.
You’re the hottest girl in school.
Conor Quinn is your boyfriend.
Nothing else matters.
Finbar
When I got home from school the TV was blaring. I must have forgotten to turn it off. A chill ran through my veins.
The TV was on that day too. And as much as I tried to force the details out of my mind, I remembered it like it was yesterday.
I barged into the house, talking loudly about the fact I had scored a hat-trick, making sure I was heard over the game show that was on television. I was acting like football was the most important thing in the world.
‘Contestant number one from Dublin –’
Then Juno started screaming. She was three weeks old.
‘You have won a trip to New York.’
A trip to New York. How cool would that be?
‘Mum,’ I called. There was no reply.
Still screaming.
‘Contestant number two from Belfast –’
‘Mum!’ I said it louder this time. Frustrated. I was frustrated because she hadn’t heard me talking about my hat-trick.
‘You have won a Mini Cooper.’
I dropped my school bag and went into the kitchen where Juno was lying in one of those baby basket things screaming her head off. Her face all red and squished and angry.
I picked her up, supporting her head like I’d seen Mum do. I walked around the kitchen with her and she eventually shut up. I thought about how impressed Mum would be when I told her that I’d stopped Juno crying. Where was she anyway?
I walked into the living room. Then I saw her. And I couldn’t move. It was like my limbs weren’t attached to my body. But then I felt Juno slip and just about caught her before dumping her back into the basket and hoping that when I went back into the living room, Mum wouldn’t be lying on the floor, motionless, with her hair everywhere. That I was hallucinating.
But I wasn’t.
Juno was screaming again but I could barely hear her. The thud of my heartbeat was too loud in my ears. Mum still hadn’t moved.
I stood in the doorway. ‘Mum?’ My voice didn’t sound like my voice.
Nothing.
‘Mum!’ I shouted it this time, as loudly as I could, trying to wake her from whatever this was.
I walked over to her with tiny, nauseating steps. Then I sat down, centimetres away, scared to touch her, because subconsciously I knew. I knew.
I took out my phone and called an ambulance. I don’t remember their words.
I remember phoning Dad. ‘Mum’s dead,’ was all I said.
Then I curled up beside her, lifted her arm and laid it on me, feeling its heaviness for the very last time.
‘Say goodbye to our lucky contestants.’
Oliver’s parents had gone all out for Halloween. There were skeletons half buried in the garden, a coffin standing on its end with a weirdly real-looking vampire inside, purple and green fairy lights everywhere, a firepit, as well as a smoke machine pumping mist from somewhere.
‘Oh my God, this is immense,’ said Chloe. She was dressed in a black catsuit that was so tight it looked like a second skin. She touched a giant spider that was tangled in one of the bushes and screamed when it moved. Sofia was Lara Croft. Tiny khaki hotpants and a cropped white vest, with her hair pulled back into a plaited ponytail. She looked ridiculously hot. Mum had let me borrow her Alexander McQueen black bodycon and I’d found a pair of bunny ears at the bottom of my wardrobe. It was hardly original but Conor was going to love it.
There was a group of kids dressed up as the cast from Stranger Things smoking in the front garden. Vecna looked like he was about to be sick. Already.
The door was half open so we just went in.
Creepy instrumental music was blasting from speakers and as soon as we walked through the door people swarmed around